Chapter Text

Chapter 1

It was proof of Izuku’s immaturity that he found it this difficult to let go of a dream.

“Izu-kun, won’t you eat your breakfast?” His mother implored, wringing her hands with a worry that made bitter shame curl in Izuku’s throat. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he hummed and pulled a bite to his mouth. He could taste it, feel it travel down to his stomach, but the satiety that came with a homecooked meal was absent. 

“I should go,” He said after eating about three-fourths of his breakfast. He scooped his bag off the floor and pressed a gentle kiss to his mother’s forehead. It was enough to loosen the twin tight lines of worry between her brows. Izuku smiled, “Have a good day, okaasan.”

“You too, Izu-kun,” She said, her words driven by habit while her mind remained elsewhere. Izuku wanted to stop worrying her so much, but he didn’t know how. All he could do was try his best to be happy, he supposed. They always reflected each other’s emotions; a day had yet to come when there was an exception. 

He smiled wider as he closed the door behind him, lingering just long enough to see his mother’s shoulders relax. He could do this. It had probably been easier to get over bad news when he had been four years old, but Izuku would get over this, too. He had to. 

Of course, part of him had begun to prepare for this outcome at least a year ago, but perhaps even longer. There was a reason he wasn’t devastated. Lost, maybe, but not broken. Somehow emptier and heavier at the same time. 

His new uniform caught the attention of many. Only one school in Japan had rights over this particular combination of burgundy, black, and white. The colours were a source of pride, a mark of great potential. Izuku couldn’t shrink into himself wearing them. 

Neither could Kacchan, wearing distinctive grey, white and green and yet he stood behind the yellow line with his hands shoved in his pockets, pants loose and tie missing. Both his shirt and blazer were buttoned half-heartedly at best. Izuku couldn’t even muster any indignance at the sight. 

He exhaled and gripped the strap of his bag, coming to a stop further down the platform as he waited for the train to arrive. Kacchan could do as he wished with that uniform. Who was Izuku to tell him what to do? He checked the time on his phone and adjusted his stance to get comfortable. 

“Hah? Deku?” Came a familiar, incredulous exclamation. Izuku looked up to find a complicated expression on Kacchan’s face as he looked him up and down. “You got into Keisei?” He observed with begrudging respect. Then, recovering from the slip, he sneered, “Tch. I bet you failed the Yuuei entrance exams! You’re probably fucking glad you weren’t dumb enough not to have a backup plan, huh? Shitty Deku.”

Indeed, Izuku was glad he hadn’t put all his eggs in one basket, so to speak. He could scarcely imagine the burden that would have placed on his mother. “Yeah,” Izuku said, turning to him with a smile. “Congratulations, Kacchan! I heard you placed first! I always knew you would do great!” Kacchan was always meant to be a hero. 

The boy scowled and narrowed his eyes into a vicious glare. “Don’t act fucking condescending just ‘cause you got into that shitty stick-up-the-ass school, you bastard. Just fucking yesterday, you were dying to get into Yuuei, so don’t act all high and mighty on me now.”

“That’s not what this is,” Izuku said, tempted to sigh. By now, he knew better than to keep trying to convince him. He had been burned enough times for the lesson to sear itself in his mind. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pretended to be busy. 

They got on the train together and got off at the same stop. For a long, painfully awkward fifteen minutes, they walked down the same path and pretended the other didn’t exist. Izuku would rather not since it felt stupidly childish, even to him, but Kacchan was adamantly looking straight ahead. Eventually, however, they parted ways. 

The gates of KSA stood tall and proud, the curved metal painted black and glinting in the morning light. The path to the main building was paved with pristine slate-grey blocks, cleaned well for the new academic year, and the grass fields on either side were lush green and freshly trimmed. The building itself seemed to have been maintained with much care, painted in colours that were reflected in their uniforms. 

It was the most prestigious high school in the country, and it certainly looked the part. 

As he walked up the gentle slope leading to the school, Izuku caught sight of a familiar glass building in the distance, jutting out from an otherwise flat landscape and demanding attention, much like the people it catered to. Where the KSA building was refined and old, UA was bold and modern. The two highly reputed institutes were separated by a vast stretch of land, demarcated by a thick, tall wall with barbed wire curled at the top. 

It might be enough to keep intruders at bay, but it did very little to keep Izuku’s eyes from wandering towards it. 

⟚

All the first years were herded to the first floor, where they were called upon by teachers and sorted into classrooms. They were given a set of textbooks, folders, a diary, and a set of cufflinks. There were four kinds, for four different houses. Most schools differentiated them using animals, colours, or both; KSA chose the former. 

Aldera didn’t have houses, so Izuku was curious to learn more. A girl was standing in front of him, and Izuku didn’t dare try and talk to a girl so he turned around. 

Behind him stood a tall boy with messy dark hair that fell over his equally dark but strangely luminous eyes. His skin was freckled, too, but where Izuku’s freckles were smattered over his cheeks, the boy’s freckles spanned his entire body in a vaguely striped pattern. Like someone had sprinkled paint on water and swirled it around.

“Um,” Izuku started, wracking his brain to figure out how people made friends, “h-hi.”

The boy was surprised and looked around as if to check if Izuku was talking to someone else. Then, he pointed to himself and asked, “Me?” 

Izuku couldn’t help but notice that his nail beds were dark, the colour bleeding into the natural pink tint of his nails. Cool .

“Yes,” Izuku confirmed. “Uh, I’m Midoriya Izuku! Nice to meet you!”

“Miyashiro Aoki,” He replied, bowing his head a little. He was considerably taller than Izuku, so his head remained a little bent in order to look at him properly. Izuku found himself tilting his head back to match. The boy blinked at him. 

Now that Izuku was looking closely, he noticed that Miyashiro’s eyes were speckled with something glittery and not actually luminous on their own. Kami, Izuku loved Quirks so much.

“Er,” Izuku squeaked when he realised the silence had dragged on too long, “D-Do you know anything about the four houses?”

“Oh!” The boy lit up, hair bouncing with his nod, “Yeah! My cousin is an alumnus, so he told me a lot about Keisei!”

There were four animals for the four houses, of course: carp, spider, turtle, and crane. Odd choices, Izuku observed aloud. 

“I thought so too, at first,” Miyashiro said with a smile, “but there’s a story behind it! Oh, man, if you’re anything like me, you’re gonna love the symbolism! So-”

Miyashiro was probably the first boy Izuku had had a full conversation with in years. Maybe even a decade. He might have worried about it being short-lived, but fortunately, Miyashiro had a lot to talk about. Izuku’s interest only grew as he went deeper into the lore, getting so immersed that he was startled when his name was called. Miyashiro jumped, too, nearly in sync. 

They exchanged an awkward laugh and pulled themselves back to the present. “S-Sorry, I-”

Izuku knew that expression all too well, even though he had never seen it on anyone else’s face before. But he was sure he must have looked like this when he rambled about heroes and Quirks for too long. How lucky to bump into a kindred spirit so early. “It’s okay! I had fun!” Izuku smiled, heart picking up speed in nervous excitement. “I hope we’re in the same class, Miyashiro-san!”

“N-No need to talk so formally,” the boy spluttered, hiding behind his messy dark hair much the way Izuku hid behind his arms when he got flustered. The thought made his smile widen. Izuku would be happy here, he realised. 

And that didn’t seem bad at all.

⟚

He and Miyashiro ended up in the same class, and the joy of it was enough to soften the disappointment of being seated far apart from each other. 

“Good morning, students,” Said a man with tired eyes and hair the shade of incense smoke. It probably had little to do with his real age, Izuku figured. The teacher was dressed in a simple shirt, untucked in a manner that seemed exceedingly casual compared to the students’ getup. 

He leaned his hip on the teacher’s desk and dropped a stack of books that were a tad too colourful to be textbooks. “I’m your homeroom teacher, and I will be teaching mathematics. You may call me Goto-sensei. Welcome to Keisei!” He smiled. It was small but genuine enough. Well, nobody liked the start of a new academic year, so Izuku could understand it. “Let’s have a quick introduction, then I’ll take a roll call.”

He later revealed their seating chart, and it took just under ten minutes for the class to reshuffle to their proper seats. It was a source of mild terror that Izuku was placed with two stern-looking girls on either side of him. At least the boys sitting in front of him—who introduced themselves as Kubo Kiryu and Tsuda Renzo —were friendly enough to warm the otherwise frigid air of their corner. 

Everyone introduced themselves throughout the day. At first, it was to get to know each other. However, a fresh round began with each period for the teachers’ sake as well.  

Most people talked about their Quirks while introducing themselves. Only around a third of the class didn’t mention theirs at all. The habit wore off as people grew older and had better things to define themselves by, but being fresh out of middle school, Izuku supposed that many had yet to transition to that phase.

He kept his head down and stared at his worn red shoes, praying that the weight of multiple gazes he felt on his body was nothing but a figment of his imagination. This was no hero school; surely Quirks wouldn’t matter that much.

The past three years in Aldera had been hell. Every taunt, every jab chipped away at his peace of mind and made him feel smaller and smaller until he feared that one day he would cease to exist altogether. 

Every person who found out about his Quirkless status became another weed that floated far above him, blocking out the sun as he began to suffocate and rot into a being more pathetic than he already was. 

In Aldera, Izuku knew no warmth other than Kacchan’s palms exploding on his skin and cafeteria food spilling down his clothes. He hoped, prayed, that Keisei would be different. 

But he was not so foolish as to reveal his status. Not here, not anywhere. Never again, if he had any say in the matter. Once he was old enough, nobody would care, anyway. As adults, they would have other things to talk about, better things to label themselves by. Izuku just had to lay low and stick around long enough to reach that point. 

Just before lunch break, they had been called to the auditorium for an awarding ceremony to congratulate the students who had placed among the top 10 in the entrance exams. Having placed sixth, Izuku received a metal pin which the principal attached to the lapel of his jacket. 

“The first of many, I’m sure,” the principal said privately, patting Izuku’s shoulder.

Miyashiro was more excited about the pin than Izuku, leaning oh-so-close to gush at it, the shiny metal glinting off the shimmer in his eyes. Kubo had lost all energy after raucously cheering for Tsuda, who had gotten first place. The boy remained collapsed in his seat from exhaustion while Tsuda congratulated Izuku with an amiable, close-lipped smile.

They sat together during lunch. To Izuku’s pleasant surprise, talking to them came easily. It was… comfortable. When they smiled, Izuku could smile with them. 

Kubo asked where they lived, and they discovered that Tsuda’s house was quite close to Miyashiro’s. 

“This is great!” Kubo grinned, gesturing with such enthusiasm that a chunk of food went flying across the table. “You guys can commute together! Man, I wish I had someone I could walk to school with. What about you, Midoriya? Do you have anyone?”

“Oh, uh,” Izuku poked his food awkwardly, “I have this… childhood friend. We live close to each other, and he got into Yuuei, so,” he waved his fork vaguely, “I guess we kind of travel together?”

“Yuuei?!” Kubo and Miyashiro yelled. Tsuda jumped in alarm and began coughing violently, his apple juice having entered the wrong pipe. 

“Y-Yeah.” Izuku confirmed, nervous under their wide-eyed stares. 

“That’s awesome!” Kubo slammed his fist on the table. “I took the entrance exam, you know. I did pretty well, but I missed the cutoff by a couple of marks and couldn’t get into the Hero course. And, well, my parents figured that if I was going to pursue academics anyway, it would be better to take admission to Keisei.” He didn’t sound entirely happy with it, but he didn’t seem upset either. It was a tone Izuku had begun to associate with ‘growing up’.

Tsuda hummed, dabbing at his mouth with a tissue. “It makes sense. Yuuei’s Gen Ed course isn’t bad, but getting into Keisei would be better.” Of course. You don’t get pizza from a soba shop, after all, even if you could .

“Is your friend in the Hero course?”

Izuku looked at his fork. “Yes.”

“Woah! He must be really good. What’s his Quirk? What rank did he get? Can we meet him? Just to say hi and stuff; I promise I won’t bother him too much,” Kubo rattled off excitedly. 

Izuku offered him a smile, even though it wavered a little at the edges. It wasn’t the boy’s fault for not knowing. He tried to frame his next words in his head, arranging them in the most pleasant way possible. “We’ve kind of… grown apart, actually.”

“Oh,” Kubo blinked. “I bet that’s really awkward, huh?” 

Izuku responded with a helpless shrug and waited for him to inevitably ask why they had grown apart. He hadn’t prepared a proper answer to that, but he was certain he’d be able to brush it off. He’d gotten decent at that if he said so himself. Instead, Kubo said, “Two of my coworkers are exes and, man, it gets so weird when they’re around that I keep volunteering for delivery jobs. The kitchens are stifling enough without them in it.”

Izuku blinked. Miyashiro asked something, and soon enough, they were talking about Kubo’s part-time job at a family-owned restaurant, the topic of Izuku’s hero student friend quickly forgotten.

Just before dispersal, their homeroom teacher, Goto-sensei, gave them their PE uniforms. Their PE teacher had promised them a game of dodgeball tomorrow, so everyone was eager to receive them. Miyashiro worried that his might be the wrong size. 

“But I guess it’s not a big deal. I’d rather not play dodgeball, to be honest. I’m taller than people are used to, so they tend to aim… too low.” The boy said with a nervous gulp. Izuku patted his arm in consolation and tried not to laugh. 

The final bell rang, and Izuku, having successfully resisted the urge so far, caved and snuck a look out the windows. He had known what he would find from the excited exclamation of his classmates, but he realised that he wasn’t prepared for it at all.

The glass quadrangle building of UA glinted in the evening sun. It took a while for Izuku to pull his gaze away. 

⟚

The skin around Kacchan’s eyes was pink from repressed tears. Izuku froze when he saw it and quickly averted his gaze in fear that Kacchan would catch him and vent his frustrations on him in public. Doing so would undoubtedly land him in trouble; not good for a hero student. The boy stomped past him grumpily, slower than usual. 

Izuku didn’t dare overtake him and risk getting caught. On the flip side, however, he would look astoundingly stupid if he tried to maintain a pace slower than Kacchan’s. It would be far too obvious. So Izuku picked the even dumber option of stopping in the middle of the footpath until Kacchan was a safe distance ahead, then walking at a normal pace until he was nearly caught up, and then doing it all over again. 

“Will you fucking stop that?!” Kacchan snapped suddenly, whirling on him so violently that his bag flew off his shoulder. Izuku yelped and jumped back. “Why the fuck do you keep following me everywhere?! Just leave me alone, you goddamn creep!”

“K-Kacchan!” Izuku squawked, face turning hot. He looked around nervously to check that the passersby hadn’t misunderstood. He was too young to go to jail for a charge as ridiculous as stalking Kacchan , of all people. He’d rather be arrested for something closer to the truth, at least. Like stalking heroes. Not that he did that. Just a healthy fanboy amount. 

“This is all your fault!” Kacchan accused, pointing at him. “You gave me the shitty Deku curse ‘cause you’re jealous I got into Yuuei, and you didn’t!”

“Deku curse?” Izuku repeated, scepticism washing away all fear of his childhood friend and bully. He scrunched his nose in distaste, “I thought you’d be above such superstitious nonsen- uh, stuff. Deku curse? Really?”

An involuntary, choked-off noise erupted from the boy as his entire body tensed. He gnashed his teeth and clawed his hands in the air like he wanted to rip Izuku apart, which was actually quite plausible. “Shut up!” He snapped just when a vein had started to bulge. Kacchan spun on his heel and continued stomping to the train station with renewed vigour. 

Izuku trotted to catch up before he could think twice about it. “I’m guessing your first day didn’t go that well?” Somehow, he doubted it. Kacchan was too skilled. He was probably just being harsh on himself. Kacchan’s worst critic was usually himself. 

A sweaty hand grabbed his face and yanked it down at an uncomfortable angle. “Shut the fuck up before I blow your goddamn face off, Deku,” Kacchan growled, the heat of his palm warning Izuku to choose his next words wisely. 

“F-Forget I said anything,” Izuku stammered, vainly trying to pry him off. Kacchan held on, digging into his skin to prove a point, before shoving Izuku away. 

Izuku staggered back and held onto a streetlight as he attempted to breathe evenly. His lungs took a while to cooperate, and by then, Izuku had worked himself into a cold sweat, and Kacchan had walked around the corner. 

⟚

KSA was prestigious. It was also expensive. 

That was a correlation Izuku hadn’t been aware of until he saw his mother frowning at some papers scattered on her foldable desk while she cradled a cup of tea in her hands, her small body curled up on her large bed in the dark of night. 

It was the first time Izuku had seen her in that state, and it felt like stumbling upon a door he wished he hadn’t opened. He slunk back to his room and stared at the ceiling. His mother was worried about money. Of course. She was a single mother on a nurse’s salary, dealing with not just the regular expenses of living but also supporting her son.

Her Quirkless son, with a Quirkless body, needed a special brand of shoes made by a company that had run out of business long before he was born. A company whose shoes now, if well-maintained, sold for exorbitantly high prices to be stored in sealed glass boxes and displayed as relics in a museum.

How many shoes has Izuku gone through so far? He was horrified to find that he had no clue. 

Izuku thought back to every time he had gotten sick, and the hospitals wouldn’t take him, forcing her to take days off work to tend to him. The hero merch he received every birthday was cheaper than some others, perhaps, but still, an indulgence that made his chest squirm. He thought of all the entrance exams he had given. Yuuei and Keisei alone must have contributed a significant amount of the application fees. 

It wouldn’t stop there. Izuku would have to go to college, and a good one at that. Even after that, his employment wasn’t guaranteed. Who would hire a fragile, worthless, Quirkless boy? Who would welcome a liability? No, Izuku would have to learn more, work more, and prove himself useful just to stand a chance. His future stretched out before him like dark, uncharted waters. 

Izuku let out a trembling breath. 

More than eighty per cent of Quirkless people didn’t make it to adulthood. The fraction of those who made it past thirty was so small that the reports called it negligible. 

“Negligible,” Izuku whispered with a new understanding. He curled on his side and pressed a pillow to his chest, pushing it in as far as it could go.

He had to either live long enough to repay his mother or die quickly enough to relieve her. 

“Okaasan,” Izuku said over breakfast the next morning, “many of my classmates work part-time jobs. Miyashiro told me that Keisei encourages it because it teaches students the value of money and how to be independent. You know, Kubo works at Namiyan! I was thinking I could do something like that, too. It sounds fun!”

“Oh,” His mother looked at him with surprise. She mulled over it while cleaning the dishes and eventually said, “Well, I suppose you could join him if you want, Izuku. Whatever you choose, I’d feel better if you had a classmate to keep you company. And, of course, inform me before you accept anything. I want to know everything about this job first. You know I worry,” She added as if she expected Izuku to whine about it. He wouldn’t. 

“That’s okay,” Izuku smiled, pleased with her easy acceptance. “I’ll ask Kubo and let you know,” He promised. It only took a single visit to the family restaurant and a long conversation with the owners before Izuku was hired. True to Kubo’s word, the pay was good. 

Later, Izuku mustered the courage to ask, “D-Does Keisei give scholarships?”

The three boys—friends of his now, though Izuku was scared to use such a precious word so soon—were startled by the sudden change in topic. “Yeah,” they chorused with varying degrees of incredulity. Izuku hunched his shoulders in shame. 

Tsuda sighed and flicked his deep blue hair, a gesture Izuku had become familiar with over the past week. “You must’ve been really focused on Yuuei not to know,” he muttered with an irritation that toed the line of fondness.

Apparently, the pin Izuku had received for his rank in the entrance exams was more important than he had initially assumed. From what he gathered, they were called Virtue pins and worked a bit like a point system. Virtue pins were given based on academic performance as well as extracurriculars like sports and community service. 

They came with many benefits, such as exemption from cleaning duty, extra credit, and, most importantly, scholarships. 

The three boys talked at length about the point system. It was very flexible, each level giving him multiple options to choose from. Izuku held them back after school so he could make proper notes on it. He’d rather not risk forgetting such vital information. 

The bottom line was that the more Virtue pins he acquired, the better. 

School had just begun, so examinations were a good while away. However, extracurriculars were still a viable option. Dagobah Beach has been a dumping ground for as long as Izuku has been alive. Cleaning it up was bound to reap benefits. 

⟚

“Are you okay?”

Kacchan scowled up at him half-heartedly, unable to muster the energy needed to tell him off, battered and bruised as he was. His uniform was clean and unmarked, starkly contrasting the dirt and grime clinging to his skin. Izuku frowned at the nasty-looking scratches on the boy’s temple. He swung his bag to the front, rifling through it to grab a band-aid.

“Here,” He offered the bright, All Might-themed band-aid to him. Kacchan eyed it as if it was leaking radiation. “Take it,” Izuku insisted. 

“Tch.” Kacchan turned away, glaring at the scenery passing them by. 

Izuku looked at him and pulled his bag close to his chest. “Were you there when it happened?” At his words, Kacchan’s eyebrow twitched. That was all the confirmation he needed. 

Izuku continued, “My classmates saw it. Of course, we couldn’t make anything out from so far away, but even I could make out the body that crashed through the dome. Was it a villain? Did All Might throw it like that? Only he could do that, I guess; the villain flew such a great distance- Oh. S-Sorry.” He caught himself, sheepishly retreating.

“It was a Nomu ,” Kacchan scoffed, looking down at him as if Izuku should have known this already. He had never heard of a Nomu before. And he kept up with the current affairs of the hero industry enough to know that nobody knew what a ‘Nomu’ was. 

“And it wasn’t just one villain. An entire troop of clown extras showed up in the middle of class, wanting to wreck All Might’s shit or something, but All Might wasn’t even there. Dumbfucks. Well, it’s not like we needed him to kick their pathetic asses. Only three of ‘em really gave us any trouble, but the teachers grabbed ‘em by the balls and forced them to run away like the fucking cowards they are.”

“I see,” Izuku responded intelligently, processing the information and running it through his inbuilt Kacchan translator. 

“Bunch of third-rate extras,” Kacchan scoffed, mostly to himself. Izuku was dying to ask more, but he knew well enough that doing so would only invite Kacchan’s ire. There were still times when his curiosity couldn’t be contained, but, fortunately, now was not one of them. He kept his questions to himself. 

“I’m glad you got out safe, Kacchan,” Izuku murmured. “Not that they seem to have given you much trouble.”

Even that seemed to piss Kacchan off. Izuku loosened his body to reduce the strain on his neck while Kacchan shook him about by the collar. People edged away from them warily, and Izuku sighed. 

A few months ago, he would have trembled out of his skin to see such rage on Kacchan’s face. But that fear had died the day he met All Might. 

Taken a swan dive off the roof, one might say. 

Izuku looked into his old friend’s blazing red eyes and was reminded of a scorched, sopping-wet notebook and slime squelching down his throat. In the span of one day, Izuku had prayed for death and prayed to be saved. Technically, he had gotten both, yet neither. 

Regardless of whether he was satisfied with the outcome of that day, the threat of Kacchan’s hot palms burning on his skin now seemed diminished.

Izuku found it difficult to fear for his life these days.

“-So just fuck off, Deku!” Kacchan finally concluded, shoving him away. 

Izuku straightened his jacket and smoothed out his shirt.

⟚

Madam Gou was the matriarch of the Namiyan establishment. A rather dramatic way of calling her the boss, Izuku had thought when Kubo first told him, but it made much more sense once he met the woman. 

“-And you two!” The short woman boomed, stretching her arms beyond normal limits to pull two employees down by the ear, “I ain’t payin’ you to make goo-goo eyes at each other! It’s disgusting! You’re ruining the flavour profile of my soup! Get outta here and make yourself useful by wiping the tables! Six feet distance between you at all times, you hear me? Out!!”

Izuku flinched back into Kubo’s chest when she tossed the employees out of the kitchens. He felt Kubo chuckle and pat his shoulder. “Chill, dude, her bark’s worse than her bite,” He smiled, completely unfazed when some soup splattered onto his bright orange hair. 

Izuku looked wide-eyed as Madam Gou tossed the entire batch into some sort of steel bucket and put someone in charge of making the soup from scratch again. He looked back at Kubo, who flashed a winning smile and a thumbs-up. 

“Just stick to delivery work if you’re really that worried,” The boy clapped his back, pushing him forward. “Yo, Madam Gou! Midoriya is here! You remember him, right?”

Madam Gou whirled on them with an expression rivalling even the most terrifying oni masks. Izuku squeaked and hid behind Kubo’s significantly larger build. The boy, damn him, leaned sideways to expose him. He had the nerve to smile . Izuku felt betrayed. So much for finally having friends. 

Madam Gou narrowed her eyes, and Izuku’s knees wobbled. “What’re you waiting for? Go put on your uniform and get to work!”

“Y-Yes, ma’am!” Izuku stammered, hands scrambling about as if the uniform would magically appear somewhere in the kitchen. Kubo laughed and grabbed him gently by the scruff, dragging him to the breakroom. 

Kubo gave him the basic run-down of their job while Izuku put the uniform on. After that, they returned to the kitchens to pick up orders and pack them up for delivery. “Man, if I had a heating Quirk, this job would be so much easier,” Kubo whined mildly. “Just imagine the tips I’d get if I delivered hot food every time!”

“Haha, yeah,” Izuku gave him an awkward smile. Nobody had directly asked him about his Quirk, but many hints and prodding remarks had been sprinkled into conversation. Izuku obstinately ignored all of them. His friends were some of the few who hadn’t revealed their Quirks yet. 

Or their Quirk status, he amended to himself, though he doubted that any of them were Quirkless. The odds would be astronomical. Still, Quirks didn’t feature in their relationship unless it was for passing remarks like this one. Izuku found that perfectly suitable.

He planned to cling to this new friendship for as long as he could. He hadn’t thought he would be so shamelessly selfish and greedy, but it was difficult to let it go now that he had gotten a taste of how things could be. “Wish me luck, Kubo-kun!” He said, hefting the bag of food carefully. 

Kubo smiled back, brows turning downward when he sensed Izuku’s sudden discomfort. “Good luck, Midoriya,” He wished, a silent apology wrapped in the softness of his tone. Izuku accepted it with a small nod.

⟚

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Yuuei had All Might and some of its teachers hold a press conference to assuage the public's fears regarding its students' safety. By now, Izuku had managed to ply more details of the USJ attack from Kacchan, and he had a better idea of the sequence of events. He had also inferred things that Kacchan would never think to consider. 

All Might had been forced past his limits to end the fight. 

Izuku looked at the hero on the screen and remembered the skeletal man who had been kind enough to talk him out of a pipe dream that could only have ended in Izuku’s failure and misery. It had felt cruel and heartbreaking when he had been on the roof, but by the time he had returned to the ground, he realised it had come from a place of kindness. Possibly the gentlest way the hero could show Izuku the harsh reality. 

The hero had put himself and his career in danger to save Kacchan twice now. Not even because it was personal but because it was his duty. Those actions only proved that All Might had good intentions when he told Izuku he couldn’t be a hero. 

He saw it now. Truly. What in the world would Izuku have done had he been at USJ that day? Absolutely nothing, other than perhaps calling for help. He was weak in more ways than one. He could be stronger, Izuku thought as he inspected his arms, but there was a limit. 

On the sofa, his mother fretted beside him, expressing worry over Kacchan’s safety. “That poor boy, I hope he’s alright. You met him, right, Izu-kun? Did he say anything? Ah, perhaps I should talk to Mitsuki-” His mother cut herself off. “Oh. I think I left the stove on.”

Izuku pursed his lips and watched her hurry to the kitchen. His mother and Auntie Mitsuki had been close friends. They would probably still get along well if they happened to meet each other now. But Izuku’s mother had kept them at a distance for the past few years. 

Izuku wasn’t sure when it happened, really, or why. 

He suspected it might have to do with the way his smile had begun to fade in Kacchan’s presence, despite the adults’ attempts to help them get along. His mother was good at picking up emotions. And he was bad at deceiving her, especially back then. 

“-new security measures that guarantee that such an event will never happen again,” Nedzu concluded on the screen. Izuku sighed and switched the TV off. 

They had breakfast at the table together, and Izuku sang praises of his mother’s cooking, making her blush and stammer. Once she calmed down, she said, “I’ll be at the hospital for a bit longer today, Izu-kun. I should be back in time for dinner, I think. But if I don’t call you by seven, you can order something for us.”

Izuku nodded. “My shift should end before that, too. Maybe we could head home together.” Namiyan was only a street away from where his mother worked. Another reason why his mother had consented to him working there. 

“You’re working on the weekend, Izu-kun?” His mother frowned. 

“It’s not bad, okaasan,” Izuku shrugged, offering her a smile. “It’s fun with Kubo around. And the others are nice, too.” Reassured, the tension in his mother’s shoulders eased. 

It took a few days for schoolwork to really get into stride, but by the end of the first week, Izuku had homework to do. So when his mother went to work, he switched to the TV channel airing a popular new crime show and pulled up his notebooks. 

The kind owner of his favoured stationery shop had gifted him a fancy mechanical pencil when she found out he had gotten into Keisei. It was the best pencil Izuku ever had and he thanked her for it every time he saw her. If his fate permitted, Izuku would use the pencil for the rest of his life. 

The maid on the screen suddenly stabbed a detective, and Izuku jumped at the loud cacophony that ensued. “Ah, damn,” Izuku pouted at the jagged line that now cut across the page. He leaned over the sofa and dug through his bag in search of an eraser. 

⟚

As the days passed, Izuku began to settle. 

Commute with Kacchan was tense more often than not, even now, but his old classmate seemed less inclined to start something. And Izuku was happy enough to mind his own business. For the most part, at least. 

Surely it was odd, he thought to himself, that their lives continued to wind so close to each other. 

Their childhood was understandable, of course, and while Izuku had held onto the hope of getting into Yuuei along with Kacchan, he hadn’t expected to end up in one of the most prestigious schools in Japan that just so happened to be a stone’s throw away from Yuuei. He had thought it would be… something else, perhaps. Failing to get into Yuuei was one thing. Getting into Keisei was another. To think that Izuku, despite not getting what he really wanted, ended up so close to Kacchan once again was, quite frankly, ridiculous. 

The gods must have it out for him. Still, if Izuku was to complain about the hand he’d been dealt, Kacchan would not be at the top of the list. He would be close to it, though. 

Ah, well. His mother had raised an optimist! An optimistic realist? An idealistic pessimist? Gosh, maybe Izuku shouldn’t have spent so much time reading those columns of the gossip magazines the salon kept. In his defence, though, Izuku had very limited ways to pass the time while he waited for his mother to finish getting her hair cut. They took only half the time to do his hair, and most of that was dedicated to getting a comb through his tangled mess.

A stale bun hit him in the face. “Midoriya! Order number thirty-five is ready for you!”

Izuku squawked and rubbed his face. “C-Coming!” Behind him, Kubo, who had just returned from a delivery, snickered. Izuku threw the bun at him, but the boy dodged it with ease. Hmph. 

By now, Izuku had gotten quite comfortable with his cosy new circle of friends— friends! How novel!—and in turn, they had gotten comfortable with him. In a sense, Izuku had gotten lucky; Quirks were a probably salient topic in Yuuei since it was a hero school, but it was hardly relevant in academia. His classmates had long forgotten about his secrecy. He never asked them about theirs, either. It didn’t matter.

The only thing they cared about was whether he was able to solve the third question of their maths homework or which clubs he was interested in. 

Clubs. Izuku’s new foe. 

Tsuda had shocked them all by being the first to join one. And, further subverting their expectations, it was the Arts club, of all things. The boy was so strict and studious, Izuku had expected him to join the maths club or something of the sort but now he felt bad about it. 

Because all it took was one glimpse of the boy’s sketchbook to see that the boy was fantastic at art. No wonder his diagrams were so neat, too! It wasn’t the power of nerdiness that deserved the credit for it, but Tsuda’s artistry!

Kubo was inordinately smug about Tsuda’s skills as if he was somehow responsible for it. Tsuda rolled his eyes and whacked him away every time Kubo attempted to steal his sketchbook to show off his latest work to them. 

Kubo had his eyes set on the sports clubs, and stayed back after school often to try out for them. Yesterday, it was the football club. Next week, it would be baseball. Kubo hadn’t found the right fit for him yet, he claimed. 

Miyashiro wasn’t really interested in any of them. His only criteria was whatever required the least amount of time and effort. It was a good strategy, in Izuku’s opinion. At the rate he was going, he might have to adopt it, too. 

“Delivery from Namiyan,” Izuku called, ringing the doorbell once. He shuffled his feet as he waited for someone to answer the door. It still felt awkward sometimes, but he was getting better. 

The door was opened by a tired father holding a child that couldn’t be older than three. “Thank you,” he bowed his head a little, pressing money into his hand in a manner that some might consider rude, but Izuku wouldn’t hold it against him. 

The child stared at Izuku with wide eyes and burst into a shriek that might possibly be of laughter but could also be of horror. Whatever it was, it was loud. The father grimaced and shut the door without another word. 

Izuku returned to Namiyan just in time to be handed another order. Rush hour had begun. By the time he was through, the sky was dark. He had received texts from his mother. 

I will be free early today, Izu-kun

Would you like to walk home together?

Wait for me by the reception. I’ll meet you

by the toy shop, dear

Izuku felt some of his exhaustion melt away at the prospect. With a happy hum, he thumbed a reply and set off for the hospital. “See you at school, Kubo-kun!” Izuku waved. 

“Bye, Midoriya!” Kubo waved back, halfway through changing out of his uniform. 

Izuku’s heart felt full whenever he saw his friends. It was strange, new, but very welcome. They were all so… nice . 

He got along best with Miyashiro, the only one who could match his enthusiasm and challenge his knowledge when it came to heroes. Unless he was with them, the boy would stutter and stumble over sentences so often that it made Izuku look put together in comparison. But once he got going, there was very little that would stop Miyashiro from rambling through the lunch break without pause. 

Kubo, while not as big a fanboy as them, managed to keep up with their chatter well. He seemed to feed off people’s energy, eyes lighting up whenever he saw them dive deep into a subject nobody would normally care about. Tsuda tried to play it cool, acting aloof as much as he could, but thanks to Kubo’s sneaky pointers, Izuku and Miyashiro quickly learnt to see past the facade. 

Also, Tsuda was secretly very, very petty. 

Once, the strict girl that sat near them glared at Izuku for mumbling and complained to the teacher when he hadn’t stopped quickly enough. He’d gotten reprimanded for disturbing the class. Izuku had shrunk into himself in shame. There had been a loud snap from the front, and Izuku glanced up to find Tsuda holding a broken pencil. 

He hadn’t thought much of it. Then, it was lunchtime, and while everyone else made for the cafeteria, Tsuda stood and turned to face Izuku. Izuku blinked. Kubo was smirking a little, but Miyashiro didn’t seem to know what to do, either, so Izuku took comfort in that. 

Tsuda cleared his throat and approached the girl’s desk. Several notebooks and stationery were scattered on the table. Nothing out of the ordinary. Izuku looked at the boy again with growing confusion. 

Then, without warning, Tsuda slapped its contents across the classroom. Miyashiro shrieked in fright, jumping a foot in the air. Izuku yelped and shielded himself on instinct. 

Several of the girl’s belongings smacked against the wall before clattering to the ground. 

“Oops,” Tsuda had said tonelessly. He dusted his hands off and fixed his blazer while Kubo cackled beside him. “Let us have lunch. We’ve delayed long enough.”

Izuku giggled at the memory. Tsuda, as it turned out, was very fun to hang out with. He understood now why Kubo enjoyed spending time with him so much. He-

Izuku froze. Someone was watching him. Goosebumps broke out on his skin, and he repressed a shudder. 

Slowly, he resumed walking, slipping his phone out of his pocket just in case. Now that he was looking for it, it took little time to make out the footsteps tailing him.

He swallowed with difficulty. He shouldn’t have taken this shortcut. It was a narrow, shady path, but it hadn’t given Izuku trouble before, and it was usually empty, too. Only today, it wasn’t. 

The footsteps were lumbering and unsteady. Should he run? Would they give chase? Would they use their Quirk on him? No, better to play it safe and act like he didn’t know he was being followed. The hospital was close enough. 

Even so, Izuku picked up pace, heart hammering in his chest, and practically threw himself inside the hospital the second he neared the gate. 

He spotted his mother descending the stairs and ran to her as fast as he dared to in a hospital. “K-Kaasan!” Izuku said hurriedly, grasping her hand. 

Her smile fell at the expression on his face. “Izu-kun? What’s wrong?” 

“I-I think I’m being followed,” he trembled. “Should- Should we call the police?”

“What?” His mother gasped, holding him by the shoulders in worry. “Did you see their face? Did they say anything to you?”

Izuku shook his head, truly trembling now. “N-No. I just noticed all of a sudden. I don’t know why- What do we do? What do we do, okaasan?”

His mother was calm. She pulled him aside and set him down on a chair, running steady fingers through his hair. “We will wait,” she said. “Their patience will wear thin sooner or later and then they will leave. We will be safe then.” Then, “Are you sure you didn’t see their face, Izuku? Anything that could help us recognise them?”

Izuku shook his head through tears of frustration. Kami, he couldn’t do anything right these days, could he? 

“That’s alright, Izu-kun,” His mother said, squeezing his elbow gently. “You just stay here and I will buy us dinner, okay? And if anything happens, you call for me. Anything at all, Izuku. At the first sign of trouble, yell and scream and make a scene and call for me, okay?”

“O-Okay,” Izuku promised, surveying the hospital frantically. 

They ate. They waited. Mother caught a colleague as they were leaving and asked them to check if the coast was clear. Admittedly, there wasn’t much for the colleague to really look out for, but they were as thorough as they could be. After confirming that it was safe to leave, Izuku gathered their things and stuck close to his mother’s side as they left the hospital. 

His pulse rang in his ears, muffling all other sounds, but Izuku compensated by staying vigilant and keeping track of everything he could. His mother had wrapped an arm around him and held keys in her free hand. Izuku held the steel fork he’d stolen from their dinner tray. He couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it, even though he probably should. 

This time, they forewent the shortcut and took the long route back home instead. But as they approached the other end of that narrow street, Izuku’s fear kicked up again. This was it. If they got past this lane safely, Izuku would let himself breathe. He bit his lip, held his mother close, and silently prayed to all the gods he knew of. 

“Let’s cross the road,” His mother suggested, her voice barely wavering. Izuku nodded in assent. 

He knew, subconsciously, that their concerns were unnecessary, for the most part. Neither of them had made enemies, certainly, none that would do something so dangerous. They were good, law-abiding citizens—except for when Izuku strayed a bit too far while following a hero fight. 

And a simple burglar wouldn’t waste so much time pursuing them when they could move onto other prey. The likelihood of running into the stalker was low. But not zero. 

And so, Izuku slipped out his phone and kept it ready. He wouldn’t take chances, especially not with his mother at risk. 

They walked past the lane, watching its shadows from across the road, and Izuku allowed himself to feel a measure of relief. The door to the bar on their right swung open, and a burly man staggered out. Mother hastily pulled him aside till they were partially hidden in the dark, quiet and unobtrusive so that the man could return home without altercation. 

But his eyes had already locked onto them. “There you are,” he slurred, pointing vaguely at Izuku. 

His blood froze. “Kaasan, run!” He pulled her, quickly dialling the emergency number that was ready on his phone. His mother yelped in alarm but kept up well. His phone started ringing, thank god. 

“None of that, brat,” The man snapped, and a jolt of electricity burned his palm. Izuku hissed in pain and dropped the phone. 

Never mind that, dammit, they had to keep running. It was late, and half the shops were closed, but there was a konbini that stayed open all night, so maybe they could- 

The world spun, and the next thing he knew, his head was being slammed against a rough brick wall. “Izu-kun!” His mother cried. His vision was blurry and spotted, but he thought he saw her flail at the thug with her keys. There was a grunt of pain, and running on pure instinct, Izuku shoved the dark mass in front of him with every ounce of strength he possessed. The sound that followed was sickening and relieving in equal measure. 

“Izuku, baby, are you okay?” His mother rushed to him, tilting his face to study his pupils in the dim streetlight. Her fingers carefully probed the back of his head. Izuku winced. He still couldn’t see properly. “Come, come, we have to go!”

“Why the rush, lady?” Came a new voice, and someone ripped Izuku’s mother away from him. “Let me have a chat with your boy, hm? I’ll even let you free.” A sticky hand grabbed Izuku’s face harshly, pulling him off his feet. “Interesting shoes you’ve got there. I sold a pair just like that a few days back. Had blood on it, but I still got a hefty sum for it.”

“Sh-Shoes?” Izuku warbled. His mind was- It was struggling. Just a few moments ago things had been fine; tense, but fine. How had it gone so wrong? What was going on? His mother was on the ground with skinned hands and knees and- shoes?

“That ugly fucking pair you’ve got there,” The man spat, shaking him roughly. “Give ‘em to me. You’ve bought one pair. You can afford another. Give it, or your mother gets it!” He kicked a broken bottle at her as a warning. 

“Izuku!”

“I- I’ll give it,” Izuku stammered hastily, scrabbling at the man’s arm to keep his attention away from his mother. The man on the ground was starting to regain consciousness, too. That was the last thing they needed. 

“I’ll give it, you can take it. Take it and let us go, please!” Izuku could beg. He could plead. Whatever it took to get them away from him, away from this stupid, horrible place that Izuku didn’t ever want to see again. He would do it. They couldn’t afford another pair of shoes so soon after the previous purchase, but Izuku slipped them off his feet in a second. “T-Take it! Please, just- take them!”

Before he could react, he was thrown into his mother’s side, making her stumble precariously. 

“Good,” The first man drawled as he staggered to his feet, picking up the worn red sneakers with a satisfied glint in his eyes. He spared a moment to glare at the newcomer, who sneered back at him. Fighting over the loot, maybe. Izuku was too terrified to think about it. 

The newcomer turned back to them. His expression sent a shiver down Izuku’s spine, and he pushed ahead to shield his mother from the man’s gaze. 

“Single mother, are you? Must be difficult. Since you’ve been so cooperative,” he smirked, “I’ll tell you a way to earn some extra cash.”

There were many things his mind had yet to process; however, Izuku latched onto that sentence viciously. His hackles rose, and he opened his mouth to- to scream and yell and create a scene just like mother had told him. If people hadn’t heard them by now, he’d ensure they would. But the first thug sent a bolt of electricity through his body, and Izuku gasped, knees buckling under him.

“Quirkless kids fetch a decent price these days,” The man said, looking at Izuku as if he was offended. “I know a few people, too.” 

Izuku didn’t like the way they were looking at him. He edged closer to his mother, who held an arm in front of him protectively. 

“No,” She said firmly, standing strong. Despite the circumstances, Izuku felt a spark of pride. He scrambled to get his limbs back under control, but his muscles trembled.

“Oh, come on, lady. You’re going to act like that thing’s not a worthless leech? Who are you fooling?” The man laughed, ambling towards them. They retreated several steps backwards, pushed further into the alley. 

“She said she ain’t interested in your deal,” The newcomer cut in irritably from behind. “You got the shoes, didn’t you? Shoulda known you’d steal that idea from me, too, you damn pla- plagi- you fucking copycat! It’s my turn now. Back off.”

“Kizu,” The thug snarled in warning. “That kid was mine from the start. Stay out of this.”

“That skinny bitch ain’t gonna get you half of what those shoes will!” The hunched figure snapped, gesticulating all over Izuku’s body.

A hand clasped Izuku’s elbow firmly. Pulled, just a little. Izuku chanced a look at his mother. It was enough to let him know what she wanted. He nodded subtly and slowly began to angle his body. Shifted his feet. The criminals kept bickering. Izuku’s heart pounded in his throat. 

His mother tapped a finger against the inside of his elbow once, twice. Thrice. Izuku broke off into a sprint, pulling his mother along. He could not let go of her. She may be slow, but he would be fast enough for both of them. 

“Izuku!”

There was an alarmed shout, and something big and heavy hit his back. Before he could even register the pain radiating from his spine, he hit the ground, and everything turned black.

He came to moments later, but the damage was already done. His mother was standing over the unconscious body of the thug, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“Ma?” Izuku rasped, attempting to push himself up. Pain made itself known, but he shoved it aside. The other criminal, Kizu, was nowhere to be seen. 

“Izuku,” His mother said, voice brittle. She knelt before him, unheeding of her own injuries, to inspect him. Once she was satisfied, she pressed her wobbling lips to his brow. “It’s okay, baby, he won’t hurt you now. Can you- Can you walk?” He nodded. “Okay, Izu-kun. Let’s- Let’s go home, okay? Away from that horrible man. Come on, dear.”

He followed her gentle instruction, not sparing a second glance at the man on the ground. Perhaps he should have. But he did not. Because his mother was tired and injured, and he doubted she would take the day off work tomorrow. They needed to go home so he could tend to her, and she to him. Little else mattered. 

He found his shoes in a plastic bag at their entrance the following morning, left next to the rest of their footwear and their bags from last night. 

He didn’t remember when his mother might have retrieved them. Probably when he’d been unconscious. His heart twisted with love and guilt.

Reheated onigiri and tea for breakfast. Understandable. Miraculous, really, considering the circumstances. “Thank you for the meal,” Izuku murmured along with his mother. They ate in silence until Izuku broke it. 

“Okaasan, what… happened last night?” Izuku asked. 

Truthfully, even hours after the event, he couldn’t comprehend it. He knew, objectively, what happened, but he didn’t- he didn’t understand. How? Why? Why them? Why would anyone do that? 

Izuku had seen his fair share of villains, after years of running after heroes. He had even been attacked by one. Strangely, it was a mugger that shook him to the core. 

Why? Because it was him? But he’d been dealt worse harm. The Sludge villain, most recently. And while that day had possibly been the worst of his life, it hadn’t disoriented him the way he was now. 

That day had been a whirlwind, a torrent that had pulled Izuku along and tossed out, damaged yet whole. But this… This was a mere stain. Close to a minor inconvenience, really, but Izuku couldn’t get rid of the icky feeling he’d gotten yesterday. When that man suggested his mother should- should sell Izuku. 

He shivered. Sipped on tea. It warmed him from the inside, the way everything his mother made would. 

Mother held his other hand. “It’s okay, Izu-kun. We’re safe now.” She was trembling.

Izuku hummed, afraid. Were they safe, really? What was preventing that man from following Izuku again? For attempting to sell his shoes, him , again? How was Izuku ever going to feel safe, knowing his mother would have to walk past that alley every day as she headed to work? 

He didn’t voice his concerns, however, because his mother seemed sure. 

“Don’t go to Namiyan, Izu-kun,” His mother requested. Ordered, really, but she loved him too much to do that. “Tell Madam Gou what happened if you must. I’m sure she will understand. I want you to be safe here, at home. Tell your friend Kubo, too. You kids mustn’t risk yourselves like this.”

“Okaasan,” he protested half-heartedly. He had taken up the job for a reason. But he didn’t want to run into that man, or any others like him, ever again. 

“Please,” His mother said. That settled the matter for them. 

Izuku gulped and nodded. He quietly took his mother’s phone and asked if he could change her settings so that she’d be sharing her location with him at all times. His mother agreed, happy with the idea, and asked him to do the same. 

“I like it,” she smiled, patting his leg proudly, “This way, we can still look out for each other.”

She took their spare set of house keys with her when she left for work. Izuku found the bloodstained set immersed in a cup. At night, he received a message from her, saying that she would be late tonight and to sleep without her since he had school tomorrow. Paranoid, Izuku checked her location several times before he finally let sleep claim him. 

He woke to an empty house. 

⟚

“Midoriya-kun? Are you okay?” 

Izuku startled badly and his eyes darted around in fear. “Wh-What?” He asked, barely able to hear himself with his blood rushing to his ears. 

Kubo’s brows furrowed, and he turned further in his chair to face him. “You’ve been out of it since morning. Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“I…” Izuku looked around and realised that, at some point, the bell had rung, and people had started to leave for lunch break. He couldn’t even remember what had been taught today. “I- I don’t-” He stuttered, scrambling for something to say. Kubo and Tsuda looked at him with growing concern, and Izuku spotted Miyashiro approaching from the corner of his eye. 

What should he say? Could he tell them? How much of it should he reveal? Wasn’t this too serious to disclose to people he had only just begun to call friends? And they were just helpless students like him; there was nothing they could do about it. He shouldn’t burden them with this, right?

“Midoriya?” Miyashiro asked, bending over him with worry. “What’s wrong?”

Unbidden tears welled in Izuku’s eyes. Oh, goodness. “I’m sorry,” He croaked, pressing his palms to his eyes to quell them. “I’m just a little- a little stressed. I-It’s nothing.”

“You’re crying,” Miyashiro fretted. Izuku heard some rustling, and suddenly, he felt cool fingers brushing his. “Midoriya, hey, what’s wrong?” He urged, gently pulling Izuku’s hands away to reveal his face. 

“It’s probably nothing,” Izuku insisted, looking away to regain his composure. He was failing at it. “I- My mother- She probably just went to work early again, but- And her phone-”

“Do you think she’s in danger?” Tsuda asked, back going straight at the mere notion.

“I- I hope not,” Izuku said as Miyashiro took his trembling hands in his grasp. “But someone tried to mug us, and- we got away, but- I just don’t know.”

“Is that why you didn’t come to work yesterday?” Kubo gasped, his brows rising as he connected the dots. Izuku nodded in confirmation. “Holy shit, Midoriya. You sure you’re okay? Did you tell the police?”

“I think my mother did,” Izuku said. “I passed out as soon as we were home, and I woke up pretty late. She had taken care of everything by that time. She told me not to worry about it.”

“Then don’t,” Tsuda said firmly. “You said Auntie works odd hours, right? I’m sure she’ll call you as soon as she can. If she told you she took care of things, then it probably means that the criminals have been arrested. So she’s probably fine.”

“Mn,” Izuku squirmed uneasily, clenching his fingers around Miyashiro’s hands. 

The boy caught the action quickly and looked at him, “Unless you have another reason to worry…” He murmured, squeezing his hands back. Izuku swallowed.

“I- We decided to share our locations with each other after that night. And I checked this morning, and- she’s was leaving the hospital.”

“Where is she now?” Miyashiro asked immediately, freeing Izuku’s hands so he could retrieve his phone. The other two boys leaned forward anxiously, peering over to see as well. Izuku unlocked his phone and paused with his finger hovering over the screen. 

He inhaled shakily and closed his eyes for a quiet prayer to all the gods and protective spirits he could think of. Please, please, let his mother be in the hospital, safe and sound. He opened his eyes and tapped on the screen before he could hesitate. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach at the absence of the familiar name of her workplace. 

“Musutafu police station,” Izuku read aloud, troubled. 

“Maybe she’s reporting it to the police now?” Kubo suggested. That made sense, Izuku supposed. “Auntie probably didn’t want to have to bring you along as a witness. Moms are protective like that.”

“Yeah, Midoriya-kun. Don’t worry now, okay? Nothing can hurt her in a police station,” Miyashiro said with a reassuring smile. Izuku nodded. For the first time today, he felt like he could breathe with ease. 

“Well, now that that’s sorted,” Tsuda said, rising from his chair, “We should eat before we miss lunchtime. Come on, Midoriya, let’s go,” He coaxed, patting Izuku’s back. Izuku hummed in assent and stood.

“Thank you,” He said, bowing his head a little. “I’m sorry for overreacting like that.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Kubo waved it off. “I’d freak out, too, if I were in your place. A mugging attempt must be really scary. But don’t worry about it now, Midoriya. You’re both safe, and Auntie has reported it to the police, so they’ll catch the criminals soon.”

“Y-Yeah,” Izuku hummed, letting the three of them shepherd him out to the cafeteria. Being surrounded by their steady presence was enough to release the lingering tension in his shoulders. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem, Midoriya,” Miyashiro insisted, patting him consolingly. 

“Do you have money for lunch?” Tsuda inquired. “If not, I can pay for it.”

He had been fraught with worry this morning and had forgotten to bring money with him, so Izuku sheepishly accepted Tsuda’s kind offer with a promise to repay him later. Reassured by his friends and assuaged by seeing his mother’s location on the phone, Izuku was able to focus better during the rest of their classes. 

At the end of the day, Miyashiro split off from them to try out for the English club. “All the best!” They wished as he waved them off. Izuku hoped Miyashiro would like it. The boy didn’t want to devote too much of his time to clubs, so a language club seemed fitting. That was what Miyashiro told them, at least. He was already lacking in viable options, so it would be ideal if this worked out for him. 

“Which clubs are you considering, Midoriya?” Tsuda asked as they changed their shoes. 

“I’m still not sure,” Izuku admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I’d recommend athletic clubs,” Kubo piped eagerly. “I’ve tried out for four so far, and they’ve all been very fun! And this way, you’ll finally put some weight on those skinny bones.”

“Hey,” Izuku whined, hugging himself. Kubo snickered good-naturedly. 

“It’s a pity Keisei doesn’t have a hero fan club,” Tsuda muttered, hefting his bag. “I’m sure you would have joined it in an instant.” His expression remained impassive, but Izuku knew from Kubo’s reaction that he was teasing him. Izuku pouted and swatted the boy’s arm. Tsuda didn’t even flinch. 

⟚

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Izuku could barely walk to the train station, unwilling to take his eyes off his phone for even a second, busy fretting over the fact that his mother’s location still hadn’t changed. Maybe the app was malfunctioning? Location sharing needed mobile data, right? Perhaps his mother’s had run out? Izuku chewed his lip anxiously and tried to call her for what must be the sixth time today.

Hearing it ring brought some measure of relief. However, it was quickly ripped from him when his mother didn’t pick up. Izuku allowed himself a quiet, “ Fuck ,” and switched back to check her location again. 

“Did you just curse, Deku?” Came a familiar voice, making him jump in fright. 

Izuku looked around wildly and his gaze landed on a boy wearing Yuuei’s trademark uniform. Confused red eyes looked at him. “K-Kacchan!”

The disgust was instant. “Tch. What the fuck are you doing? Stalking someone?”

“ Stalk- No! Kacchan- ! No, it’s my mother, she-” Izuku shut himself up so quickly his teeth clacked together. He grimaced, and Kacchan’s dubious glare intensified. “It’s nothing.”

Kacchan scoffed, “Don’t act like I give a damn, you shitty nerd. I don’t care about whatever new low you’ve sunk to. Keep your filth away from me, you hear? And keep Auntie out of it, too.”

Izuku couldn’t say anything. A family walked past them, two young parents with a baby sitting in the pram, cooing over something. The baby threw a colorful toy with all the strength its little arm possessed. The toy rolled down the footpath and clattered to a stop in the space between him and Kacchan. The baby leaned out of the pram as much as it could, reaching for the toy with single-minded focus. 

Izuku narrowly missed colliding with Kacchan as they simultaneously bent down to retrieve the toy. Kacchan ignored him and stomped over to the couple with the toy dangling dangerously from his index finger. “Don’t even think about giving it to the brat again,” Kacchan snarled, dropping it in the father’s palm. “It’s fucking nasty now. And teach your brat some damn manners. Throwing their shit around like that, tsk.”

The couple looked torn between thanking Kacchan for his help and scolding him for using such foul language near their child. In the end, they could only watch with scandalised expressions frozen on their faces while Kacchan stomped past them with an unimpressed glare. 

Izuku scurried on before the adults could get the idea to scold him instead.

They reached the train station without another incident. In that time, Izuku called his mother two more times. She didn’t pick up. Worry gnawed at his insides once more. But Izuku persisted. There was little else he could do. 

The train arrived and Izuku quickly put his phone in his pocket. It took a while for him to weave through to crowd that poured out of the train, but he eventually found himself tucked up against a window with an office worker on his left and Kacchan in front. As soon as the train began to move, he had his phone out again. 

“Will you fucking stop that!” Kacchan hissed, yanking him by the collar. “Why are you so obsessed all the time, you damn-”

The phone stopped ringing. All air rushed out of Izuku’s lungs when he saw the timer start. “O-Okaasan?” Kacchan didn’t like being ignored; he snarled in rage and pulled him closer, clamping his other hand over Izuku’s head like he wanted to blow it up. 

“Is this Midoriya Izuku, son of Midoriya Inko?”

Izuku nearly dropped the phone. His pulse quickened as his mind rushed to find an explanation. “Y-Yes. Who are you? Where is my mother?” He demanded, painfully aware that his voice was trembling just as much as his body. Peripherally, he felt Kacchan’s grip slacken. 

“This is Detective Moriya from the Musutafu Police Department. Your mother has been detained for questioning under suspicion of physical assault and homicide of a civilian on Saturday night.”

“H-Homicide?” Izuku repeated in disbelief. Several people within earshot glanced at him nervously. Izuku’s shoulders hitched and he turned towards the window for some semblance of privacy. “I- Sir, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. My mo-”

“Please report to the police station to offer your statement, young man. Do you have any guardian who might accompany you?”

“No, I- No. It’s just me and okaasan.” Izuku stammered, clutching his phone desperately. His vision blurred with tears. “Detective, I don’t understand, please. What- What’s going on? Is my mother okay? She didn’t- I haven’t seen her since yesterday. Is she fine?”

“Your mother is unharmed, don’t worry,” The officer replied, sighing a little. “You have the right to bring an adult to accompany you to the police station. However, I would encourage you to provide your statement at the earliest. Refusal to comply will only increase suspicion and, possibly, the charges we press against your mother. I urge you to choose wisely. Good luck, kid.”

“No! Wait! Wait, please, sir! Can I talk to her? It’ll be just a second, please, I need to- I need to talk to my mother,” Izuku begged, grasping the nearest solid surface he could find. He felt so very lost. And at the end of the day, he was still needed his mother. “Please.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t permitted, Midoriya-san. Not until the 48-hour period is complete. But I assure you that your mother is unharmed.” Detective Moriya asserted. “My shift ends at 6 pm. If you arrive at the police station after I leave, please state your name and your mother’s name. My partner will find you. And it is recommended that you prepare any evidence that might support your claims beforehand, to make the process smoother. All the best, young man.”

The call ended and Izuku was left staring at his pale reflection in the window as the city passed him by. 

His mother. His mother was arrested. On suspicion of murder. All Might turning to villany would have made more sense. 

“Oi, Deku,” Kacchan snapped. Izuku blinked and found himself holding onto the boy’s arm in a vice grip. Kacchan’s glare alone could turn him to ashes. Izuku gasped and pulled his hand back like it burned him and stuttered out a hasty apology. Kacchan didn’t acknowledge it, but he didn’t push the matter further either. 

The rest of the journey was a blur. Somehow, Izuku made it home. 

He came back to his senses slowly. His tie was askew, his bag dumped by his feet. His shoes—those stupid, cursed shoes—left by the entrance clumsily. Izuku stared at them, uncomprehending. To think that all this started because of those shoes. His mother was now locked up in a police station because of those shoes. Suspected of homicide .

Izuku blinked like he was working through molasses. His mother… 

Izuku checked the time and jumped to his feet with a speed he didn’t know he could reach. He was out the door before the hands of the clock moved again. 

⟚

It was sheer chance that Izuku had his bus pass with him. He barely made it to the police station in time. Izuku hugged his bag to his chest and walked to the entrance hesitantly. The guard glanced at him briefly but didn’t acknowledge his presence otherwise. Izuku dug his chin into his bag and trudged inside. 

“Um,” He turned to the nearest person in uniform, “Detective Moriya called me? I’m M-Midoriya Izuku.”

“Ah, right,” The officer said in recognition. “Moriya-san! The kid’s here!” He yelled. There was an answering call that Izuku couldn’t quite make out. Within minutes, someone approached them. Unlike the officer, this man wore a simple white shirt and trousers like a regular office worker. His most distinguishable feature were the large grey ears that were probably an elephant mutation.

“Midoriya-san,” The detective greeted, “I’m glad to see you arrived safely. I’m Detective Moriya; you might recall our conversation on the phone. Would you like something to drink before we begin?” He asked politely, guiding Izuku inside. 

“Um,” Izuku peered at him warily, “can I see my mother?”

He hadn’t expected much, but his heart still sank when the detective shook his head. “You cannot, Midoriya-san. It is against the law. Honestly, I wish there was something I could do, but it’s for the sake of the investigation.”

But she’s my mother! He wished to cry. He refrained from doing so. It would be shameful and fruitless; it could even land him in bigger trouble for opposing the law. So Izuku bit his tongue and hugged his bag tighter, letting the man usher him into an interrogation room. 

Once seated, Detective Moriya asked him to give his account of that night. Izuku was clueless how to start, which led the man to start by giving him the facts the police had gathered so far, and go from there. The date and time were confirmed by the texts and call log on Izuku’s phone. Identifying the man who had attacked him. Detective Moriya had called him the ‘victim’, to which Izuku had vehemently opposed. He went on to explain how the man had followed Izuku into the dark alley, and later cornered him and his mother and attacked them. Izuku told him about the shoes, and the detective’s ear twitched. 

“I see,” he murmured, glancing at the red sneakers pensively before he wrote something down on his notepad. “Do you have any documentation proving your disability?”

“My what?” Izuku frowned. Disability? But he was perfectly f- oh. His breath stuttered. 

Disability? Him? Nobody had- He had never thought it a word that could be used to describe him. Was it true? He supposed it must be, if a police officer said it. Perhaps that was what he was, according to the law. 

“Midoriya-san?” The detective peered at him with mild concern. “Do you have any documents proving your Quirkless status? It’s alright if you don’t; we can get tests done. But it would certainly make things easier if you do.”

“Yes, I- I went to a doctor when I was four,” Izuku stammered, pulling himself out of his thoughts. Despite his efforts, the word kept echoing in his mind like a persistent earworm. “The certificate is probably at home.”

The detective nodded and made a note of it. “Please bring it to our next meeting. We will have its authenticity verified. If it passes scrutiny, you can submit a copy to court during trial. Your mother’s sentence would certainly be reduced if her actions were done in the defence of her disabled child.”

Izuku swallowed with difficulty. The phrasing of that sentence... He didn’t like it; but the detective’s words and intentions seemed good, so he kept quiet and nodded. The detective resumed the interrogation. Izuku got thirsty at one point, so the officer called for a break and offered him something to drink. Izuku asked for some water, unsure if he’d like anything else here. 

The detective offered to answer his questions during the break, but Izuku politely declined and asked if he could step out for a minute. The interrogation room was small, and lacking windows. It made him feel like a trapped animal being poked and prodded. 

Detective Moriya allowed him, opening the door for Izuku with a sympathetic look in his eyes. His droopy ears made him seem sad. Izuku bowed in thanks and took a brief stroll outside the police station until he felt settled enough to return.

“Shall we continue?” Moriya-san asked. “This won’t take long, but it won’t be easy, either.”

Izuku bit the inside of his cheek and nodded in assent. The man puffed a breath and switched on the recording device again. “Now, Midoriya-san, were you aware that your mother killed Yamanishi Tadiyuki that night?”

“No. My mother didn’t kill him!” Izuku insisted, surging forward in his desperation in convince him. “She wouldn’t! She’s a nurse! And- Okaasan would never ! And if- if that man died, it must have been an accident!”

“Midoriya-san, you were hit on the head multiple times that night, correct?”

Izuku faltered. “W-Well, yes, but-”

“And your vision blurred for a while, you said. You may even have lost consciousness briefly?”

“M-Maybe,” Izuku admitted, and it hurt to say it. “But- But when I- That man was just unconscious! There was no blood or anything like that, I swear! She didn’t kill him! I would’ve- I would’ve known !”

Detective Moriya pursed his lips and nodded, before muttering a few words close to the recorder mic and ending the interrogation. Hearing the click of the device snuffed the tension in Izuku’s body, leaving him drained. For some reason, he felt like crying. It must have showed because Detective Moriya sighed and patted the back of his hand sympathetically. 

“Midoriya-san, nobody wants to believe that their loved ones can commit a crime. But for the sake of honesty, you should know that the autopsy report revealed several deep cuts made by, presumably, your house keys. Additionally, it has been determined that the victim’s aorta and brain stem were severely damaged. Your mother has a minor telekinesis Quirk, does she not?”

Blood rushed to his ears, muting all other sound. “Yes- No- I, no, she-” His voice was muffled. The room began to spin.

When he returned to himself, the sky was dark with only a few hints of the dying sunset lingering. Detective Moriya was nowhere to be found, but there was a sticky note stuck on Izuku’s bag with words of reassurance and a request to meet again later. At the very bottom was a phone number. With trembling hands, Izuku took a picture of the note and kept it in his bag. He then rose to his feet and walked back home. 

The flat was, of course, empty. The glass on the table still had keys in it, the water inside now tinged with blood. 

Izuku sank to the floor before his legs could give away. 

⟚

He didn’t go to school. He had another meeting scheduled with Moriya in the evening, and he needed time to think.

He had no idea how long a trial in court might take, but the internet told him to consider one month as the ideal. His mother could be arrested for three weeks, and even sent to jail after that.

Izuku gnawed the skin on his lip anxiously. While he certainly wasn’t ready to consider that she might have actually murdered the man… he couldn’t ignore the possibility. If the roles have been reversed that night, he might have done the same. 

If- If she was guilty, the self-defence plea still stood. So her sentence might get reduced, but she would probably be sent to jail, still. Even if it was only for a month or two. Izuku opened a new tab on the computer and looked up murder sentences. Most search results were high-profile cases. Villains, serial killers, that sort. Nothing he could use as a good reference. 

Then, he stumbled upon a forum. His heart nearly stopped beating. 

Five years. Five years in jail, at minimum. It couldn’t be true. Leaning closer, Izuku scrolled down. Further and further. It only got worse. He hadn’t even known that a confession could be forced. And his mother- She was strong, certainly, but how would she fare against this? 

No, this was only the worst-case scenario. People exaggerated a lot on the internet. There was no way someone like Detective Moriya would push his mother into a corner until she had no other option. The man seemed so sympathetic towards him. 

He went down the rabbit hole, and resurfaced with such meager hope that one wouldn’t be able to trade it for a pencil. Between the autopsy report, his mother’s Quirk, and all the other evidence that the police were still collecting, a sentence was practically unavoidable. It was all his fault. His cursed Quirklessness and those stupid, stupid shoes. 

Izuku buried his face in his hands. His sobs were too loud in the empty house. After what felt like hours, he pulled himself together. He had to think. There must be something he could do. 

Izuku was no lawyer; he couldn’t exonerate his mother in court. He would be asked to testify, perhaps, but his influence would be small. Nearly insignificant for three reasons. He was a minor, dependent on the person who was being convicted. He was Quirkless. And, unfortunately, it was true that he had lost consciousness in that critical moment where his mother could have killed the criminal. 

He could only pray that they had a good lawyer who would help reduce his mother’s sentence. Speaking of which, lawyers were quite expensive, weren’t they? Izuku knew that they weren’t exactly well off, so it would make a dent in their funds. And with his mother unable to go to work… Izuku nodded decisively. He would pick up regular shifts at Namiyan. 

And that scholarship. Izuku had to get it as soon as possible. The fees for the semester had been paid, so he had a few months to earn himself a scholarship for the second semester. And all the semesters after that, ideally. Izuku glanced at his yellow bag with regret. He shouldn’t have skipped school. 

Later, when Izuku was busy peering over a pot of noodles and waiting for the water to finish boiling, he got a call from the police station. They wanted to collect more evidence and requested his permission to do so. Izuku agreed. Two men arrived an hour later and took the blood-stained set of house keys, and Izuku’s shoes. 

Well, they tried to. 

“I only have one pair,” Izuku said in meek protest. 

“Only one?” One of them asked, sharing an incredulous look with his partner. Izuku nodded, refusing to feel shame. The man sighed. “We’ll collect samples here, then.” They did something similar with the clothes Izuku had worn that day, too. His mother hadn’t gotten to washing them. Izuku realised he would have to take care of that, too. 

How does one use a washing machine, anyway? Izuku’s only contribution had been dropping the clothes inside and pressing the start button. He knew, vaguely, that there were different modes, detergents, water levels and such. But he didn’t know more than that. He wondered how he would even begin to learn. Maybe he could ask the neighbours?

The men left with polite bows and Izuku walked to the kitchen to check the shelves. He had to maintain a decent stock of food. For now, he figured he could get by on instant food and packaged stuff, but it wouldn’t last long. It certainly wouldn’t be sustainable. He had to learn the basics of cooking. Eggs and rice, at the very least. 

And once his mother returned, he would have to ensure that they had plenty of vegetables and stuff so they could pick up where they left off. Izuku had made several grocery trips by now, so he knew the basics of shopping for food. 

He found pears in the fridge, so he washed two, cut them up, and kept them in a box. He washed the dishes and put them in a basket to dry. It set him into a rhythm, and he found himself tidying the entire house. It was a good way to spend the time, he supposed. It was soothing, almost. 

When he went to the police station that evening, he presented the box of pears to Detective Moriya and asked him to pass them on to his mother. 

⟚

Izuku was always taken to the same room he’d been to on the first day. Grey walls, no windows. A single stainless steel table that tilted ever so slightly when Izuku rested his arm on it. The table was always cold when he entered, and slowly grew warmer from his body heat until Izuku became uncomfortable from the mix of sweat and condensed moisture and withdrew his arms. But the chair had no armrests so, eventually, the cycle would continue.

The room didn’t have a one-way mirror like in the movies. When Izuku asked, Detective Moriya said that it was only the case for children interrogation rooms. It was supposed to create a better environment for minors so it didn’t aggravate the distress of having to recall a traumatic incident. Izuku surveyed the room dubiously. If it was comfort they were going for, the police should probably reevaluate their decisions. 

“It states here that your father is Midoriya Hisashi.” Detective Moriya said, peering over some papers. Izuku held his paper cup of juice in both hands and nodded. Ducking his head, he took a sip. 

The detective flipped a page. “Under normal circumstances, we would transfer guardianship to him, but nobody has been able to contact him. Which brings us to your legal guardian, who is… Orio Yaeko?” The detective looked at him with a hint of skepticism. “We haven’t been able to contact her either, Midoriya-san.”

The implication was clear. By all means, it seemed very suspicious. 

Izuku wasn’t nervous, though. After all, they hadn’t done anything wrong. Once he proved that, the police would take his side and resolve the matter. He just had to bear this until then.

“Orio-san was our neighbour. She moved out around… three years ago? She was very kind to us. I- I thought of her as my grandmother, really. Okaasan treated her like one, too. If you can’t get in touch with her, I- I guess that probably means she’s- she- you know…” Izuku trailed off in a small voice. 

He clenched his fists on his knees. He didn’t know for sure, of course. But she had been fairly regular in calling them to catch up. Izuku couldn’t remember when it stopped, but one day he just… knew. 

“I see,” Moriya murmured, a pinch between his brows. “And your father?”

Izuku shrugged. “I haven’t seen him. Okaasan said he took up a job abroad when I was three years old.”

The detective sighed, dropping the file on the desk between them. “Okay. Clearly, this isn’t up to date. Kid, is there anyone you can stay with right now? Family, friends?”

Izuku’s shoulders hitched up to his ears. “Can’t I just live at home?”

“You are a minor, Midoriya-san. You cannot.” Moriya-san picked up a pen and began writing something in his notepad again. “I’ll look into it. The Children and Families Agency has a few alternatives for such situations. We’re probably looking at foster care here, maybe sending you to an orphanage. It would have better prospects than a children’s shelter.”

Izuku wanted to protest, but he couldn’t. Digging his heels in now would only make him appear childish. “Will I be able to live with okaasan when she’s back?”

“It depends,” Moriya-san deflected, looking at him like he was being pitiful. “But if the court deems it safe, then yes.”

“Okay,” Izuku hummed, flattening the empty paper cup in his hands. “I understand that you can’t let me live by myself, but, um. I want to keep, uh, dropping by? Keep the house clean and stuff. Kaasan would like that. And- It’s my home . Please.”

The detective studied him for a while. Izuku had gotten comfortable enough in his presence to bear his gaze. He looked back steadily, watching the twitch of the detective’s ear. “Alright,” Moriya-san conceded. “I’ll see what I can do. And I would prefer it if you made your visits under supervision of an adult. I’m sure we’d both hate a reappearance of the second mugger.”

Izuku nodded hastily, and the matter was settled. 

⟚

Sometime in the past few weeks, Kacchan had started carrying a gripper. 

He would pull it out of his pocket and keep exercising his wrists until they reached their stop. After the fifth day of observing the addition to his routine, Izuku realised its cause. The Sports Festival was coming up. Izuku glanced at the other boy out of the corner of his eye and looked away just as quickly. Maybe some other time, he would have attempted to strike up a conversation about it. Right now, however, he didn’t possess the strength to do so. 

Izuku kept his head down as they walked together to their respective schools. Just as he had been since that day.

School went on as usual. Izuku hadn’t told his friends about his mother’s arrest. It was hardly a good impression, regardless of the circumstances that led to it. 

He had been lucky enough to slip under the radar when it came to hiding his Quirklessness. He had started to enjoy this quiet school life with a blissful lack of bullies. Having this whole mess exposed to his classmates was the last thing he needed. Besides, he didn’t want to burden his friends. They were already too nice to him. They had caught on to his moods recently and seemed to have concluded that things weren’t going well for him. They did their best to cheer him up, despite Izuku trying to tell them they didn’t need to. 

Kubo started to bring extra food for lunch, which he would drop into Izuku’s plate with a cavalier comment or two. Miyashiro and Tsuda picked up on that, too, kicking off a new tradition that Izuku wished to contribute to one day. 

“Hey, Midoriya, will you be coming for the field trip?” Kubo asked as they made their way back to class. 

“Field trip?” He frowned. He hadn’t heard of any field trip today. Had he missed an announcement?

“Yes,” Tsuda said, “Keisei always holds a field trip a month after school starts. They’ll probably announce the destination by next Friday.”

“Last year, it was the Kiyomizu-dera temple,” Miyashiro added eagerly. “And before that, I think it was the National Science Museum. I heard that they took students to Universal Studios a few years back, too!”

“Really?” Izuku smiled. He had never been on a proper field trip before. Aldera only took them to the same rickety old amusement park that should have been shut down decades ago. Oh, but the consent form had to be signed by a parent first.

“Midoriya? What is it?” Miyashiro peered at him with concern. 

“I- uh,” Izuku shook himself mentally, “I don’t think I’ll be able to come. Sorry.”

“Oh,” Miyashiro looked crestfallen. Izuku wanted to slap himself for putting that expression on his face. He apologised again, but Tsuda gently cut him off with a few pats to the shoulder. 

“It’s no big deal, Midoriya,” He reassured with mild exasperation. “It’s not the be-all and end-all of our life. Now, how about some ice cream?”

“Sounds good!” Kubo chimed, and they set off. Izuku paid only half attention to their discussion, discreetly counting the cash in his pocket. He bit his lip and decided to buy vanilla. 

⟚

His mother was sent to jail. Izuku received the message from Detective Moriya in the middle of his shift at Namiyan. One month , the internet had told him. Izuku marked the calendar. 

can I talk to her?

The reply came minutes later: 

No. 

she is my mother

It is not safe, Moriya wrote. 

Izuku couldn't say anything to that, all words dying out before he could make his fingers move. Not safe, he read to himself, and wondered what it meant.

⟚

The Sports Festival passed, and Izuku didn't even realize he had missed it until the passengers on their train began to congratulate Kacchan.

“Um, congrats, Kacchan,” He fumbled once they got off the train.

Surprisingly, the boy only scoffed. Izuku glanced up to find him glaring at him sideways. “You didn't even watch it, did you, Deku?” He asked derisively.

“Uh, I- I didn't,” he admitted, averting his eyes. “Sorry.”

There was a long, dreadful silence as they kept walking towards their schools. The tension built with each step and Izuku began to fear that Kacchan would drag him into an alley any second. 

Just as sweat broke out on his forehead, Kacchan broke the silence with an irritated, dismissive, “Tch,” and said nothing else. Izuku hitched his shoulders and tightened his grip on his bag. He held his breath in anticipation of a blow but nothing came.

“S-So,” Izuku fumbled, attempting to soothe Kacchan’s irritation. It was tricky; Kacchan hated Izuku’s attention about as much as he hated being ignored by him. “How was it?”

Kacchan gave him a churlish look and split off to the path to Yuuei. “Okay,” Izuku nodded, his voice coming out higher than intended. He coughed and ducked his head, scurrying down the path to Keisei. 

They had a class test in chemistry, and Izuku thought he did fairly well; only one question was wrong, by his approximation. There may be a few more unexpected mistakes, but nothing that would threaten his grade, he didn’t think. There was a lot of math homework to finish; a hefty addition to the steadily growing pile.

 Izuku realised he couldn’t let his work lie unfinished any longer. He couldn’t change his mother’s fate, so he’d better try to secure his, at least. For her sake if not his own. She had worked hard to get him here, to be able to afford all this. This was one of the best high schools in Japan. He shouldn’t take it for granted. 

“Midoriya-kun, what did you bring for lunch?” Miyashiro inquired, sliding onto Tsuda’s desk. 

“Onigiri,” Izuku replied, working on the sheet of physics problems that was due tomorrow. He complied a list in his head, ordering them by urgency. He also had to finish the English homework by tomorrow. Then biology, Japanese, and geography. There was also history homework that needed to be submitted for correction by the end of the week. Izuku bit the inside of his cheek. Thank goodness he had started working on it today. He had lost a lot of time as it was. 

“Eat,” Tsuda huffed impatiently, using his fork to push an onigiri to Izuku’s mouth. Izuku felt himself turn bright red. To be handfed like a toddler in the middle of their classroom, by Tsuda , of all people, was not how he wanted their lunch break to go. 

But it was this or giving up precious minutes that were better utilized for writing. So, accepting his fate, Izuku leaned forward and took a bite. “Thank you,” He said, voice muffled, barely able to get the words out due to embarrassment. He couldn’t bring himself to look Tsuda in the eye. 

“You’re welcome,” Tsuda said. He alternated between eating and feeding Izuku. Miyashiro and Kubo teased him, but it petered off at some point without Izuku noticing. He only registered the change when he looked up from the worksheet after completing it. By then, Miyashiro and Kubo had begun talking about school clubs again. Tsuda caught his gaze and raised a brow. 

“Which club do you plan on choosing?”

“I’m not sure,” Izuku answered, putting his physics books back in his bag and retrieving the English homework in its stead. “Any suggestions?”

“Literature club?” Mirashiro offered. “It’s mostly analysis and spotting literary devices and things like that. They meet twice a week. I’m thinking of joining! We could go together.”

“Take something athletic,” Kubo said for what must be the hundredth time, sitting backwards on his chair, lunch long finished. “It’ll round up your profile since you don’t have much of a record with sports from middle school. And if you end up doing well, you’ll probably get another Virtue pin. Keisei encourages students to be good at everything.”

That caught his attention. “Is that so? Maybe I should look at something artistic too, then?”

“The Art club is still taking people,” Tsuda proposed. The glint in his eyes made his eagerness evident. Izuku’s chest warmed at the sight, and he nodded. “Alright,” he said, “Art club and something athletic, then. Hm. Kubo-kun? Which one do you think I should take?”

“Running?” Kubo said with a helpless shrug. “Really, it depends on what you like, Midoriya. Tryouts end this week for most clubs, so you should probably be as proactive as possible.” He said this with caution, as if vaguely aware that Izuku’s circumstances might not permit it. Izuku was grateful for it; for all of it. They were too kind, really. 

“Thank you,” he said with a thin but earnest smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Miyashiro wilt in dismay, probably feeling left out. Izuku tapped his hand in silent apology. The boy met his gaze, and his smile returned, dark eyes sparkling once more.

And so, after school, he called Madam Gou that he would be taking the night shift instead of his usual one, and upon getting her approval, he made his way to the gym.

The marathon club made it clear that their activities demanded a lot of time, which Izuku didn’t think he could spare. He backed out as gracefully as he was able, vaguely explaining his unstable schedule. As it so happened, he had to use various versions of this speech three more times, and the list of available sports clubs grew shorter. 

The football club seemed more accommodating. The upperclassmen were friendly and casual, open to taking him in despite his inexperience. After facing heavy judgement from three clubs before them, Izuku nearly cried with relief. He managed to retain a little dignity, fortunately, and got himself registered for their second-last tryout session on Tuesday afternoon. 

The Art club was on the other side of the building, but once Izuku reached their room, he was met with open arms. Their head was a particularly chatty senior who ended up talking to him about this and that for an hour. Throughout it, Izuku kept hopping across the line between nervous and relaxed, with his fists pressed to his knees and a slight unsteadiness in his voice. Once that concluded, he dragged himself to his final destination: the teacher’s staff room. 

It was mostly empty, which he should have expected, honestly. It had been a long time since school hours ended. Still, he’d rather finish these tasks in one go so he could pay attention to others, so Izuku prayed to the gods and looked around. 

Goto-sensei was here; he’d really gotten lucky today. 

“Um, Goto-sensei,” He called, shuffling into the staff room, letting the door swing shut behind him, “c-could I talk to you for two minutes? If you’re not busy?”

The man looked up from his laptop and leaned back in his chair, stretching a little. “Sure, kid, take a seat.” Izuku looked around and awkwardly rolled over a chair from the desk nearby. He settled into it, conscious of the fact that the chair belonged to a teacher. “So, what is it? Tell me,” His homeroom teacher prompted, and something in his tone helped Izuku compose himself. 

“I wanted to talk about scholarships,” he said. “I know I only have one Virtue pin, but I want to earn more. I’ve been cleaning Dagobah Beach, and I- I would really like to secure a scholarship by next semester, sensei. Please guide me on how to do so. I am under your care,” He said, bowing his head deeply. 

Goto-sensei gave an acknowledging hum. “It’s good that you’ve started thinking about it early. That gives us time. Cleaning up Dagobah, you said? How has that fared so far?”

“It’s… a bit slow,” Izuku mumbled, playing with his fingers sheepishly. “I’ve only managed to clear about two room’s worth of space.”

“That’s not bad! Not bad at all,” He exclaimed, surprising Izuku. “Yes, there’s plenty more area to cover, but in a way, this is good. A teacher needs to supervise your work for you to get a Virtue pin out of it. I’ll check your progress every week for a start, hm? Is there any time you prefer?” 

Izuku shook his head, unwilling to impose on his teacher’s time. 

“Alright, how about Friday evenings?” Goto-sensei said, reaching for his drawer. 

Izuku watched as he pulled out a pad of sticky notes and wrote something on it with a red pen. “You can contact me on this number,” said Goto-sensei, his grey hair tied up in a bun that resembled a bird’s nest. Izuku tilted his head and squinted, trying to remember why it looked so familiar. 

“How are your tests going?” Goto-sensei asked. “Well, as far as I recall, yes? Good, good, academics come first. It’s the surefire way of collecting Virtue pins. Talk to some of your senpai, too, I’m sure they’ll have plenty of tricks. Anything else?”

“I took a part-time job,” Izuku offered eagerly, swept up in the momentum his teacher was building. 

Goto-sensei hummed in approval, and Izuku felt the strangest sensation in his chest. Suddenly, he wanted to cry. He swallowed it down and tried to keep his expression under control as Goto-sensei praised his attempt at self-sufficiency.

Together, they prepared an outline of a plan. Apparently, securing two Virtue pins in the first semester of high school was a significant feat. If achieved, it would help him get a partial scholarship, at the very least. Sixty per cent, Goto-sensei informed him. If Izuku managed to earn three pins in one year, he could opt for a seventy per cent scholarship.

He had months to go. Three pins shouldn’t be impossible. He planned to aim higher, though. Izuku felt the beginnings of a resolve stirring in his chest. 

Time passed. Izuku spent more time out of his house than in. Circulating between school, Dagobah beach, Namiyan, and the police station like a chicken with its head cut off. Or so it felt, most days. 

They refused to let him see his mother, and the procedure for transferring him to an orphanage lurched into motion. Detective Moriya visited him thrice, accompanied by an official from the Children and Families Agency. Forms were filled; some were sent to his mother to be taken care of while she stayed in jail.

All that remained was her consent to pass guardianship to the orphanage chosen for him. Izuku hoped she would deny it. It’s not as if the trial had been held yet; there was a chance that she wouldn’t be sentenced. A slim chance, but surely enough for her to put off signing Izuku away to an orphanage. 

But the very fact that they reached this stage frightened him. 

He couldn’t sleep, his mind plaguing him with terrible thoughts. 

He attended school, not entirely present, and remembered far too little of the lessons taught than he was comfortable with. The ever-hungry pit of dread in his stomach grew. He hardly ate, and only when his friends brought it to his attention. He read the words on the board and took notes, his leg always pressed up against his bag to detect any vibration of his phone. Nothing came. Hope flickered to life. 

He went for football tryouts, which was held in the field during their PE block period. Izuku was hardly the best student attempting it, but the upperclassman claimed to see some potential. He got in. The announcement made him smile, but his joy was dampened, and he could only regret his inability to match his senpai’s enthusiasm. 

Like clockwork, he ran into Kacchan on his journey back home. They walked side by side in silence. It shouldn’t happen, Izuku thought. At least not this often. Surely their timing should mismatch every now and again. Kacchan must have walked home alone the few times Izuku had been busy doing something else. But Izuku had yet to make the trip without his- without Kacchan keeping him company. 

Kacchan’s punctuality seemed very reliable. Izuku looked at him in contemplation, and the boy ignored him. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Izuku had it out before he could even think. 

We have received your mother’s consent.

Worry not, Midoriya-kun.

We will make your transition as swift and smooth as possible.

Slowly, automatically, Izuku put his phone back in his pocket, gaze unfocused. He exhaled shakily, and felt something break inside him. His mother had- she- he wouldn’t live with- And- Why should she, really? When he had- When he was the reason she- 

He did this to himself. Simple as that. He didn’t blame his mother. She was doing her best, even now. He understood. Honestly, he did. 

A sob escaped out of him, breaking the composure he’d been feebly trying to maintain.

“Oh, god,” he choked, knees buckling. “God, no.” He clasped his chest desperately, trying to get ahold of himself. He couldn’t cry. He shouldn’t. “No,” He hiccuped, rubbing his eyes fiercely. 

“Hah? Deku? Oi, Deku! What the fuck are you doing? Get up, you idiot!” Izuku felt a light kick to his side. He barely registered it. 

Izuku vainly tried to push back another wave of sobs. He could scarcely breathe. What was this- this grief ? What right did he have to cry? His mother had only done the right thing. Izuku was being childish and stubborn. How would he have lived by himself while his mother was away? Had he truly believed they would let him? He hadn’t, he knew. 

But that foolish, immature hope had persisted without him knowing, and now he was paying for it. 

It was fine, he reassured himself. This was only a necessary procedure. To ensure that he was taken care of during his mother’s absence. Once she returned, the custody would transfer back to her, and they would live together once again. This was only temporary. 

It wasn’t- It wasn’t as if she didn’t want him. She loved him. She stood by his side and fought for him; long before that night, even. Who else would care for their Quirkless child the way she had? Why would she keep him, spend so much on his education and those- those thrice-damned shoes, if she didn’t love him? Her love for him was undeniable. 

If only she had loved him less. 

“You’re seriously jabbering, even now ? Fucking hell, Deku, get your shit together.” Fingers dug into his hair, shaking him a little. It was rough, it was solid. Izuku grasped it and pulled it close, holding on stubbornly despite the noise that followed. He couldn’t bring himself to let go. 

“You creepy-ass limpet, let me go! I’m gonna blast your fucking arms off- !”

She should have loved him less. If she had, she wouldn’t be burdened with him. She could have sold him off for the highest price and be rid of him forever. If not that, she could have at least stopped herself, fought a little less, and let those thugs get what they wanted. 

If only Izuku could go back to that day. Let them rob him. Let them sell him. Do whatever they want. Let him live barefoot and broken for the rest of his life, the unwanted Null finally put to good use. He would have been content just knowing that his mother was safe at home. 

What atrocious crimes did he commit in his previous life, Izuku wondered, to deserve a life like this? 

The world fell still, its silence leaden with an answer. Izuku wished he didn’t understand. He anchored himself to the sweet, familiar scent filling his nose. Lost himself to the safe-danger-safe signals battling in the back of his mind. The solid something that he was desperately holding onto in a bid to keep his head above the water. 

A broken cry wracked his body, forcing Izuku to grit his teeth against it. He had no right to feel like this. It was his fault for expecting anything less from his mother, who worried so much for his future. Crying like this would only prove how self-absorbed he was. 

God, he must have been a real villain in his past life. The most terrible one of them all. Bad enough for his mistakes to stain the integrity of his own mother. Doomed by association, with no fault of her own. 

If only she had loved him less. 

Izuku didn’t know when he fell unconscious, but he woke up on the sidewalk, leaning against the wall, with swollen eyes and a hoarse throat, tear tracks long dried on his cheeks. The people passing by either stared or kept their gaze carefully averted. Izuku found himself too tired to feel embarrassed. 

He slowly picked himself off the ground and trudged towards the train station, not bothering to brush the dirt off his clothes. 

⟚

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

The train station was more noisy than usual. The main contributor to the additional hubbub was a group of middle school students who appeared to be headed to some academic competition. The olympiad, maybe; Izuku could only guess. His attention was split, however, between checking the train schedule and sneaking peeks at Kacchan. 

After returning home yesterday, Izuku had done a lot of thinking. Turned it over and over in his mind until his body started to feel foreign to him, urging him to move, and his throat had gone dry from all the muttering. Hours of musing had been fruitful, though, because it helped him gain some clarity and push away his morose thoughts. 

His transfer to an orphanage was only for the best. It would take care of many of his problems and allow him more time to spend on the ones left. 

Maintaining a house with everything else going on had been his biggest challenge, and it was taken care of now. All he needed to do was keep his home clean and check on it every now and again. No need to worry about groceries, water, or electricity bills. The money he earned at Namiyan could go to his school fees and other things. He could start saving up now so he’d have a significant amount by the time the next semester began. 

Detective Moriya and the representative from the Children and Families Agency, Yoshimi, told him that he would likely be shifted to the orphanage closest to his home, which would certainly be convenient. Luckily, the agency had a children’s home in southern Musutafu, a half-hour’s distance from home. 

Izuku had more or less figured out the commute and the timing. There was a bus line that would drop him off at the station around thirty minutes before his usual time, which was easily manageable. He could do some homework while he waited for the train to arrive. Or something like that, anyway. 

And his mother may have granted the agency guardianship of him, but she hadn’t released him from her care. So it was probable that he would be able to go back home once she had served her sentence. At least there was no risk of him getting adopted. Detective Moriya had confirmed that a three-year jail sentence was likely. Izuku would be eighteen years old by then. Legally, an adult. Izuku carefully pushed the thought away, where his mind would hopefully burn it to oblivion before tomorrow. 

It didn’t take long to locate Kacchan at the train station. Izuku swallowed down his embarrassment and strode towards him. The boy noticed his approach and narrowed his eyes at him, cagey. 

“Kacchan,” Izuku stuttered, clasping the strap of his bag and dropping into a shallow bow, “I- I’m sorry about yesterday. I’m sorry you had to see me like that, and I’m sorry if I bothered you in any way. So, p-please forget about it?” He dared to peek up at the boy, heart in his throat. 

Kacchan looked at him critically, his lips twisted in disdain. “Tch. Like I give a shit about it. It’s not like you’ll ever stop bein’ pathetic, Deku. Don’t bother pretending otherwise. Now, get outta my face.” He scoffed and pointedly turned his head away. 

“Sorry,” Izuku yelped, shuffling back hastily. He shifted his weight, trying to regain his equilibrium. Well, he sighed. At least one thing was taken care of now. 

The train was more crowded than usual due to the middle school students clamouring in. Izuku quickly found himself pressed against the wall, too short to hold onto the overhead straps for long stretches of time. He held the railing instead, grimacing internally at the awkward angle. 

Kacchan was close by, glowering at a man who was attempting to claim his hand strap. Kacchan elbowed the man, not even bothering to disguise the motion as a harmless bump. The man frowned and pushed his weight on Kacchan, forcing him off. 

Izuku watched as Kacchan began to vibrate with murderous intent, and suppressed a laugh. He then blinked, surprised at himself. He hadn’t thought he’d ever feel any semblance of happiness any time soon, certainly not until his mother returned. Maybe this was a sign? Izuku bit his lip, trying his best not to get ahead of himself. The trial was still pending. Many things could go wrong. Izuku couldn’t afford to be caught off-guard.

Quickly fixing his expression, Izuku looked away.

The walk to school was silent as usual, Izuku’s shuffling steps forming an odd rhythm with Kacchan’s heavy footfalls. As they split off, Izuku nearly said goodbye. He frowned at himself. How odd. Thank goodness he stopped himself in time; Kacchan wouldn’t have reacted well to that. Izuku wondered where the urge had come from. It was not something they had done before. Not since they were four, at least.

As soon as he entered the classroom, his eyes found Kubo lounging on his desk. “Good morning,” Izuku greeted, hanging his bag on the hook at the side of the desk. 

“Midoriya!” Kubo jumped upright, a thousand-watt smile on his face. He clasped Izuku by the shoulders and shook him. “When were you gonna tell me you got into the football club?! And to think I nearly picked baseball instead! Oh, you-!!”

“Mhf,” Izuku replied, head wobbling dangerously. He felt dizzy. “S-Stop that,” he begged, tapping whatever part of Kubo he could reach. Thankfully, the boy was quick to relent. Izuku held his head in one hand and tried to regain his bearings. “You’re in the football club too, Kubo-kun?”

“I’m on the team, actually!” Kubo bragged, pointing at himself with pride. “A reserve player for now since we’ve just begun, but if I do well, they might even put me in the starting lineup!” Izuku made an appropriately excited (if slightly woozy) sound. Kubo nodded to himself, “I can teach you, Midoriya-kun. Besides, it’ll be fun to have a friend in the club, so good choice!”

“Thank you,” Izuku chuckled at his vigour. It was reassuring to have a friend in both the clubs he had chosen. Izuku… couldn’t feel more than that, however. His smile shrank just a little, and he observed Kubo’s elation detachedly, feeling vaguely guilty. He should be a better friend. 

If things were different- No, he corrected himself. Once everything blows over, he swore he would make it up to his friends and give them his undivided attention. Izuku would go out with them, they would eat together, play together, and do all the fun things Izuku had never expected he’d get to do. 

What… What did friends do, anyway? Go to the movies? The mall? Maybe even the beach? Izuku glanced at Kubo again, now joined by Tsuda and Miyashiro, who had arrived together. He observed the three of them and felt himself relax. Izuku might like that, he thought. 

⟚

Halfway through completing his assignments, Izuku realised he should probably start packing. He was supposed to be moving into the orphanage next week.

Izuku looked around the house from his spot on the sofa. Books and stationery scattered around him, the TV screen gathering a thin layer of dust. A bowl he’d used for ramen that now sat empty on the center table with orange-red oil stains clinging to the surface. His mother’s pink hair clip lay tucked into the corner of the sofa, untouched for weeks now. 

Forcing a deep inhale, Izuku picked the hair clip and trapped the fleshy part of his palm in its teeth. The soft-edged plastic pressed his skin until it turned pale yellow. Any second now, his mother would catch him and scold him for treating her clip like a toy. The thought caught up to him moments after it formed, and Izuku’s breath hitched. 

Slowly, he released his palm from the jaws of the clip. It slipped through his weak fingers and fell to his lap. Izuku stared at it for a long, long time.

⟚

“How much stuff will I be allowed to bring with me?” He asked Detective Moriya and Yoshimi-san. 

They were at his home, arriving together to discuss Izuku’s shift. Detective Moriya had stopped updating Izuku on the progress of his mother’s case two days ago. Or rather, Izuku had stopped asking after receiving the same shrug and ‘These things take time’ for days on end. 

“You will be sharing a room with three other boys,” said Yoshimi-san, gaze drifting to the corner of the ceiling as she considered his question. “You’ll be given a trunk, and there is a bedside table for common use. You can store some items under the bed, too, but I’d suggest that you don’t pack more than two suitcases’ worth.”

Izuku nodded in acknowledgement. It made sense. Besides, if he was going to be sharing a room with three other boys around his age, Izuku could imagine the kind of trouble they’d stir up. His body twinged, already anticipating a repeat of Aldera. A Quirkless boy whose mother was imprisoned? Izuku knew what kind of welcome to expect.

He was already pushing his luck with keeping his status a secret at Keisei. He’d attempt the same at the orphanage, of course, but he had better start preparing himself for the inevitable. Once the cat scratched its way out of the bag, Izuku’s life would only get more difficult. 

“Okay,” Izuku said, mentally drafting a list of things he should carry.

The next thing he knew, his phone was ringing, startling him out of his thoughts. He realised he’d been silent for far too long, and bowed at the two adults apologetically. They only responded with sympathetic looks. 

“I’m sorry for being so abrupt, but I need to go meet my homeroom teacher for extracurricular work now,” Izuku explained. The alarm was meant to be a last resort in case he forgot. He didn’t have much time and he’d hate to make Goto-sensei wait for him… “By any chance, would you be able to drop me at Dagobah beach?”

Yoshimi volunteered to take him, and they left the apartment together. Izuku bid Moriya goodbye, then spent the short car ride to Dagobah surveying the pristine interior of Yoshimi-san’s car. “Midoriya-kun,” She said when the car slowed to a stop, “I know that your life is undergoing many unexpected changes right now, and I want you to know that I am here to help with anything you need. Anything at all. I promise I will help you to the best of my ability.”

Izuku met her gaze in the rear-view mirror, hand resting on the door handle. “Thank you,” he murmured. Her words were likely for the sake of formality, but he was tempted to push it, just a little. He couldn’t help it. “Can I see my mother?”

The woman’s expression told him plenty. “Considering that she is in jail for a murder charge, the court would probably deem it too dangerous for you to be in her vicinity.” Izuku’s heart sank. 

“However,” She added, “the trial is yet to happen. Right now, she is only under suspicion. And with the help of Detective Moriya and the police department, we have verified that Midoriya-san has never brought you harm before. So it might be possible to arrange a visit, I think, but I ask that you don’t get your hopes up. I will try, and that’s all I can promise.”

“I’m not scared of my mother!” Izuku insisted desperately. “I’m- She- I’m the safest when I’m with her! And we love each other! She l-loves me so much th-that she did all this just to protect me! How could I possibly-? How can anyone even think she’d ever hurt me?”

The woman sighed, her brows furrowing in just the smallest sign of sympathy. “I understand, Midoriya-kun, I really do. But it is our job to ensure the safety of children like you, and it’s always better to err on the side of caution. The wards of abusers have fought me just the way you do, and those dangerous people often hid behind the facade of a loving parent like your mother.”

Before Izuku could begin to protest that, she added, “Because of them, I know when I am seeing the real thing.” Izuku swallowed back his words and looked at her with feeble hope. “Let me talk to Detective Moriya. We will try,” She vowed. 

Blinking back tears, Izuku nodded and managed to choke out words of gratitude before he lurched out of the car and stumbled over to Dagobah beach. 

The days passed quickly. By now, Izuku knew his way around the house better. He could use the washing machine with ease, learning its settings with the help of some YoTube videos. He made time to sweep and mop the floors every other day or so. Washed the dishes as soon as he was done using them because he found that the stains got harder to remove if he left dirty dishes lying in the sink for too long. 

Namiyan paid well enough for him to afford some essentials. Izuku also learnt that if he worked till the final shift, he could claim some leftovers in the restaurant’s kitchen for dinner. Maybe even the next day’s breakfast if he stored it properly. 

Keisei took their grade on a field trip to the Kakegawa kachouen . Izuku, of course, couldn’t go, but his friends returned with several pictures and souvenirs for him. Miyashiro had taken pictures with a penguin sitting in his lap, looking nervous and excited at the same time. 

Tsuda had taken one with the vibrant flowers hanging from the glass ceiling and the other with an owl on his arm, looking so majestic that Miyashiro urged Tsuda to take up modelling, much to the other boy’s embarrassment. Kubo had taken many, many pictures of the food, only some of which featured his face. They had brought back three postcards and a humble packet of green tea for Izuku. 

Izuku kept them safely in his suitcase so he wouldn’t forget them when he eventually moved to the orphanage. 

He hadn’t seen Kacchan for about a week, presumably because he’d gone for his hero work study. Around that time, there was a lot of hubbub about the Hero Killer and his arrest. Izuku was simply glad that he hadn’t run into the villain. Given his luck recently, he had feared the worst, and even opted to hand over the delivery duty to someone else at Namiyan and wait at the tables instead. 

Kacchan returned with a disturbingly slick hairstyle. The neat, smooth look clashed terribly with his expression and the disregard he held towards his uniform, his trousers once again hanging dangerously low. 

Izuku bit his lip harshly to prevent himself from doing something regrettable. However, Kacchan must have caught it in his peripheral vision, because he started to vibrate with rage. 

“Not a fucking word, Deku,” He warned, looking straight ahead, a telltale sign of his embarrassment. 

Izuku couldn’t help it. He snorted. Then gasped in horror and slapped a hand over his mouth, gaze darting to Kacchan in fear. Kami, he really wished he couldn’t read Kacchan’s expressions so well; it would make this much less amusing. 

“Argh! I’m gonna kill ya, you little shit!” Kacchan yelled, palms blasting, and lunged at him. It was only years of practice that helped Izuku dodge it, laughing uncontrollably throughout. A brief, odd moment of joy, there and gone like a firefly.

Then, one Wednesday, he got a call from Detective Moriya telling him the trial would be held next week on Saturday. 

There would be a meeting first, he said, for which they would need a lawyer to represent his mother. Apparently, they did have a lawyer; Izuku wasn’t sure when or how it happened, but Detective Moriya told him that it was all already taken care of. 

The lawyer had requested to meet Izuku to coach him on what to say during the trial. “The more you practice, the better,” Moriya-san said. “When will you be available, Midoriya-kun? The lawyer assured me that they would make time for you, so do not worry about that.”

“Um,” Izuku croaked, pushing a pillow to his chest, “I- Evening? Some- Sometime in the evening. I’ll check and… let you know.”

“Alright. Please do so as soon as you can, Midoriya-kun.” With that, he ended the call. Izuku sighed to himself and pulled out a notebook to check his schedule. He’d have to reduce time spent working at Namiyan for a little while. He sent a message to Madam Gou, informing her about it so she could arrange for someone to cover his shift. 

He then texted Detective Moriya about the tentative timings, adding that he wouldn’t confirm it until he received a reply from Madam Gou. The detective replied quickly, assuring him that it was fine. 

Returning the notebook to the steadily increasing pile of paraphernalia on his table, Izuku flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Tried to ignore the false sensation that the walls were closing in on him. Forced himself to breathe deeply. 

In stark contrast with the past, school was the least daunting place he could be, these days. 

If he moved to the orphanage, would he still be able to work at Namiyan? Izuku liked the restaurant a lot, now. He’d even gotten familiar with his coworkers. Close, almost, though he dare not voice such a thought. And though working there was not a walk in the park, he’d gotten used to it. 

The customers at Namiyan were different depending on the time; with him working shifts in the later half of the day, Izuku found himself exposed to the less savoury kind. He’d been yelled at quite a few times by now, and one or two particularly angry customers threw stuff at him. Nothing too alarming, honestly. Especially considering the way his coworkers instantly jumped to protect him. It was quite sweet of them to do so. More kind than anyone had ever been to Izuku before. 

It was obvious why. Nobody knew he was Quirkless. It always seemed to come back to that, a powerful and inevitable force that refused to leave him be. Izuku’s life would continue to orbit around it forever, he realized. And he would have to make peace with it sooner or later. Denying it so far had gotten him nowhere. 

He pushed himself up and walked to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich.

Later, he received a reply from Madam Gou telling him that his shift would be taken care of. And so, with a wary sigh, Izuku pulled up his chat with Detective Moriya and confirmed his appointment with the lawyer. 

⟚

As it turned out, acting as a witness in a court was not as simple as declaring, “No, my mother did not murder that man. Even if she did, it was in self-defence.” There were nuances . Body language, posture, phrasing, pacing. So much more that Izuku would ever have considered. 

“Back straight,” Detective Moriya reminded him gently while the lawyer skimmed through his notepad. Izuku straightened himself; he hadn’t even realised he was hunching again. Confidence was key, and as one of the weakest links in the case (God, did it sting when the lawyer said that, but Izuku couldn’t deny it), he had to project a lot of it.

They were gathered in his living room, three glasses and a jug of water on the centre table, with an admittedly embarrassing lack of snacks. Izuku had only bought things that suited his taste. He doubted that two middle-aged men would enjoy any of it. 

“Now, let’s go over the sequence again. Midoriya-san, what happened that night?” The lawyer asked. He had introduced himself as Mase-san earlier, but Izuku had yet to see him as anything but a lawyer. His mannerisms certainly didn’t help. 

Izuku swallowed subtly and recounted the events of that night as rehearsed. Good diction, even pace and tone to show that he was no hysterical child whose testimony could be dismissed. He would be vague at first, purposeful but seemingly natural, and then add details as the words kept flowing, giving the impression of memories returning sharper. 

More time was spent on the two criminals and the threat they had posed to him and his mother. Vivid descriptions of their attacks, then haphazard ones of their retaliation, as if they’d been done with a senseless sort of desperation. A cornered animal’s last resort. 

The hit to Izuku’s head and his subsequent unconsciousness were omitted entirely until and unless the opposing counsel brought it up. Once that happened, the next battle of words would commence. 

It was exhausting.

An hour later, the session was brought to a close. “You did well, Midoriya-san,” Said Mase-san, shuffling his things back in his briefcase. “Let’s keep meeting every day. Your preparation will smooth things along quite well.”

The two men are at the door when Izuku asks the one question that had been troubling him the entire time. “Sir,” He called, making them turn back to him, “My mother… She won’t have to go to jail?”

The lawyer’s expression became pinched. Izuku felt his heart sink. “I promise to do my best, Midoriya-san,” He said, hand flexing on the handle of his briefcase. “But, things being as they are, I would advise you to prepare for the worst.” He must have seen some of the despair on Izuku’s face, because he followed it up with a small but sincere, “I’m sorry.”

Unable to speak past the lump in his throat, Izuku nodded and watched the door shut behind them. 

The week passed like a blade over the whetstone. School, work, Dagobah, and trial preparation had him so busy that his body didn’t feel still even when he lay down on his bed at night. The house was bare, nearly everything packed away in boxes. Izuku had already sent some of his things to the orphanage. He had two suitcases packed and kept away in his mother’s bedroom. 

The day of the trial arrived. Izuku was dressed in his best clothes, with a stamp of approval from both Detective Moriya and Mase-san. He tamed his hair to the best of his ability and kept a carefully folded handkerchief in his pocket to wipe off any nervous sweat. 

The court was vast and imposing, kept meticulously unblemished. Immaculately groomed people walked past, their shoes making various crisp noises against the polished tiles, each pricking Izuku’s skin like rough needles. 

Mase-san asked him to sit outside the courtroom, accompanied by a pair of security guards. “Just stay here until it is time for your testimony,” He said, and Izuku took some comfort in his calm and even tone. 

“G-Good luck,” He stammered, then clenched his jaw to prevent further trembling. He wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t . He had practised his speech too thoroughly to have doubts now. His mind knew what was coming and how to counter it, but his body was scared anyway. He had to get it under control before he was called upon in court. Izuku refused to be the weak link today. 

Mase-san patted his shoulder in reassurance. “Deep breaths, Midoriya-san. Keep practising, if it helps.”

Izuku nodded, and the lawyer left for the courtroom. Minutes felt like hours. Izuku mentally rehearsed over and over, obsessing over every minute detail until he was satisfied. When it was time for him to enter, everything came to him with such ease that his mind barely registered the court around him. Every question from the opposing counsel had been predicted by Mase-san, and Izuku answered without a hitch. His confidence grew.

Ask all you want, he thought. He had nothing to hide. His mother was not guilty.

When his part was done, Izuku was asked to leave the court while they called upon the next witness. Who that may be, he had no clue. Detective Moriya and Mase-san had kept him in the dark about a lot of things, telling him that kids shouldn’t worry about such things and that they would take care of it. Some things, they withheld at the bidding of his mother, too.

It took some effort, but Izuku let himself take the back seat. Even if he had resisted, there wouldn’t be much he could’ve done. Besides, his mother trusted Mase-san. So he had faith that, at the very least, the lawyer would do his best to save her. Izuku’s interactions with him the past week had given him the strength to do that.

The trial came to an end late in the evening, and the result was declared soon after. His mother was sentenced to jail for five years. 

“She will be moved to Avernus,” Detective Moriya informed him, brows furrowed with something akin to regret. 

Izuku felt numb with shock. Avernus? But that was for serious criminals. Anyone who wasn’t evil enough for Tartarus or good enough for regular jail went to Avernus. It was for terrorists, and murderers- Well. 

“I guess my mom’s a murderer,” Izuku mumbled emotionlessly. Someone flinched. Izuku didn’t care. He couldn’t care less.

He didn’t even get to see her today. “I want to see her.”

“You can’t,” Mase-san sighed. “You’re allowed to exchange letters and such, but that’s about all we could manage.”

“What do you mean that’s all you could manage?” Izuku cried, making several heads turn. The lawyer tried to placate him but Izuku pushed him off.

“You said things were looking good! You said it’d be three years, at most! I don’t get it, was it- was it me? Did I do something wrong?” He felt so small, so lost. He swayed at his feet unsteadily, and Detective Moriya caught him by the elbow before he could fall down the stairs of the courthouse.

“No, Midoriya-kun,” Mase-san shook his head, clasping Izuku’s other arm as if it would stop him from breaking into small, bleeding shards at their feet. “You did nothing wrong. It was the opposition. They instigated your mother, saying… unkind things about you. Throwing around all sorts of accusations and casting aspersions on you. When your mother’s patience wore thin, she said things that… Well, they were twisted and used against us. There was nothing we could have done.”

“Bastards, all of them,” Detective Moriya snarled.

“I’m sorry, Midoriya-kun.” Mase-san bowed his head. Peripherally, Izuku knew he ought to stop the elder from bowing to him like this, but the thought remained trapped in his mind. The lawyer turned to leave. As he began descending the large steps of the courthouse, Izuku blurted the first thing that came to him. 

“Thank you for trying.”

The man looked back at him, surprised, and gave a rueful smile. “I wish I could have helped you more. Please call me if you ever need my help again, Midoriya-kun, so I might have a chance to redeem myself. I wish you luck, young man.”

Izuku pushed back tears and bowed just like his mother had taught him. “Get home safely, Mase-san.” He kept his head down, trying to reign in his despair in vain. His shoes started to look blurry. Even so, he could make out their red colour, bright and out of place against the stone beneath.

“It’s time to go, Midoriya-kun,” Detective Moriya prodded softly after a few minutes.

Go where? His mother was going to a place he couldn’t follow. What home did he have now? Would he ever have one again?

His mother was gone.

Izuku crumpled to the ground and sobbed into his hands until he couldn’t breathe anymore. Detective Moriya tried to pull him back up, but Izuku was a burden he couldn’t handle. He keened and cried for his mother, begging for a chance to see her, if nothing else. People were staring, but grief had stripped him of his shame.

“Please! Please! I want to see her. Let me see her! I can’t-! I want my mother!” Izuku choked on his tears, leaning all his weight on whoever was dragging him to his feet. He couldn’t tell anymore. “Please,” He begged the air, “I want to see my mother.”

He wasn’t sure what happened next, but he woke up the next morning in his bed, all alone. And there he stayed for hours.

⟚

Any news of his mother’s trial was swiftly overshadowed by Stain’s arrest. It was a lucky coincidence, if he could call it that. ‘Luck’ was a word that didn’t come to him naturally, like kindness to the villain. But he didn’t want to turn bitter and resentful; his mother wouldn’t want him to forsake the world. He had decided yesterday, after the hours spent spilling himself open, to find the reason for everything going wrong.

On his own, Izuku amounted to nothing. And if his mother could no longer be at his side, he’d just have to fill the space she left behind. From now on, Izuku lived for his mother. Whatever she would want, for him and from him, he would get.

His mother wanted him to get a good education to secure his future, so Monday morning saw Izuku pull himself free from the sticky grasp of misery, and trudge his way to school.

Kacchan was already there at the train station, surly as ever. Izuku stopped a distance away from him, intending to board in a separate carriage to avoid any interactions between them. The sounds of the train station seemed muted. Izuku blinked the fog out of his eyes.

As if working through viscous tar, the feeling of being watched reached him slowly. Izuku looked up to find Kacchan’s gaze fixed on him. He had no idea what might have caused it, but he wished to be left alone today, so he looked away and pretended he hadn’t noticed. The train arrived, doors opening with a sharp hiss, and Izuku pushed himself into the throng within. Izuku didn’t see his childhood friend again till they reached their stop.

“Stop making that damn face, it’s puttin’ me off,” Kacchan snarled as they walked out of the train station together.

“Sorry,” Izuku said. He wondered what face he was making exactly and why it would put off even someone like Kacchan. It took a lot to disgust someone of his calibre. 

In an attempt to remedy the situation, Izuku pressed his lips together and tried for a pleasant smile. His mother always had a smile on her face, even when she’d spent the previous night crying over bills or unanswered phone calls. Izuku had to be strong like her.

“Tch,” Kacchan looked at him with disdain, evidently displeased by the results. “Forget it.”

The rest of the walk was spent in silence.

“Midoriya, are you alright?” Tsuda asked almost as soon as he entered the classroom. 

“Fine.” He’d cried away all of yesterday, and his head was pounding furiously. It was strange; now that the outcome had been decided, Izuku didn’t feel as overwhelmed as before. He was sad, of course, terribly so. But his new resolve to live by his mother’s wishes helped hold him together.

Izuku wasn’t scrambling in the dark anymore, just lonely. Five years was a very long time.

“Are you sure?” Tsuda pressed, looking concerned. Should Izuku tell them? He knew he couldn’t keep things to himself for much longer, and he didn’t want to anymore, but he needed more time. He had barely wrapped his mind around the trial, he wasn’t ready for another potential crisis. 

He had to move his things out today. Yoshimi-san had already texted him, assuring him that the orphanage had emptied a bed for his arrival. He’d be leaving most of their belongings at home, including their TV, computer, furniture and kitchenware. 

He didn’t know what to do with his mother’s things. Clothes don’t do well packed away; there was little chance of them lasting five years. Izuku had kept his mother’s pink cardigan in his bag, along with a few other things for when he missed her. If he could, he’d take everything with him, but that wasn’t possible.

“I’ll be fine,” Izuku amended, which was as close as he’d get to admitting something was wrong, for now. Someday soon, he’d tell them.

Tsuda studied him for a long moment, probably spotting the puffiness around his eyes. Students continued to filter into class. Miyashiro was busy reading something for the first meeting of the literature club. 

“Do you want my notes of yesterday’s work?” He eventually asked, breaking the silence.

Izuku nearly sighed with relief. He wordlessly thanked the boy for dropping the subject, and said, “Yes, please.” Tsuda nodded and started to take out his notebooks. They still had time before the bell rang, so Izuku began copying them. 

Ten minutes later, Kubo burst into the classroom with an exclamation of, “Made it!!” Earning the disapproving scowls of some classmates, not that the boy cared. Izuku watched his friend smile and wondered how he did it. How All Might did it. To smile in the face of adversity. It was a trait Izuku admired the most. And it was time for him to learn it, too.

Kubo’s grin faltered at the sight of him, and Izuku’s heart curled up in shame. 

“Woah…” Kubo murmured, nearly inaudible, before quickly covering it up with, “Good morning, guys!”

“Good morning!”

“Morning!”

“How was the weekend? I didn’t see you at Namiyan,” Kubo said, sliding his bag by his desk. Izuku flinched, and Tsuda slapped the back of Kubo’s head. 

“Ow! What was that for?” He wailed. 

“Shut up,” Tsuda hissed, hitting him again. “You fool.”

“I was just-” Smack! “Ouch! Stop it! Fine, fine, I get it. Miyashiro, you’re the only one I have left,” Kubo declared, twisting to face the boy in question. Petulant, he kicked at Miyashiro’s chair until the boy was forced to look up from his book. “What are you reading?”

“Huh?” Miyashiro blinked dazedly. “Oh, this is-” The pair dissolved into a discussion while Tsuda looked on. Izuku resumed copying notes, keeping an eye on the clock.

“Midoriya.” Izuku was startled at the sound, finding Tsuda leaning over his desk with a serious expression. He was practically looming over him. Izuku could only crane his neck to meet his gaze and wonder what he wanted to say. 

“Yes?”

“Whatever it is that’s going on, I hope you know that you can tell us. I know we haven’t known each other for a long time, but I doubt I’ll find any better friends there. Do you know how many people hate me for scoring more than them in a class test?” 

Izuku did not.

“Basically, everyone except you three and those who don’t know that I scored more than them in the first place. Everyone here is foolishly competitive. Anything could happen. So let’s take care of each other, okay?” Tsuda raised a brow as if countering him would be a stupid thing to do.

Let’s take care of each other , the boy said, as if Izuku had ever been in the position to reciprocate their friendship for the past few weeks. Izuku couldn’t comprehend why anyone would stick around with someone like him, always putting a damper on things. He’d never imagined he would receive such generosity from someone who wasn’t his mother.

Izuku had shed four bucketloads of tears yesterday, yet he found himself wanting to cry again. “You-” He choked and shook his head, unable to say more. He couldn’t lose composure in class. It was the last thing he needed. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes for the sake of his dignity. 

“Thank you,” He managed.

It occurred to him then that maybe Tsuda was under the impression that their classmates were targeting Izuku in particular. He wasn’t a stellar student like Tsuda, but he had a fairly decent class ranking, and people didn’t find him intimidating the way they did Tsuda. Plus, with them being friends, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that people would start to take everything out on him.

Besides, Izuku knew from experience that bullies only needed an excuse. At Aldera, it had been his Quirklessness. Here, it could be anything. Izuku now had a variety of weaknesses to pick and choose from.

His friends’ concern warmed his heart, though. It was almost as if his mother had left guardians to take care of him in her absence. For the first time in days, Izuku smiled. It was weak, but there. It was all he had right now.

“I’m not being bullied, Tsuda.”

The boy only nodded. “Good to know.” His expression was so disproportionately sombre that it had Izuku smiling indulgently. How sweet of him to worry over Izuku’s potential bullying. If only they had met in middle school. Back when things like that hadn’t been identified as trivial matters. The years would have been more pleasant that way. 

It was fine this way, too, Izuku thought as Goto-sensei entered the class. The wait was bitter but the fruit is sweet. Izuku finally had people he could call his own. His mother would be so happy. He hoped she would get to meet them someday. 

⟚

Yoshimi-san had arranged for a moving company’s services to help move his things to the orphanage. Or Anko Children’s Home, as Yoshimi-san kept emphasizing. It made little difference to Izuku what the founders had decided to call the place. The important part was the things that happened inside. Izuku would pray that there be no troublemakers, but he didn’t want to waste time nor breath on such futile prayers. 

It would be quite hypocritical of him, too. Izuku was troublemaker enough to land himself and his mother in disaster. He had no right to judge others, really. 

“You seem invigorated today,” Goto-sensei observed. He was wearing a loose shirt and trousers rolled up at the hem, slippers cast aside on the sandy beach. It was still a bit disarming to see his homeroom teacher in such a state, but Izuku thought he might get used to it soon. 

Yoshimi-san had dropped him off at Dagobah after all the luggage had been loaded into the truck. She would return to pick him up and take him to the orphanage. 

Izuku had thought he might want to soak in his home one last time before shifting, but now he found the idea about as enticing as lukewarm water. He’d roosted in the apartment plenty in the past few weeks. Taken all he could of his mother’s lingering presence. That house breathed its last on Sunday. It was time to let it rest.

Izuku grunted vaguely as he pushed a fridge up the sloping beach to a pile of trash by the road. The collecting truck would arrive soon, and Izuku wanted to finish things up before that. He had finally cleaned three-fourths of Dagobah beach. To motivate him, Goto-sensei had promised him a get-out-of-homework-free card. He was overwhelmed with work as it was; he’d be mad to let this chance slip out of his fingers.

“It’s good to see,” Goto-sensei added. “Ah, the passion of youth. Always so moving. And look at you, Midoriya-kun. Your transformation has been remarkable. Worthy of a shonen manga, even! Well, if you were a bit less…” He gestured to Izuku’s overall existence and concluded with the adjective, “plain.”

Izuku looked at the rusted refrigerator flatly. “Thank you, sensei.”

Goto-sensei hummed and snapped a picture of them. As proof for the administration, the teacher had explained the first time he took one. Izuku had his doubts on this claim, however, because Goto-sensei would often be caught staring at Izuku like he was a fascinating lab specimen right before he whipped his phone out. 

An overheard conversation returned to the forefront of his mind. His class had a running theory that Goto-sensei was actually an alien sent to study humanity. It would explain the man’s… eccentricity. He would tell them all about his reckless younger brother breaking his bones back in high school, complete with dramatic narration. 

However, he would sometimes hunch over That Notebook—a title bestowed after repeat sightings, all in relation to their teacher’s odd behaviour. Once, a student walked over to the teacher’s table to ask a question, and Goto-sensei nearly broke the thing in half, trying to hide That Notebook before they could catch a glimpse. By all means, it was very suspicious.

Izuku hadn’t had the time or mental faculties to worry about it back then, but he was certainly worrying now. His next Virtue pin was at stake; he needed it if he wanted to get a decent scholarship next semester. His hard work would go down the drain if the homeroom teacher got himself sacked. 

He’d better finish up Dagobah beach by the end of the month, Izuku decided with a nod to himself.

⟚

Anko’s orphanage was… normal, to say the least. A pair of three storeyed homes nestled within an otherwise ordinary place with regular houses around it. Pity the neighbours, then, for having to live near a house with so many children. Izuku followed Yoshimi-san up the uneven stone path, casting a look at the front lawn. The plants looked healthy, Izuku observed generously, but very wild and unmanicured. In the right conditions, it could have its own charm. 

Younger children typically went into foster care or were adopted. Places like Anko’s were made specifically for older kids like him who had little prospect of adoption. The children’s home was to look after their basic needs and help them so they could stand on their own feet once they reached adulthood. Thus, the majority of Anko’s residents were teenagers. 

There was a cramming school just a street away, Yoshimi-san had told him on the drive here. Most of the children went there during the day.  It explained why the orphanage was so quiet. 

He was introduced to a few staff members: a warmly paternal man who helped get his luggage up the stairs, a bubbly young man with a thick, somewhat reptilian tail, and a senior citizen who practically glowed with wisdom. Izuku had been too distracted taking in the interior of the orphanage to remember their names, but he managed to greet them all with a polite bow. “My name is Midoriya Izuku. Thank you for taking me in.”

“The pleasure is ours, Midoriya-kun,” The young man chirped. “Would you like some tea or snacks? Or water? We also keep some soda, but I’ve been told I need to stop giving that to you kids.”

The tension in his body eased. He hadn’t expected such friendliness in a place like this. He should probably stay on guard just in case, but he figured he could lower it just a little and test the waters. “No, thank you,” Izuku eked out a polite smile with some effort. “I would like to shower first, please. I’ve just come back from Dagobah beach. I’d hate to get sand everywhere.”

“Of course! Let me show you the way. Just follow me,” He replied, thick tail swishing a little. Izuku watched it with interest, wondering if it took after a particular species or was a result of several mutations. For the first time in what felt like ages, Izuku’s hands itched for his Quirk Analysis notebook. Goodness, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d used it. Probably the day he met All Might.

All Might. It had been a while since Izuku had thought of him, too. He was a teacher at Yuuei now, wasn’t he? Kacchan must have met him by now. What would he teach? Anything would suit him, certainly. Izuku pursed his lips and looked around while the caretaker gave him a tour of the orphanage. He should stop living with his head in the clouds. All Might had no place in his life anymore.

He wouldn’t have time for heroes for a while now, Izuku figured. There were other, more important things to take care of. People like All Might wouldn’t even notice one fan’s absence; they wouldn’t miss him. His mother would. She cared about him. She was the one who saved him that night, not them. All that glory and fame, and not a single hero was patrolling the area, ready to help when the need arose. 

Izuku knew it wasn’t fair to expect someone to save them all the time. He definitely hadn’t expected to be saved when the Slime villain attacked him. But it stung that the one time he’d hoped and prayed for someone to help, the world offered nothing. It was his mother’s strength that protected them that night, and all she got in return was five years in Avernus. Because killing a citizen for the sake of a Quirkless boy outweighed killing a criminal to protect her son.

Detective Moriya and Mase-san hadn’t said it, but it was obvious that his Quirklessness was the reason his mother got a longer sentence in jail. Because he was a liability, so worthless that risking so much to save him made no sense. His mother having latent murderous inclinations seemed more likely to them. Izuku clenched his jaw and forced himself to breathe deeply. There was no point in getting angry. Not at the world, and not at himself. Never at his mother.

Yet he couldn’t help but think that she’d still be safe and sound at home if she hadn’t saved him that night. He couldn’t change the past, though. His mother wanted him safe, so safe he shall be. Anything less would make him ungrateful and unworthy of her love, and that was the last thing he wanted.

“...And this is your room,” The young man said, pushing the door open with a flourish. There were two bunk beds, with a bedside table between them. Two trunks on either side of the room were pushed against the wall to allow room for movement. One was left open, clean and empty, and the bottom bunk of one bed was probably his, judging by its neatness.

“Thank you,” Izuku bowed his head, and set his aside, taking out only a change of clothes and some toiletries before he headed for the showers. The water was refreshingly warm, and Izuku stayed under it until he had scrubbed every last grain of sand off his body.

He spent the rest of the evening unpacking. When it was time for dinner, he tidied up for the sake of his roommates, and rushed downstairs with his mother’s maroon cardigan draped over his shoulders.

⟚

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Everyone gathered downstairs for dinner, and the elderly caretaker, Eiji-san, introduced Izuku to them. The man’s voice was light as candyfloss, but the boys of the orphanage looked at him like he’d hung the moon, staying silent the entire time for him. Izuku’s introduction was nerve-wracking but fortunately, everyone was tired from a long day at cram school and were eager to move on so they could satisfy their famished stomachs.

They ended up scattered about the back of the building, most of them eating on mats laid out on the lawn. 

There was a wooden fence between the boys’ and girls’ wings of Anko’s. Many of the kids had congregated near it, raising their voices to carry a conversation with the other side, exchanging things through the wide gaps between the fence. Izuku found a corner and kept to himself. The caretakers flitted about, refilling plates and striking conversation. 

Subverting Izuku’s expectations, everyone seemed normal. Happy, even. It was nothing like what they showed in movies and mangas. It wasn’t overtly hostile. Izuku might even be able to reveal his Quirk status peacefully, he thought. He wouldn’t test that theory just yet, however.

A tall boy wearing an absurdly long jacket and neon orange socks sat next to Izuku. “Hey. Midoriya, right? I’m Ikehara Issei, your roommate.” His straight black hair was the longest Izuku had ever seen. They reached all the way down his back, spilling over the floor. The shorter bits in the front obscured half his face, and Izuku wondered if he could see.

“Oh. H-Hello.” Izuku greeted, remembering his manners. “Nice to meet you. Please take care of me.”

The senior hummed in acknowledgement and started to give him a rundown of the orphanage. His words were clipped and smooth like he’d given this speech so many times he had it memorised by heart. Izuku listened, enraptured.

There were two bedrooms on each of the three floors of the orphanage, some not filled to full occupancy due to certain complications, most of which seemed Quirk-related. It seemed that Izuku’s youngest roommate, an eleven-year-old named Mashu, had moved into their room just last week. He had a spider mutation, Izuku was told, but something about it must have been very dangerous for him to have been isolated till now. 

“He’s a sweet kid, but his Quirk’s given him a lotta trouble,” Said Ikehara, cooling his ramen intently. “I’m the oldest here. I sleep in the bunk above yours, by the way. I don’t think I move too much in my sleep, so you should be fine. Just don’t- Oi, you two! I saw that!” He yelled suddenly. Izuku jumped a foot in the air. Ikehara’s voice was suddenly strong and authoritative.

The elder continued to scold the boys, a mischievous pair that had knocked over someone’s bowl while tussling. “Oh, you’re gonna talk back to me now, are ya?” Ikehara challenged, making the pair waver uncertainly. “That’s it, no cake for you this week. Kakuya-nii-san! You heard that, right?”

“Loud and clear, my favourite otouto,” Kakuya, the young man with the reptilian mutation, chirruped. At this, the troublemakers burst into loud protests, which were summarily ignored.

“C’mere, Yuto-kun,” Ikehara beckoned, softer now. “Let’s get you a new bowl.” Izuku watched as he draped an arm protectively around the kid’s shoulders and took him back inside. Meanwhile, Kakuya had the perpetrators clean up the mess.

Within twenty minutes of knowing each other, Izuku determined two things about Ikehara Issei: he was quite reserved (perhaps because Izuku was a stranger), and he was kind out of obligation.

Izuku knew real kindness. He saw it in his mother every day. Or used to, anyway. He knew the difference between a kindness that came from the heart and one that came from lessons learnt. The intrinsic versus synthetic. 

Ikehara’s warmth was decidedly synthetic. Not that it cheapened his deeds, of course. Forcing yourself to be kind was arguably more difficult. It meant that Ikehara wanted to be like this. He chose it. Izuku decided he liked him.

The place was loud and lively. Izuku missed his home. He missed his mother. How long had it been since he saw her? Izuku had no clue. Everything after the night of the murder was all such a mess in his head. A tangled ball of memories. When was the last time he ate dinner with her? It felt like ages.

“So I’d better not see you crossing any lines with him,” Ikehara said, picking up back where he’d left off a good few minutes ago. 

Izuku looked at him, the heartache that had been trickling in freezing before it could flood his mind. Only because he was baffled that Ikehara even remembered the last thing he’d said to him. 

Oblivious, Ikehara loudly slurped a generous amount of ramen. Just when Izuku started to look away, the senior’s eyes flicked up and surveyed Izuku in turn. “Understood?” He pressed. 

Izuku hadn’t realised he was expecting a response. 

What had they been talking about, anyway? Izuku gave up trying to remember. The pressure of Ikehara’s stare was too much. Wariness of a stranger was natural, but Izuku hadn’t expected someone to start threatening him already. They didn’t even know his Quirk status yet. 

Izuku swallowed and put on his most trustworthy expression. “I won’t.”

“Hm,” The senior picked at a juicy piece of meat. 

Izuku tried not to salivate, but it was proving to be a challenge. He hadn’t had a good dinner like this in so long that it was turning him into a barbarian. He was on his second serving already; he’d better control himself before he got kicked out for overeating. He made a note to keep picking up leftovers from Namiyan. 

“So, what’s your story, Midoriya? How does a rich kid like you end up here?”

Izuku made a noise of confusion. Rich? Him? It was almost laughable. “I’m not rich,” he said with a frown, wondering what led the boy to that conclusion. 

“You’re not?” Ikehara raised a sceptical brow, scanning him from head to toe. 

Izuku shook his head vehemently. “I wish,” He laughed. Being rich would solve so many of his problems.

“My mistake, then,” The elder looked away, almost sheepish. “Motoki-san said you went to some fancy school, so I just assumed… I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Ah. “It’s okay,” Izuku shrugged, scooping out the last few noodles with little grace. Feeling bolder now, he added, “I’m hoping to get a scholarship next semester, so please wish me luck if you want to make up for it.”

Ikehara choked on his noodles, gaping at him in shock and eyes watering. Izuku stiffened. Had he pushed it too far? Was he offended? Oh goodness, he was totally offended. 

Izuku timidly thumped the elder’s back until the cough slowly died down. He mumbled an apology while the other wiped off his tears. Ikehara’s body shook again, and Izuku panicked, thinking it was another coughing fit. 

To his shock, Ikehara was laughing . He leaned back against the wall, smiling at Izuku for the first time. “Sure, little kouhai.” The word sent a pleasant zing up his spine, and Izuku blinked in surprise. Ikehara rose to his feet and nudged him to do the same. “Come on, there’s cake today. Better get some fast; the kids won’t wait for you.”

The cake was dense and simple, probably because it was hard to find a flavour that so many people would enjoy. Izuku helped himself to a slice, taking in the boys around him. He would be living with them for at least three years; it would be better if they got along. Unlikely, given his Quirk status, but worth a try. Maybe their shared circumstances would smooth things over a little.

“That’s Mashu,” Ikehara pointed with his chin. Izuku followed his gaze.

The spider mutation was easy to spot, but it wasn’t as advanced as Izuku had expected. Merely three pairs of beady black eyes and unusual-looking hair. Their eyes were adorable, if you asked him, especially on such a cute round face. And the hair was practically ordinary, with alternating stripes of yellow and black. 

Izuku didn’t see anything that would mandate isolation from others for safety’s sake. Unless he had issues with control, but what was there to control? Izuku squinted like it would improve his vision somehow. 

Did Mashu make webs? It was fairly common with spider mutations, and some people often didn’t develop the glands properly and had complications. Was that the case here? Mashu nibbled on his cake and gave Izuku a glimpse of his hands. His nails were dark brown, almost black, unlike the regular keratin nails most people had. Even Miyashiro’s mutation only affected the colour of his nail beds, not the substance they were made of. Perhaps Mashu’s were made of that other thing, the one insects have. Ugh, Izuku couldn’t remember the name. What was it?

“Chitin?”

Izuku jumped in fright, nearly dropping his plate. Ikehara was looking at him with wide eyes. God, he’d been muttering again. How embarrassing. “S-Sorry,” Izuku squeaked, face turning bright red. 

The senior paid no heed, looking at Mashu thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought of that…”

Analyzing Quirks was taboo as it was, but doing it to a child he’d just met was even worse. No, no, they hadn’t even met yet. And if he was struggling to control his Quirk, he would probably be sensitive about it. 

Izuku was doomed. He hurriedly bowed and spewed an endless string of apologies, so flustered that he wasn’t even sure if his words were discernible anymore. 

“Everything alright, boys?” Motoki-san, the middle-aged caretaker of the orphanage, inquired with a concerned smile. “Time to turn in for the night.”

“Everything’s fine, Motoki-san,” Ikehara said lightly before turning to Izuku. “Let’s go.”

With a nervous gulp, Izuku followed him up the stairs and quickly split from him under the guise of needing to use the washroom. He locked himself inside, planning to stay long enough for Ikehara to cool down, but someone began knocking loudly, rattling the door on its hinges. 

“I gotta pee, damn it!” A boy yelled. Goodness. Izuku groaned under his breath and unlatched the door. The boy barged in and warned, “I’m gonna!” 

“Hang on,” Izuku yelped, squeezing his eyes shut and stumbling out into the passageway. He stared at the wall vacantly, a shudder passing through his body. He’d have to get used to this, too, he realised. Gosh, to think that boy nearly- While he was still inside the- Eurgh! Izuku shuddered again.

Staggering back to his room, he found Ikehara, Mashu, and a third boy already inside. His roommates, Izuku guessed.

“Kids, meet the newest member of The Litter,” Ikehara announced in a rather lackadaisical manner, and two- no, four pairs of eyes turned squarely on him. Izuku broke into a nervous sweat. 

“H-Hi,” He said. Wait a second. “The what?”

“The Litter,” said the boy whose name Izuku didn’t know yet, “Like a litter of puppies, but also like trash.” He said this with inordinate pride, leading Izuku to believe he was the mastermind behind the moniker.

“Clever,” Izuku praised, wanted to get in his good books. The boy puffed his chest. Encouraged, Izuku introduced himself. “Er. My name is Midoriya Izuku. Please take care of me.”

“Okay,” The boy said with a magnanimous jut of his jaw. “I’m Haruku. This is Mashu. And that’s Ikehara-nii-san. Why do you have a family name?”

Ikehara snorted unsubtly. Izuku choked on air. “Th-That’s… Because I have a family.”

“Are they shit?”

Izuku wheezed, clutching his (regrettably metaphorical) pearls. Such language! From a child, practically an infant—not really, but still. If Izuku’s mother was here to hear it, she would’ve fixed the boy with her unfailing stare of disappointment and disciplined the kid to tears.

“Haruku,” Ikehara warned, nearly growling, “do you wanna drink hand soap again?” Again? Izuku thought, the back of his mouth turning bitter as if imagining it.

Young Haruku sniffed indignantly, glaring at the older in a battle of wits, but his bravery was not enough to avoid defeat. “No…” Haruku groused. “Whatever. Let’s sleep, Mashu,” He spun and threw himself on the bed. 

Mashu covered his mouth and tittered, all six eyes crinkling with amusement. He turned back to Izuku and bowed slightly.

“Nice to meet you, Midoriya-san. Please call me Mashu.” Goodness, how polite! He didn’t seem like a troublesome child at all. Izuku looked at him carefully. His isolation was definitely Quirk-related, then. It piqued his curiosity to a degree he hadn’t let himself indulge in for a long time.

“Can I see your hands?” He blurted. Oops. 

Mashu seemed surprised. “I don’t know…” When he looked to Ikehara, the eldest nodded in approval. Shifting uneasily, the boy approached Izuku and offered his hands. “Be careful,” He warned.

Izuku nodded enthusiastically. Of course. “I’ll be gentle,” He promised. Up close, the brown nails had a healthy sheen to them. Smooth, too, Izuku discovered upon grazing the pads of his fingers against them. “Soft?” Izuku frowned to himself, stroking them again. No, no, not soft. They were definitely durable. The petal-like texture was just confusing his senses, that was all.

Izuku turned Mashu’s hands to examine the sharp tips in the light. Ah, there was a kind of… layering? Izuku narrowed his eyes, pulling a hand closer. It was almost as if they were- Hollow. Hollow nails? Yes, Mashu’s nails looked thicker than normal, but if Izuku held them at just the right angle, he could make it out. Was this why Mashu had asked him to be gentle? Hollow nails did seem like quite the hassle, and maybe the material of his nails was hard but brittle. 

Broken nails can be very painful, and hollow ones probably get caught in all kinds of things. Although, the slit was too thin to catch onto much. Izuku frowned and turned the hand over again. 

“Mashu had trouble controlling his poison glands up until recently,” Ikehara said, breaking Izuku out of his reverie. His voice sounded odd, but Izuku was too engrossed to ponder it further.

“Poison glands?” Izuku murmured. His gaze flicked further up the fingers, and there! Sure enough, the spaces between Mashu’s knuckles were slightly raised; or at least not as sunken as normal. Fascinating. “Can I touch?” Izuku asked, fingertip poised over a gland.

“N-No, don’t!” Mashu yelped, snatching his hands away. Izuku flinched in surprise. He hadn’t realised how close his face had gotten. 

“Sorry,” Izuku shrank back in dismay. God, he’d gone all creepy nerd mode on the boy. Even most doctors don’t scrutinise their patients’ Quirks this keenly. Not unless the situation warranted it. Izuku had no right to invade Mashu’s privacy, and yet he’d done it. Even if it hadn’t been a conscious decision on his part, it was no excuse. So much for making a good impression.

“I still leak sometimes. If you press them, you could get hurt.” Mashu cradled his hands close to his chest.

“Oh,” Izuku blinked. Mashu had been worried about him . “I see,” Was all he could say, an odd but pleasant stirring in his stomach.

“You’re not scared?” Haruku asked, lifting his head from the pillow he’d been buried in.

“Of course I am, I mean- Poison!” Izuku exclaimed, gesticulating wildly like that would help.

“Didn’t look that scared a second ago,” Haruku pointed at him with suspicion. “You got an immunity Quirk?”

Izuku denied it but was met with identical sceptical looks. He shuffled awkwardly. It was true, he supposed, that he hadn’t been as cautious as he should have when he was informed about the poison. But that had nothing to do with any faith in his immunity or whatever else. 

“I just really like Quirks,” He hitched his shoulders uncertainly.

There was a long and heavy silence where Izuku refused to meet anyone’s gaze. 

“You’re weird,” Proclaimed Haruku, and flopped back down.

“Do you like chocolate?” Ikehara asked, quite randomly, in Izuku’s opinion.

He frowned, not sure where that had come from or where Ikehara was going with it. “Uh, yes?”

“Cool,” The elder nodded and then hauled himself up to the upper bunk in one smooth move. He tucked himself under the blanket and turned his back to them.

The next morning, Izuku found a piece of chocolate on his pillow. He carefully placed it in a box, nestled among the postcards and packet of green tea from his friends, and a few of his mother's belongings.

⟚

The next few days passed quickly after that, until finally, Izuku was permitted to write a letter to his mother. He agonised over it all day, getting distracted several times in school. 

He had so much to say and more to ask. Was she okay? Why had she done the things she did? How was Avernus? What could he do to help? Izuku spared little thought to anything else, writing and re-writing over and over in his head until it began to rattle in his skull.

Their history class was cancelled, and, as a blessing from the heavens, only a young substitute teacher came to replace her. Izuku used the time to finish up the last of his pending work. Finally, all caught up! Izuku slammed his notebook shut with triumph. He couldn’t wait to tell his mother about this; she would be so happy. 

Noticing his lightened mood, his friends were more bubbly, too. Miyashiro regaled them with a story he had read for the Literature club. It was heavily abridged and adapted for its audience, with tons of omissions and an endless stream of informal phrasing. 

Izuku and Kubo went to soccer practice after school. Izuku… didn’t do as badly as he’d expected. It seemed his work at Dagobah beach had done more for his stamina and physique than he’d expected.

Speaking of which, Goto-sensei cut their time at Dagobah beach short that day, stating that it would be hazardous and irresponsible of him to let Izuku work when he was so preoccupied.

Izuku politely argued against the ruling because he hadn’t even done anything wrong. All the trash had been moved slowly and carefully. 

The only reason Goto-sensei found out he was distracted was because Izuku hadn’t responded when the teacher declared his intention to bomb the school.

Goto-sensei tutted at this rebuttal. “Do not make excuses, young man. I know teenagers don’t give a fuck-” 

Izuku squeaked. 

“I’m not on duty, kid. Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes, I don’t expect a teenager to be worried about their school getting blown up, but I know for a fact— Yes, a fact!—that a functional teen would’ve eagerly supported my decision. You didn’t do that. Ergo, you aren’t functional. Ergo, you are hazardous.”

“I would’ve been more hazardous if I agreed to bomb our school!” Izuku protested shrilly.

“Excuses, excuses,” Goto-sensei hummed, typing rapidly on his phone. A quick peek revealed a heated exchange about deadlines and fans. Goto-sensei replied with an exceptionally uh, impolite sticker and switched to the Pinterest app. “Stop snooping, young man, or I’ll be forced to punish you.”

Izuku turned away so fast his neck hurt.

The homeroom teacher dropped him off at the bus station, and Izuku sat there and resumed his letter-related rumination while he waited. 

The routine continued at Namiyan, and Madam Gou swiftly reassigned him to delivery work before he could burn a batch of food in the kitchen. Kubo laughed at his dejected expression and promised to sneak him leftovers.

He reached the orphanage just before ten, welcomed by a very anxious Kakuya whose tail wrapped around Izuku’s leg, pulling him inside as if someone was threatening to snatch him away. “I know Yoshimi-san told us to give you more freedom, but why on earth do you keep coming home so late?!” The man cried.

“I told you,” Izuku sighed with wry amusement while the elder nudged a pair of slippers his way, “Work!”

“You’re a kid! A minor! You have no work,” Kakuya grumbled, ushering him inside. He said that every time. Izuku wondered what would make him believe him.

“I do!” Izuku laughed and decided he would tell his mother about this, too. “It’s at Namiyan restaurant. I go there with my friend, Kubo.”

“Yes, you’ve said that, but what kind of friend is this Kubo, exactly?” Motoki-san inquired with poorly hidden suspicion. It was only his mother’s ingrained teachings that stopped Izuku from losing his patience. To be honest, he’d never imagined that having multiple people worry about him would be so annoying . 

…Still, it was a nice feeling if he thought about it. What a privilege to have. He didn’t think he would meet anyone who would like him despite knowing his Quirk status, and yet here he was. All the caretakers at Anko’s knew about him; they had to if they were to care for him properly, according to Yoshimi-san. It came as a pleasant surprise to be welcomed with open arms.

“We’re in the same class in school,” Izuku explained, reheating the leftovers Kubo had saved for him. 

Most of the boys were in bed already, so he was supposed to be quiet, but there was little to be done about the loud noises of the microwave. Izuku grimaced when the machine started up with a whirr. Motoki-san procured a bowl of steaming agedashi-tofu with a truly mouthwatering aroma. Izuku’s stomach growled loudly.

“Ahh.” Was all Motoki-san responded with, a subtle cue for Kakuya to drop the interrogation. He did that often. He seemed determined to respect everyone’s privacy, and experience at the orphanage must have taught him to let everyone have their space. It’s what Eiji-san told him, and Izuku was inclined to believe it.

 Eiji-san was the kind of person who looked like they could never be wrong. 

If he said you weren’t really hungry, you would forget all about sneaking those extra sandwiches. If he said your ears would fall off if you neglected cleaning them, you would scrub your ears twice a day. If he said you were blind, you would live the rest of your life blindfolded. Or maybe you would choose the other interpretation and strive towards enlightenment. Even the most mischievous boys were cowed by his Buddha-smile.

Izuku scarfed down his meal even though he’d taken a dinner break with Kubo earlier. Feeling charitable to himself, Izuku wrote it off as a result of an early meal and an increasingly active lifestyle. And a growing body, he hoped.

The caretakers returned to their duties, leaving him alone to soak in the quiet sounds of an occupied household winding down for the night. Izuku could feel his heart rate slow steadily, and when he was done eating, he pushed his bowls away with a sated sigh.

He cleaned after himself and slinked upstairs, wrapping up his nightly routine before grabbing a notebook to pen down the letter he’d finalised. It was a bit difficult to write in the dim light of the night lamp, but he made do.

Suddenly, long hair tumbled over the bunk bed to reveal Ikehara upside-down like a particularly miffed bat. “I thought being late would be a rare occasion for you, but this seems to be the regular, Midoriya.” He accused, whispering for the sake of the younger occupants of the room.

“I have things to do,” Izuku whispered back defensively, clutching his notebook close. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping? It’s bedtime. Go away, Ikehara-san.”

“Ah?” Ikehara cocked a brow in challenge. Darn. Not this again. Izuku flushed red but kept his lips pursed tightly. The bed creaked as the elder leaned further to loom over him; his face was turning red, too, although for gravity-related reasons.

Izuku withered under his stare. “Ikehara... Ugh. Ikehara nii-san,” He corrected grouchily, turning even redder. 

This was so embarrassing! Izuku wanted the bed to swallow him whole. Ikehara and his cursed obsession with being a big brother. He didn’t even know why the elder insisted on it so much. It’s not as if he looked overjoyed when Izuku called him that. Maybe he was heckling Izuku and took sadistic pleasure in pushing his buttons. 

Well, consider his buttons pushed! Nii-san , really. If he wanted to establish his seniority, he could’ve asked Izuku to call him senpai, and he would’ve gladly done so. Honestly, he wouldn’t mind calling him Ikehara-sama or something, either. Anything was better than this. Izuku wasn’t ready for a big brother! He hadn’t even asked his mother for permission yet!

At that thought, Izuku scribbled it onto the page (along with a plea for rejection cleverly hidden in parentheses). The bed above him creaked dangerously and Izuku huffed an irritated breath. 

He had no idea how a big brother should be; his only metric for it came from the media. But was starting to suspect that being nosy was a defining trait for elder siblings because Ikehara displayed plenty of that. 

Or maybe that was an unrelated trait of his. He knew that any new additions to the orphanage were bound to be the subject of many intrigued eyes and a lot of speculation, but he had expected that from the younger kids, not the oldest of the lot. 

Perhaps it was out of protectiveness over the other kids, to vet him and ensure he wouldn’t harm them. Maybe he was a mother hen, like Kakuya. Maybe he was just meddlesome. Whatever it was, Izuku had never been subjected to anything like it. And he would prefer it to stop.

“What are you writing?” Ikehara probed, breathing down his neck like a buruburu. 

Well, then. Two could play this game. Izuku wasn’t going to let anyone be more nosy than him. “What’s that mark on your forehead?” He asked innocently. 

Ikehara chuffed like a put-upon horse and skulked back up to his bed. Hah. Checkmate. Well, stalemate if he was being technical. 

Now left alone, Izuku went back to writing the letter. Despite deliberating over it the entire day, he still had to write a postscript. He added a reminder to his phone to print out a selection of photos and buy chocolate chip cookies from that one bakery his mother adored. 

The next evening, Izuku’s package was sent to Avernus, coordinated by Yoshimi-san and Detective Moriya. Izuku made a note to thank them with a gift or something next time.

⟚

Yoshimi-san had told him to expect his mother’s reply in two or three days, and the time had finally come. 

Izuku was so excited that he woke up at five a.m. and left for school thirty minutes early. Logically, he knew that going to school early won’t make it end quicker, but his anticipation had driven logic out the window. Defenestrated it! Any day now, his mother’s letter would arrive. It could even arrive today! Izuku climbed out of the bus with a delighted hop.

He had a long wait ahead of him. There was already a significant interval between the bus reaching his stop and the train’s arrival. On top of that, Izuku had boarded the early morning circuit today. Consequently, his waiting time doubled.

Izuku figured he could get ahead on his studying while at the train station. He should probably start with maths, since he needed to practice more in order to get a strong grasp on trigonometry. Tsuda had gotten his hands on a question bank from somewhere, so he could give that a shot if it was doable-

His next step, the ground collapsed underneath him. Before Izuku could even cry out, the world went black.

He woke with a gasp, a heavy pressure bearing down on his neck. Why- He couldn’t see- Blindfolded. There was a shoe on him- someone was stepping on his neck , one push away from crushing his windpipe. Izuku clawed at it.

“Ugh. It’s squirming,” Came a disgusted voice.

“Hm. You could ask him to stop,” Suggested a second, calmer voice. It was so serene it sent shivers down his spine.

“Stop, or you die,” The first warned. Izuku thought he heard scratching. The man (boy?) sounded mad, so he was quick to comply, going limp. He was too vulnerable right now. Fear was thick in his throat, choking him more than the foot atop.

“Who are you?” He croaked. He had been kidnapped for some reason. What could they want from him, of all people? “If it’s the shoes, you can take them. I won’t struggle. Just let me go.” He’d learnt that from last time.

“Why would I want your fucking shoes?” The first asked incredulously. “Jeez, no wonder this one needs your help, sensei. It’s broken.”

Izuku did not appreciate that and briefly contemplated asking the guy to stop calling him ‘it’. If it wasn’t for the second person in the room (or wherever he was now) Izuku would have attempted already, but it was too risky to make a move without getting a proper hang on the situation.

“Let us fix him then,” said the second voice smoothly. Izuku froze in alarm.

“What do you mean, you-” Someone pulled him up and forced him on his knees, the harsh impact making him forget his next words. There was a hollow rattling sound, and something sprayed on his face. Izuku flinched away, coughing. Kami, he hoped he hadn’t inhaled anything. 

“S-Stop it,” He grunted, pulling away. There was a strange, bitter taste on his tongue and it sent sirens wailing in his mind. He’d inhaled some of the spray. Whatever it was, he couldn’t give it time to kick in.

With a strength he didn’t know he had, Izuku wrenched an arm free and struck out with his elbow, hitting what was hopefully someone’s knee.

“Fuck! This shitty-” Without warning, there came a hard blow to his head, and Izuku fell sideways. His head pounded, and his ears rang deafeningly loud. T hat hurt. 

Before he could regain his bearings, a rough hand grabbed him by the neck and held him up like he was a sacrifice at an altar. God, oh god, whatever this was Izuku wanted to get away . He scrabbled back, resisting with all he had. He dug his feet in and used his weight to bear down on the hand holding him until their wrist was forced at a painful angle. He reached behind him blindly and came in contact with rough skin.

“Stop moving,” The man snapped, tilting his head out of reach. “BM.”

The hand on his neck shifted. The half-hearted grip changed, all fingers now wrapped around his throat. White hot agony jolted through him, making him seize. 

Izuku’s jaw fell to scream, but his throat was being flayed open, and he choked. Skin peeled, muscle ripped. His eyes stung with tears of pain, and his body twitched in a futile attempt to escape. But the grip on his neck was unrelenting. 

Hot blood trickled down his neck, trickled into his neck, now gaping raw and strangely cold from the places it was exposed to the air. It was this that pushed him off the tightrope of sanity because his neck- his neck was being ripped open, ripped apart -

Izuku screamed and gurgled and choked, getting increasingly desperate at the sensation of his own blood clogging his windpipe. His next gasp rattled wetly, and Izuku knew he was going to die.

“Don’t lose your temper, Tomura,” The second voice chided gently, a sharp contrast to the sounds of Izuku’s struggle to survive. Like the flip of a switch, the hand on his neck relaxed, and Izuku crumpled to the ground in an ungainly heap.

He whimpered, muscles twitching from the sour mix of pain and adrenaline. Salt and metal mixed in his mouth, leaving a slimy coat inside. Izuku was helpless as something snaked over his prone form and wiggled into his throat. He jerked at the intrusion, too out of sorts to try and claw off the snake-like thing now inside him. 

He was going to die. The snake was going to eat him from the inside out, and Izuku’s shell of a corpse would be the only thing left behind, and Izuku was going to die- He- He didn’t want to die. The thought pushed out a last, frantic wave of adrenaline that gave Izuku enough strength to grab the thing pushing into his open throat. He didn’t want to die.

“Resilient,” The other observed like he was praising a dog’s tricks. Izuku snarled brokenly and reached up to rip the blindfold off. There. Izuku swept his legs under the person in front of him. He was on his feet for only a few seconds before he got dizzy and fell. The shock jarred his spine and Izuku coughed wetly, drowning in his own blood.

“Stop fighting, child. Your mother went to such trouble to ask for our help. Is this how you want to repay her? How ungrateful.”

Izuku’s blood ran cold. His mother?

He turned to face the shadows, trying to find the source of that silken voice. He couldn’t see anything. The darkness was deep and unending, stretching towards Izuku from all sides. A purple-black void trying to swallow him whole. Izuku had never seen anything like it. It made him feel impossibly small.

Where was the light coming from, then? Maybe it was his way out. Izuku looked up, only to find a single bulb directly above him, as if it was consciously shedding a spotlight on him. Izuku’s skin broke into goosebumps, foreboding. He shivered from fear and blood loss. There was no way out. He was going to die. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t-

The first one picked himself off the ground and brushed off his jeans with a string of curses. “It’s not worth the trouble, sensei. We’ve wasted so much time already.”

“Now, now,” The one shrouded in darkness reprimanded him. “Someone asked for my help. How could I refuse? You were a bit careless there, Tomura. Injuring him like this will increase our work. We have many things to do. And this one needs to be on time for school. Doctor?”

“Any second now, master.”

Izuku’s flinched. There was a third person here? He whipped his gaze around desperately. Black spots danced in his vision. The void? Blood loss? If he passed out, he was done for. He needed to escape. His hands and feet felt numb already. He had trouble breathing. 

He coughed, but nothing came up his mouth. He realised with horror that it came out of the gaping tear in his throat instead.

“You’ll have to bring him over.”

“Ugh. Seriously?”

Izuku took a shaky breath and curled up defensively. He was in no shape for a fight, but hell if he would die without giving them one anyway. He felt woozy. Numb. Numb? Right, blood loss could make you numb- That spray. What was in that spray? Shit, shit. 

His grip on the viscous snake-thing suddenly went slack, like his hand was made of jelly, and Izuku’s jaw clacked against the ground, nearly biting off his tongue. God, what had they done to him? Izuku keened, his heart thumping in terror. 

There was- There was no hope now. His body was failing him and- and he was trapped with three powerful, hostile men in a place he did not know. Miles away from his mother- his mother, what had they- what had they said about his mother? His thoughts were like water, he- He couldn’t remember.

He looked up with some effort and finally put a face to the man who’d ripped his throat open. He’d never seen him before. Why would he attack Izuku? He hadn't done anything to him. Why?

“Now.” Said the disturbingly gentle one, still hidden from view.

“I’m going, I’m going.”

Izuku tensed, eyes blazing with a small but intense flame of rebellion. He wasn’t going to die so easily. Not now, when he hadn’t seen his mother in weeks and wouldn’t see her again till three more years. His mother- there was no way these monsters knew her. No way. So, why would they mention her? A trick?

It was getting hard to think. The first one—what was his name… Tomura, his name was Tomura. Izuku had to remember that. It would be useful if he ever got out of this alive—dragged him over to the ‘sensei’. Blood ran down Izuku’s chest and fell in thick splatters across the floor, using his uniform as a canvas to paint a gruesome picture. 

“No,” Izuku slurred, trying to paw him off in vain. His face felt weird too. “Para-?” He couldn’t say the rest. His tongue was heavy. So heavy.

“Something like it.” Third voice. The doctor. Bad doctor, he thought somewhat deliriously. 

“Come.” Two arms emerged from the darkness, welcoming, and Izuku was scooped up like a child. He couldn’t even dodge, stupid body, stupid paralytic thingy. 

His mind buckled under a sudden, immense pressure. 

Izuku startled and coughed, flecks of blood now staining those foreign hands. The thick intrusion in his throat swelled, forcing out a weak dribble of fluids before choking it off entirely. He couldn’t make a sound. Both mind and body were in unbearable agony; it took seconds—too little, far too little—for Izuku’s body to give up.

The fight left him, and Izuku went limp. Cold, scarred hands cradled him almost tenderly. Words were said. Izuku could no longer make them out. The strength to live, to hold on, fizzled out, leaving him cold and shivering. He was going to die here. His heart hurt. He closed his eyes and tried to picture his mother. 

What a waste.

⟚

“Hey! Deku-! Izu- Fuck! I know you’re not dead, damn it! Snap out of it!”

He was shaking. Seemed impossible, given how heavy his body felt. Ah, no, he was being shaken. By someone. The thought niggled at the back of his brain, and Izuku groaned, pulling himself out of molasses. “Ngh?”

“Fuck. What the fuck, Deku. Wake up, you damn idiot, or I swear I’ll call the cops.” 

He knew that voice. Izuku exhaled unsteadily, feeling it rattle in his lungs.

“Oi, look at me, you fucking idiot! Shit- What did you do ?!”

Oh. Recognition slowly brought the light back to his eyes, and the world started to regain shape. “Kuh-” He cut himself off. He shouldn’t speak. He doubted he could, given the state it must be in by now. What was Kacchan doing here? Was he hallucinating? Was he dead? If he was seeing Kacchan, maybe he could see his mother, too. He prayed to the gods for one last kindness.

“If you start crying, I’ll blow you up, I swear,” Kacchan growled. Izuku wanted to laugh even though it wasn’t that funny.

“K’chan,” He slurred, trying to hold something, anything. He was scared. “‘M I dead?” Or maybe not yet? Maybe he was somewhere in between? In the place where people usually see their life flash before their eyes?

“What?” Kacchan asked faintly, eyes wide in a way Izuku had never seen before. “No— No, stupid Deku. You’re not dead.”

No? But- “M’neck,” He croaked, shuddering at the memory of the pain.

“D’you think I’m an idiot? Your neck’s the first thing I checked,” Kacchan snapped. Nevertheless, he ran his fingers over Izuku’s skin, too rough to be comfortable but Izuku was in no position to complain.

It ran smoothly over the place that should’ve been torn open, and that brought Izuku’s thoughts to a stuttering halt.

The touch felt real. Kacchan felt real. But- his neck being ripped apart had been real too, he knew it had. So, what- What was going on?

“Dunno how you got all that blood on ya, ‘cause your neck’s fine. What shady shit did you get into, Deku? Tried to off yourself or something?” 

The words were said with his typical callousness, but Izuku saw the way his eyes frantically scanned him. Hero training had done him some good, huh?

He could use some more, though, Izuku thought, feeling strangely suspended in nothingness. Kacchan was still making those comments about suicide. 

“Bet you’d like that,” Izuku mumbled, wondering if this was a strange afterlife he hadn’t heard of. Or maybe, impossibly, he had been healed and returned to- to whatever place they had kidnapped him from. Izuku didn’t remember. He… He’d been on his way to school…

“Hah?” Kacchan scowled, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. His palms were warm. He smelled sweet.

Izuku blinked slowly, trying to hold onto his faculties, but everything kept slipping away like sand. He tried to swallow, but the motion snagged against the apparently healed wound on his neck. Healed. His throat was- fine?

Disbelieving, Izuku tested it again with a second swallow and promptly choked, breaking into a hacking cough that rattled his ribcage and brought tears to his eyes. What on earth? 

Izuku surged up with a shaky gasp, clawing at the phantom snake-thing in his throat. Where had that gone? Was it inside him now? He couldn’t- He couldn’t feel it, and now his skin was closed up and- What? He quickly became short of breath, which only worsened his panic.

The vague shock on Kacchan’s face quickly turned into annoyance. “Hey, don’t pass out, you moron,” Kacchan shook him so hard it made him nauseous. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You take drugs or something? That’s cool and shit in the posh schools, isn’t it? Took drugs and got shanked, didn’t you? You fucking numbskull.”

“No drugs,” Izuku denied hoarsely, the accusation so outrageous that it pulled his soul back into his body. “They- My neck, they-” Too many words. 

“Yeah, right,” Kacchan scoffed, “Can’t even come up with an excuse, you’re so far gone. Fuck, man, I never thought you’d be able to ruin your life even further.” And just like that, the hands holding Izuku steady disappeared. 

Izuku’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t know when he’d closed them. Looking up took more effort than expected. He saw the retreating back of his childhood friend. Izuku shivered, cold. “K-Kacchan?” He called feebly. Why was he leaving? Was Izuku dead after all?

His body felt so… so different . Like someone had stuck their fingers past his ribcage and moved his organs around, and now his nerves carried blood, and his veins carried signals, and his brain was pumping, and his mind was thinking. Izuku felt so different it was wrong . He must be dead.

He whimpered, lost. What did they do to him? Why? When- When would his mother come? He wanted to rest- Why wouldn’t she come and hold him in her arms and- and smile at him all soft and put him to rest? Did she hate him? She must. His mother hated him. She didn’t love him. Izuku put her in jail, and now she hated him, and Izuku would die alone-

“DAMN IT!”

Izuku hiccuped in fright. He looked to the side and found Kacchan storming towards him with a murderous expression on his face. 

He stopped a mere foot away and glared at Izuku, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Izuku looked up at him and sniffled. “Kacchan,” He called again, a plea for respite.

Kacchan ground his teeth together and yelled, “Fuck!” And knelt beside him like an angry but watchful demon. “What is it?”

Izuku wanted to be held, but Kacchan would not be the one to do it. Even now, when Izuku strongly suspected he was dead, it seemed stupid to seek comfort from him, of all people. It was like asking a stone for water. But a parched man would wring it anyway in the hopes of getting a drop or two out of it. Izuku was no less desperate. 

"K-Kacchan." He held the sleeve of Kacchan’s shirt and cried, quiet and mournful. The only sound between them was little hitches of breath Izuku couldn’t help but make.

That only lasted for a few minutes, however, then Kacchan’s shock wore off and he slapped Izuku’s hand away harshly. “Fucking pull yourself together,” He barked, dusting himself off as he made to leave. “To think I came back for this. Tsk.”

“W-Wait-” He needed help. His body was weak; his uniform was a mess. Izuku was in no condition to get to school on time. And he didn’t want to stay here while he waited for his body to scrounge up strength. Heaven knows what might happen to him if the villains decide to come back for him. His throat tightened with pain, pushing a broken sound out of him. “Kacchan, wait-”

BOOM! Izuku flinched at the explosion that was set off at the wall, mere centimetres from his face. Kacchan snarled at him menacingly, palms curled and ready to aim. “Don’t you dare drag me into your mess, you good-for-nothing piece of shit! Stay here and rot with the rest of the trash!”

With that, the boy left him alone in the alley. Izuku was tempted to call after him, his only possible source of aid. But he couldn’t. 

The explosion knocked him out of his delirium, though. The gravel under his skin, the smell of bad coffee, and morning traffic all began to permeate his senses. All very human; neither heaven nor hell. Izuku wasn't dead.

Not dead. Thus, alive. Ah, if Izuku was alive, he had to make it in time for school.

He slumped against the dirty wall and sighed. Izuku gave himself roughly five minutes to pull himself together. It wasn’t like he was injured anymore. If he managed to get his hands on a change of clothes, he could probably catch the train. Kacchan wouldn't have stuck around if there was a chance of missing it. Despite first impressions, the boy was quite disciplined when it came down to it.

Izuku pulled himself up with a grunt, reaching for his phone to ask his friends for a spare uniform. The kidnappers had left it untouched. Izuku scoffed at himself. If he had kept it together during the time of crisis, he could have done something with it- Done what, exactly? Call the police? Little good it would've done him, not knowing where he was or who he was up against. Izuku sighed, acknowledging to himself that maybe there was truly nothing he could have done to avoid what happened.

His fingers brushed against a chit of paper in his pocket. He frowned, pulling it out. He didn’t remember writing one; at least he caught it before his uniform went to the washing machine. It would’ve ruined the entire lot.

His phone pinged.

[Miyashiro]: spare uniform? why??

[Kubo]: Is everything okay? 

        Did something happen on your way to school?

[Tsuda]: obviously. 

Izuku felt a flicker of amusement upon reading the exchange. He clasped his phone tighter, thanking the heavens for letting him meet such wonderful friends. Why seek comfort from Kacchan when he had them? These three boys who, despite knowing very little, had been supporting him since the beginning of high school. Who included him in everything despite the baggage he clearly carried. Izuku knew from experience that most people would turn away rather than share the burden.

Suddenly, Izuku found himself crumbling. He sniffled and swallowed down the lump in his throat.

im fine

but my uniform is dirty now so

help?

Help. Izuku choked on his next breath, nearly breaking down again. Help, somebody, please, please-

No. Now was not the time. Izuku coughed a few times to expel the urge to cry, fiercely wiping his face dry. He had a train to catch, and he couldn’t afford to look worse than he already did and have someone call the police.

Should he tell Moriya-san? Izuku mulled over it as he struggled to unfold the chit with his left hand. He had his reservations after what they had done for—or rather, what they had done to —his mother. He had nothing against the detective in particular, but… for now, the fewer people in the know, the better. At least until he figured out whether there was anything that might pin the case on him instead.

Besides, he didn’t think he could revisit the incident after only just getting used to the fact that he was still alive. While there was an odd lack of joy at that particular realisation, it was still… good. Yes, good. 

Izuku wanted to live. He’d never been more certain of that than today. It returned him the strength he had lost the day he met All Might. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. With a measured exhale, he pushed out the lingering fumes of fear. He was okay; he was alive. And if he wasn’t, if those villains had done something to him that he hadn’t caught yet…he’d figure it out. He swore to himself that he would. 

His phone buzzed with replies from his friends. Izuku looked at the chit instead, drawn to it by something he saw in his periphery. 

“What-?” That wasn’t his handwriting.

“Remember what you owe AFO?” Izuku read aloud, confused. 

⟚

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Izuku trudged up the stairs of the train station with a new question added to the ever-growing list: Who was AFO? And who owed him? Surely not Izuku? He’d never heard of such a person. Or organisation, he amended; an abbreviation like that implied the latter. 

His friends had managed to get him a uniform, probably Tsuda’s since his house was near the school and, unlike Miyashiro who also lived closeby but was very tall, Tsuda’s uniform would at least look passable on Izuku’s frame. Izuku quickly typed a heartfelt thanks and pocketed his phone. 

He frowned at the mysterious chit again, as if the paper would reveal more information as a reward for his persistence.

“Hah? What the hell are you doing here, Deku?!” Came Kacchan’s loud voice.

Izuku jumped in fright, clutching the chit to his chest on instinct. “Kacchan!” He cried in alarm, more high-pitched than he would like to admit. “What are you doing here?” He’d been so quick to ditch him in the alley, after all. He should’ve made it to Yuuei by now.

Kacchan’s eyes widened, a choked-off sound escaping him. Perhaps enraged by Izuku’s bold question, or the way he turned it all back on him. Izuku tensed in anticipation. 

After the events of the morning, he was nearly looking forward to handling Kacchan’s temper. This, at least, he knew how to tackle. It was routine. Oddly enough, Izuku found himself relieved, part of him convinced that if Kacchan bullied him right now everything would be normal again, and it would be as if the kidnapping never happened.

It certainly wasn’t the first time his mind ensnared him with delusions. And Izuku feared it wouldn’t be the last.

Kacchan clicked his tongue and looked away, reigning himself in. “The train’s not here yet, dumbass,” He said gruffly. 

Izuku blinked. “Oh.” He checked the time. Apparently, he’d made it just in time. That made sense; he usually had half an hour to spare since the bus from the orphanage was scheduled much earlier. “Right.” So the entire kidnapping must have taken around twenty minutes. Izuku didn’t know what to make of it.

“You…” Kacchan looked Izuku up and down, face twisted as if he was being forced to watch a frog dissection video. “What are you even doing here, you smooth-brained salmon?!”

“I’m a what now?” Izuku asked, bewildered.

“Only you would be stupid enough to try and walk off… whatever this is,” Kacchan talked over him, gesturing to Izuku’s heavily bloodstained clothes. The train arrived, and they climbed in together, Izuku forgetting to respond as he pushed his way into the crowd. 

Being around so many people made him nervous, still wary of another kidnapping attempt or something of the sort. So Izuku kept moving down the carriage until he found a relatively secluded spot by the window. The few people there were quick to give him a wide berth after a look at his state.

He turned to rest his bag on the railing to take the weight off his shoulders and was shocked to find that Kacchan had followed him. A grey blazer was thrown at his chest. Izuku grabbed it on reflex. “Uh.”

“Cover that shit before someone locks you up, shitty nerd,” Kacchan scowled. When Izuku hesitated, the boy clicked his tongue and added, “At least make yourself useful and give me an excuse to burn that stupid thing.” Now, that made more sense. Might as well then, he figured. Izuku held it up to hide as much of the blood as he could.

“You stink,” Kacchan found it imperative to establish.

“Sorry,” Izuku said flatly. He turned to face the window, taking in the view. The train swayed with motion, creating a ripple in the carriage, the people looking like grass on a windy hill. 

“You didn’t take drugs,” Kacchan said, tripping Izuku when they got off the train. Izuku stumbled several steps, dropping Kacchan’s grey blazer in the process. He then tripped over that and nearly falling flat on his face. Izuku blew his hair out of his eyes and spun to glare at the boy. 

He was met with a raised fist and a challenging glare. Izuku would not take that particular offer on a good day, let alone now. He feared he’d used up a month’s worth of luck just getting out of the villain’s clutches this morning.

Izuku picked himself up with a quiet sigh. “No, I did not,” he muttered, and resumed walking. Passersby hardly seemed to notice his state now that they were all worried about their own punch-in. 

A thick silence wrapped around them, Kacchan practically boiling with rage when Izuku responded to his unspoken question with an unspoken answer. “If it wasn’t drugs,” Kacchan ground out, “What was it?”

“I’m not sure,” Izuku said honestly. “Have you ever heard of AFO?”

“Hah? No.”

“I thought as much.” Then, “Tomura?”

He hadn’t been expecting much when he said the name. Which, in itself, had been quite the task. A muscle in his neck twitched, the pain of being ripped open making itself known despite no longer having a wound to point to. Izuku kept walking, reminding himself over and over that he was fine, he’d been healed.

“...Tomura? That- That coward of a villain?!” 

“Huh?” Izuku blinked out of his trance to find that he’d walked quite ahead of Kacchan, who was now looking at him with wide eyes. “You know him?”

“Yeah. How do you know him?!” He pointed at Izuku accusingly. “Why would that Grabby Hands even bother with a shitty Deku like you?!”

It felt like a Missouri Smash to the face. The little curiosity that had piqued in his mind quickly sank back under the surface. The crusty texture of his shirt became all too apparent. Lips parting ever so slightly, Izuku tasted remnants of salt and metal on his tongue. And, after about half an hour of fumbling like a fish out of water, the world fell back into place and Izuku’s limbs turned loose.

Why would anyone bother with a Quirkless boy like him? They hadn’t bothered with stealing his shoes, so it wasn’t for money. They hadn’t sold him like the muggers had once suggested to his mother. Which brought him to the conclusion that his kidnappers hadn’t intended to deal with him at all. They had been asked to do something to him, and they had perhaps finished the task. A task supposedly given by his mother, but Izuku highly doubted it was true. 

Either way, Tomura had made it clear that Izuku was quite possibly the most disgusting, undesirable creature he’d ever dealt with. He wouldn’t be coming back for Izuku if he could help it. Their paths would likely never meet again. 

“Right,” Izuku breathed. The ordeal was over. There was no evidence, no eyewitnesses, and the one person he could identify seemed to be known by the hero community already. It made his next decision much easier. Izuku would not report the incident to the authorities. 

There was no point. He had nothing to prove his story or innocence. It was likely that the police would come to the same conclusions Kacchan had: Izuku had taken drugs and got into a back-alley fight that he inevitably lost, being a useless Null of a boy. At best, he would get pity. At worst, he would be sent to jail for a crime he hadn’t committed.

Izuku would laugh at the irony, but the thought of his mother stopped him.

“What the hell are you smiling at, you damn creep?!” Kacchan snapped, palms popping. 

Izuku startled, quickly fixing his expression only to realise he hadn’t been smiling at all. He frowned at Kacchan, trying to understand why he would lie like that. 

Irate, Kacchan asked again, “Why d’ya ask about Grabby Hands?”

“Forget about it,” Izuku waved it off. “If that’s what you call him, I regret asking.”

“What?! You can’t just-”

“We’ll be late to school,” Izuku sang over his shoulder as he kept walking ahead. He turned away just as the other boy snarled, a familiar crackle-pop accompanying it. 

“Fuck! Whatever! Like I care, anyway!”

“Exactly,” Izuku nodded.

“Don’t you dare look down on me, you piece of shit!!” Kacchan lunged at him. 

Izuku flinched, nearly braining himself on a lamp post. No. Not again, not again- He raised his arms defensively, a strangled noise escaping him at the thought of a hand grabbing his throat again. His torn- not torn, no, freshly-healed throat. Three heartbeats of wild terror, then Izuku’s breath faltered, startled by his own reaction.

Kacchan remained frozen, arm still poised for attack, looking at him with confusion. Slowly, he lowered his arm, gaze scratching unpleasantly against Izuku’s brittle defence. Izuku cleared his throat, bowed his head with a quick apology spilling from his lips, and quickly fled the scene.

⟚

“What the hell happened to you?!” Miyashiro shrieked, shoving Izuku into the boys’ washroom like he was on fire.

“Quiet!” Tsuda hissed, locking the door. 

Kubo began shepherding Izuku into a cubicle. “Wear these.” 

Izuku complied, taking as long as he could to buy himself time to think of excuses. Unfortunately, he came up short, emerging from the cubicle in a fresh set of clothes and nothing but a sheepish grin to explain himself. Unsatisfactory, according to his friends, who proceeded to corner him and demand if he was being bullied. 

“I’m not!” Izuku denied vehemently. Not anymore, at least. Not in Keisei.

“Stop lying, please,” Miyashiro urged. “Midoriya, we can only help you if you let us. Please . We- We all know how our classmates can be. Just because they’re targeting you-”

“What-? I- Nobody’s targeting me, I promise!” Just what on earth had been going on in Keisei for them to think such copious amounts of blood could come from a case of bullying? Perhaps Izuku should pay more attention to what was happening in school. “I just got in a bit of an accident on my way to school.”

“What? Are you okay?” Miyashiro gasped and began inspecting him for injuries. Izuku spluttered in embarrassment, unused to such proximity to anyone who wasn’t his mother. The boy didn’t seem to notice, pulling down Izuku’s collar to check for wounds. When he found none, Miyashiro stepped back and blinked at him with wide eyes. “Then how-?”

“It's worse than it looks- Wait, I mean, it looks worse than it is,” Izuku stammered, messing up in his haste to explain. “There was this person in the bus carrying raw meat, for some reason, and I tried to stay away because that’s just weird, you know? But then there was a sharp turn and a pothole, and- and he fell on me and it was kinda gross. And my uniform got ruined, but the guy was super sorry about it, so I didn’t want to make it a big deal.”

The story spilt from his lips like a string of beads, pieces of truth brought together to make a lie. It left a sour taste in his mouth. What a ghastly thing it was, lying to the first friends he’d had in ten years. Perhaps this was why Izuku had gone so long without any; he just didn’t deserve them. 

“Huh,” Kubo said, staring at him for a long moment. Izuku felt his palms begin to sweat, worried he’d be called out on his lies. Then, Kubo said, “C’mon, let’s head back to class before we get in trouble.” The look in his eyes just before he turned around put Izuku on edge. But maybe he was being paranoid. It was probably natural, after what happened.

It was only once they were seated that Izuku remembered to ask, “What did you mean when you said you know what our classmates are like? Have they been bullying someone?”

Tsuda twisted in his seat to look at Izuku with a mix of disappointment and disdain. “You’re joking.” He said.

Izuku wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he said, “I’m… not?”

The boy groaned and massaged his head. “Kami help me.”

A heavy hand landed on Izuku’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Midoriya,” Kubo said, like a hero motivating his wounded sidekick for a final stand, “I’ll catch you up later.” Moved by his passion, Izuku gulped and nodded firmly. Goto-sensei entered the class, casually warning everyone to get to their seats else he’d assign them cleaning duty.

The day passed without further mishaps, and Izuku let himself sink into the comfort of routine, the stress of the morning fading away. There was no point worrying about it anymore; even if the villains decided to attack him again, there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Nothing anyone could do, really, since they had a teleportation Quirk on their side. There was little that could counter a wildcard like that.

That, however, begs the question: was there anything those villains couldn’t get away with? How far were they willing to push it? Surely this wasn’t their first crime; their movements had been too confident for that. Kacchan’s recognition lent significant weight to the theory. They must have a reputation amongst heroes if a Yuuei student knew about it, but the news didn’t. A new or ongoing problem, perhaps, that needed to be concealed from the public. They did that often, Izuku knew.

“-Hey! Midoriya!”

“Wh- Yes?” Izuku blinked, nearly dropping his fork when he realised the conversation had paused at some point and everyone was staring at him. “Sorry, what?”

“I was asking if you brought your jersey? For the practice match today?” Kubo prompted with his brows slightly raised, waving his chopsticks. 

Ah, right. Apparently, Izuku had picked up the basics faster than expected, and now the seniors wanted to try and shape him up for the season or something. Izuku was quite doubtful of it ever getting anywhere, though. He hadn’t ever displayed a knack for team sports—that or the kids at Aldera simply didn’t want to play with him, he wasn’t sure which it truly was.

Either way, even if he improved, it was unlikely that he’d be good enough to replace someone in the team. Just rising to the position of reserve player would come as a surprise to him. 

Kubo seemed excited, however, insisting that a sports team’s third years were always conscious of the fact that they’d be graduating soon, and were constantly on the lookout for promising team members. To this, Izuku was forced to concede, having no knowledge of the workings of a high school sports team himself. An unfair advantage for Kubo, especially when the boy insisted on using it to its fullest every time the topic of their football club arose.

Had Izuku brought his jersey? Quite against his will, yes. Izuku replied as such.

Kubo snickered at his expression, “Dude, there’s no need to be so sulky about it. You’re the one who wanted to be an all-rounder. Don’t complain now that you’re actually getting the chance.”

“I thought you’d started to like it, Midoriya,” Miyashiro frowned.

“He did,” Kubo smirked, “Until our senpai named him Scarecrow.”

Izuku scowled at the horrible nickname. Tsuda looked at him, lips pressed together in a poorly restrained smile. “Well, I can guess how that came about,” He hummed, casting his gaze on Izuku’s frame. 

Izuku felt his hackles rise defensively. He’d bulked up ever since he started working at Dagobah Beach. Noticeably so, might he add, as supported by the sketch Goto-sensei had once made when he got bored supervising. The borrowed uniform wasn’t doing him any favours at the moment, but someone of Tsuda’s intelligence should know to keep that in mind! 

“Ai, stop teasing him,” Miyashiro chided, probably empathetic to his struggles. Miyashiro would be the first to receive any friendship gifts from Izuku, he decided.

“Thank you,” Izuku said, leaning towards him to show his gratitude. He faltered when he got a closer look at his friend’s face. So that’s why Tsuda and Kubo had been worried. Miyashiro’s mutation made it hard to spot at first, but now that Izuku could see the discolouration around the boy’s eyes, it was difficult to look away. He’d clearly been crying. Crying a lot, Izuku amended; he must have if its effects were visible even at lunch hour.

That it had taken him so long to notice what his other friends had seen immediately made Izuku’s skin prickle with shame. He pulled away, poking at his food while the others carried on the conversation. He daren’t ask Miyashiro. If the boy was anything like him—and Izuku was inclined to believe that they were, given the various similarities they shared—he would prefer to keep it to himself. Some problems were better shared once they’d been solved. 

When Izuku left to give his tray for cleaning, he bought a strawberry milkshake from the vending machine and quietly passed it to Miyashiro. The boy seemed perplexed, but the expression melted into one of warmth when Izuku gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Under the table, Miyashiro tapped his foot against Izuku’s in thanks.

Classes resumed, and by the end of the day, they’d been assigned homework in five subjects. Izuku made a note of all, trying to figure out how he would make time for it. Cutting down work at Namiyan was immediately ruled out. He wasn’t keen on pushing back his work at Dagobah Beach either. Goto-sensei had said he might finish it by the month-end, guaranteeing him a Virtue pin. Izuku won’t let it slip through his fingers. 

He’d just have to stay up late to do his homework then. His mother wouldn’t approve, insisting he needed proper food and rest to grow, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. A statement his mother practically embodied. 

Izuku slipped his fingers under his collar, feeling the smooth skin there, and wondered what he would find in his mother’s letter when it arrived.

The bell rang, marking the end of the day. While Tsuda and Miyashiro got ready for their walk home, Izuku and Kubo left for the practice match. 

The match turned out surprisingly enjoyable, and though Izuku would be hard pressed to recall the finer details, he was happy that he was able to get along with the boys of the rival school well enough to avoid any ragging. A few of them even clapped him on the back. His skin remained warm right up till he stepped into the shower.

“What’ll you do when you get home?” Kubo asked casually. The breeze whipped a few drops of water from his wet hair. One landed dangerously close to Izuku’s eye, and he flinched, making a face. “Pfft, don’t like it, Midoriya? You were dying to get to the showers as soon as the match ended. What, suddenly averse to water now?” Kubo snickered, shaking his head like a dog.

“Eurgh, go away,” Izuku groaned, shoving his giddy friend off his shoulder. “Need I remind you this is a borrowed uniform, Kubo-san?”

“How dare you address me so formally!” Kubo gasped. “I’ll have to report you to the police!”

“The police?” Izuku huffed. His pulse jumped in his throat, and he swallowed uneasily. “What good will that do? They can’t stop me from calling you Kubo-san.”

“Well, I’ll have you know-” The boy cut himself off when his gaze landed on Izuku. “Hey,” Kubo frowned, “You’ve been off all day. What’s going on, Midoriya?” Gosh, and here he was thinking he’d done a good job concealing it.

“I’m-” Fine? Was he? He certainly didn’t feel as disoriented or shaken as he probably should be. But he wasn’t… alright. He needed to know why he’d been kidnapped, and what they’d done to him. If he didn’t figure it out, god knows what might happen to him next time. He hadn’t expected anything this morning, and if he didn’t investigate even a little, he’d just be caught unawares again. 

“What really happened this morning?” Kubo asked, soft with concern. Izuku could cry.

“I don’t know,” He whispered. “I- I really don’t know, Kubo. I’ll t-tell you when I figure it out, okay? Maybe? You’ve- You’ve all been so nice to me, and I just keep bringing all my problems to you, it’s not fair. I don’t- I don’t need your help.”

The silence that ensued was tense, pressing into Izuku’s skin like cruel, cruel fingers. 

“What’s going on with Miyashiro?” Izuku asked. “He’s been sad lately, hasn’t he?”

It took a while for Kubo to reply, busy staring at the ground before his feet, lips pursed and gripping his bag tightly. “Yeah. He’s always with us at school, and Tsuda walks with him every day, so it can’t be bullies. We don’t think so, at least. But…”

“He’s been crying,” Izuku filled in. “Problems at home, maybe?” Just saying it out loud felt like trespassing into forbidden territory. He twisted his hands. It probably wasn’t their place to speculate about their friend’s life this way.

“Tsuda thinks so too,” Kubo murmured. If that were the case, there was little they could do to help. Kubo’s conflicted expression told him he was thinking the same. “You’re both driving us nuts,” He groaned, mussing his hair. “Do you think we’re blind? Seriously, Midoriya, you could tell Miyashiro’s been crying even after- whatever it was that actually happened to you this morning,” he levelled him with a look as if to say I haven’t forgotten that, by the way , “Do you really think we can’t see that you’ve been going through something, too?”

“Sorry,” Izuku apologised meekly. Kubo was right; it wasn’t fair of him to think they wouldn’t notice. They were friends, after all, and good ones at that. Despite Izuku’s hesitance in embracing it, part of him couldn’t help but hope it would last. If that were to happen, lying was not the best way to go. However, “I really don’t know what to say. I- I’ve barely made sense of it myself. At least- Give me at least one day. I don’t want to lie to you guys, but-”

“Dude, I’m not forcing you,” Kubo sighed, patting the top of Izuku’s head, something he did often due to their height difference. “We’re just worried that you’re, y’know, dealing with stuff on your own. Friends support each other. I guess you and Miyashiro are just gonna take some time to learn that, but don’t- don’t, like, stress about it. That’s the last thing we want.”

“Right,” Izuku mumbled, not sure he understood.

“You saw Miyashiro today. Made you wanna help him, right?” 

Izuku nodded. He did want to help his friend, maybe they could figure a way out together, get rid of whatever was bothering him, or- Ah. “I get it now,” Izuku blinked. “Sorry, I hadn’t thought of it like that before.” No wonder the others looked so worried this morning. 

Kubo gave him a small smile. “As long as you know, I guess.”

⟚

He went to Dagobah beach since going back to the orphanage at this hour was more trouble than it was worth. Goto-sensei would arrive in half an hour anyway. Izuku may as well get a head start; the beach was nearly cleared now. That second Virtue pin was nearly in his grasp.

He lost himself in the push and pull of work, and slowly, his mind began to settle. The flow of thought resumed, trickling past the muddy blockage that’d appeared at some point without his realising. 

Right. He had homework to do. He quickly sorted them by deadline and difficulty, keeping track of what had already been assigned but was yet to be completed. Tests were coming up; Izuku had to do well. Eiji-san wanted help with the garden this weekend, so he’d have to put some time aside for that, too.

And, Izuku had been kidnapped. By villains, for reasons as of yet unknown. One of the villains was known in the hero community. ‘Grabby Hands’, Kacchan had called him. So it was safe to assume the thing he’d done to Izuku was the result of a touch-based Quirk. 

A touch-based Quirk that ripped the flesh off Izuku’s throat, baring it to the cold, stale air. By all means, it was a perfect fit for a villain. Almost too perfect; if Izuku were so inclined, he might question if it was the Quirk that made the villain instead of the inverse. But that wasn’t his concern, so the thought was tossed to the wayside. Tomura, or ‘Grabby Hands’, a villain with a touch-based Quirk, had attacked him. 

Tomura had an ally with a teleportation Quirk. Izuku didn’t think he’d seen them, so that thread of investigation was a short one. Not something he should pursue first. There had also been a doctor, though Izuku had serious doubts about the legitimacy of the title. He must be the one who healed Izuku’s throat. He wouldn’t be receiving a thank-you card anytime soon, and it likely wouldn’t be the first time if this were his chosen modus operandi. Izuku had neither his name nor face. Another short thread.

Then, of course, was the master, the sensei. Scarred hands, odd voice, and a Quirk that made black snake-like limbs. Izuku felt his throat closing up at the memory of its invasion. Undoubtedly, he was the leader of the group of villains, revered—or perhaps feared—enough to leash even the barbaric Tomura. And to think Izuku had been at his most vulnerable in that man’s arms… He feared what might’ve been done to him.

And they must have done something , since they hadn’t taken anything from his bag, nor had they coveted his shoes. The mention of his mother threw him off, however, because what reason would she have to reach out to villains? What would she gain from a deal with them? Izuku couldn’t think of anything. Someone not endowed with his mother’s character would have many ambitions that could be satisfied by this heartless strata of society, but his mother? No. And therein lay the mystery.

“Deep in thought today, young man,” Called Goto-sensei, making Izuku jump in fright. “You’ll have to come back now, you’ve pushed the fridge too far.”

So he had. Embarrassed, Izuku skirted the old fridge and began pushing it back to the pick-up spot. Below, the beach was spotless for the first time in years. Izuku wasn’t sure how long it would last. People would probably think twice before frolicking in a place that had, until very recently, been a garbage dump. 

“For someone who’s been at this for weeks, you don’t seem very happy,” Goto-sensei observed with keen eyes. “What are you thinking, my little tsuto?”

“Tsuto?” Izuku furrowed his brows.

“Yes. What do you know about storywriting, boy? Or plants, for that matter,” He drawled from the ripped armchair he was lounging on. 

Izuku liked to think he knew a little bit about everything, thanks to his Quirk-related research sprees. But clearly, he’d been found wanting. “Er, I’ve never heard of a tsuto.”

“That,” Goto-sensei pointed at him with his fountain pen, “is what makes you a tsuto.”

Izuku found himself inexplicably offended. He frowned at the chipped paint on the fridge and pushed it an inch further.

“Congratulations, Midoriya, you’ve just cleaned up Dagobah beach,” Goto-sensei announced, capping his pen and snapping his book shut. “You’ll get your Virtue pin with your report card. Our work here’s done.”

“Hm,” Izuku hummed, a small smile tugging at his lips. Finally, a victory.

⟚

At Namiyan’s, he opted out of delivery work, cautious after the events of the morning. Madam Gou didn’t mind, immediately reassigning him to kitchen duty while someone else took up delivery. One half of the on-again-off-again couple that beleaguered Madam Gou and entertained the rest of the staff. 

“I bet she’ll volunteer for onion-cutting,” Kubo whispered to him out of the corner of his mouth.

“I bet he’ll get the orders mixed up,” Izuku whispered back.

“That’s not fair,” Kubo elbowed him. Izuku feigned great agony. “He does that anyway. Bet on something else.”

“No gambling in this establishment!” Madam Gou yelled, popping out of nowhere, and smacked the back of their head. “And Midoriya’s right, that lad only mixes up orders when he’s fought with her. Poor observation skills, Kubo! No leftovers for you today!”

“But-!”

“None! Now, a man in Washizu is hungry, so hop to it!” She shoved a bag in Kubo’s hands and shepherded him out.

Izuku was to dice the vegetables. He slipped on the disposable gloves and began.

He’d given it some thought, and there were only two things he could come up with that might spur his mother to consort with villains. Her freedom and Izuku’s security (in one form or another). If he were to consider the former, his involvement in the—to put it kindly—workings of the deal made no sense. The latter, however…

Either way, though, his mother would never agree to a deal that would put him in harm’s way. Hence, the healing of his throat, he concluded. Clearly, that ‘master’ villain knew his subordinate well enough to keep a doctor on standby.

And if his mother had done this for his sake, Izuku had to wonder what exactly the villains had been aiming for when they kidnapped him this morning. Because, in his eyes, they had achieved nothing. What kind of security did his mother want? The matter of Izuku’s food and shelter had been taken care of by the orphanage. His grades were in the dual grip of himself and Keisei. 

He earned quite a bit at Namiyan, but it was nothing compared to his mother’s salary. And, well, he didn’t recall telling her about the Virtue pins system, wanting to surprise her with it (and also avoid disappointment if he failed in his endeavour). So it was likely that she didn’t know that a scholarship was on the table. To her, Izuku was not financially secure, and, truly, he wasn’t. Two Virtue pins could only get him so much, and he wasn’t sure how much his mother could afford now that she’d lost her job.

But that didn’t make sense either. How had those villains helped in any way? Unless they had taken Izuku’s kidney to sell on the black market. Suddenly overcome with nausea, Izuku rushed to the washroom. With frantic hands, he checked for stitching or scars on his abdomen. He found none, but it was hardly a reassurance since they had ripped his throat and healed it as good as new within minutes. 

They could’ve done anything to him. Taken anything out of his body. Put anything inside his body. How would Izuku know? 

A chill passed through his body. Izuku shook it off and went back to work; there was no time to waste.

It couldn’t be organ harvesting, anyway; his mother would never consent to it, never ask for it. If she really made a deal with those villains for his sake, there had to be something he was missing. Hopefully, he would find out once he got his mother’s letter.

There was little left for him to ruminate over; doing so would only convolute his thoughts unnecessarily. No, he had to keep his mind clear to have any chance of being able to deal with another unexpected occurrence. He pushed a measured breath out of his lungs and splashed cold water on his face. Refreshed, he went back to the kitchen.

“He messed up two orders,” Kubo said when he returned an hour later. 

Izuku grinned, “She volunteered for onion cutting.” They exchanged a quick high-five. “What do you want?” Izuku asked, eager to gift his friend something under the guise of winnings.

“Sneak me a tonkatsu for dinner,” Kubo was quick to say. Clearly, he’d been planning this for a while. “A whole tonkatsu.”

What. “That’s impossible!” Izuku hissed, nudging him harshly. “Madam Gou banned you for today. You’ll be lucky to get your hands on a piece , Kubo.”

“Yeah, but that’s where you come in, isn’t it?” Kubo smirked like the devil incarnate. Izuku had quickly learnt to fear that ambitious streak of his; it usually preceded something outrageous. Before he could protest, however, Kubo cut in. “What do you want then, Midoriya?”

Izuku narrowed his eyes. Well, then he wouldn’t go easy on his friend, either. He took a moment to think about it. “Do my maths assignment.”

Kubo went pale.

⟚

“Why do you always come so late? You’ve gotta be more considerate of my stress levels, kid,” Kakuya huffed, practically hauling Izuku indoors so he could start checking him over for injuries (or whatever it was Kakuya kept worrying about).

“I’m fine,” Izuku sighed, but raised his arms and let the young man inspect him to his heart’s content. On the off chance that he might find some clues Izuku had missed. “How was your day, Kakuya?”

“Good. Normal. Hectic.” Kakuya deftly swept Izuku’s bags from him and wrapped his tail around Izuku’s waist to drag him to the dining table. “Yours?”

“Uh. Fine,” Izuku said, regretting that he’d brought it up at all. He could only hope that his lie went undetected. The way Kakuya’s eyes flicked to him suspiciously said otherwise. Izuku tried for a smile, hoping to stave off the impending interrogation. “What’s for dinner?” He chirped with great enthusiasm, peering over the elder’s shoulder to get a look.

“You always eat something at that restaurant, so I figured just some soup would do from now on. Unless you’re hungry?” Kakuya looked worried at that. “I could make some ramen, if you want.”

“I-It’s okay, I’ll make some myself,” Izuku said hurriedly, not wanting to burden Kakuya after what must have been a really long and tiring day. He couldn’t even imagine having to look after so many people. Kakuya was all the more intriguing, for what could drive someone his age into this job? Izuku couldn’t comprehend it.

“You’re sure?” Kakuya checked, hesitating because of his sense of responsibility, most likely. Izuku smiled and nodded. “I’ll keep you company, then. It’s not good to eat alone.”

“I can do that, Kakuya. You go on. I don’t think I’ve seen you sit even once since we came back from school.” Ikehara’s voice carried down the stairs with ease, the gentle cadence at odds with the sharp gaze fixed on Izuku. 

For reasons unknown, Izuku no longer remembered how to boil water. He didn’t dare blink as the boy approached him, thrown off by the heavy suspicion on his face. What had Izuku done now? For the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything. He had hardly been at the orphanage today.

And yet the first thing Ikehara said to him when they were left alone was: “What did you do?”

Izuku nearly broke the knob of the gas stove in shock. “N-Nothing,” He squeaked. “Why?” He sounded shifty to his own ears, gods help him. “Is something wrong?”

“You tell me, Midoriya.” Ikehara leaned in, scrutinising him thoroughly. “Did you win the lottery? Rob a bank? Steal something you perhaps shouldn’t have?”

“No!” Izuku denied immediately, struggling to maintain his volume. Most of the boys were asleep; it wouldn’t do to wake them up. “Of course not! Why would you say that?!”

The question was swept aside without hesitation, and Ikehara towered over him like a menacing wave, ready to crash to the shore. “You’re hiding something, Midoriya, don’t pretend otherwise. Tell me exactly what happened today.”

“What- How- I- I don’t know, okay!” Izuku spluttered, his shield of lies cracking under the boy’s confidence. “Really, I just- I just don’t know. At all. I swear!”

“Whaddaya mean you don’t know ?” Ikehara yelled at first, then quickly tapered into a hiss, mindful of the sleeping house. “How can you not know?”

Izuku flinched when the boy moved towards him, heart hammering in anticipation. But Ikehara brushed past, picking up the pot of boiling water and preparing his ramen. The sudden kindness threw him off more efficiently than a murder charge would have, and Izuku immediately felt ashamed of himself. Ikehara may be intimidating, but surely he’d done enough to deserve a better reaction. Izuku knew how he’d feel if someone flinched from him and his blood curdled to think that he’d done that to the elder just now.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, bowing his head, tears welling in his eyes without his consent.

“What? Sorry? What’s that even-” Ikehara paused when he turned around, though Izuku was not sure why. He let out a gusty sigh and pushed the ramen into Izuku’s hands. “Eat.”

Izuku ate. 

“Look,” Ikehara began with great importance, fingers interlocked on the table. “You’re clearly determined to play dumb because you think you can get away with it. But I won’t let you, so here it is: my Quirk shows me the worth of a person. And yours just shot up by—” the mark on Ikehara’s forehead glinted in the light, and the boy looked at Izuku with marked disbelief— “by sixteen million yen!! What the hell, Midoriya?!”

Izuku’s chopsticks clattered to the table, one rolling off and falling to the floor. “What?” He squeaked, a flash of heat flaring in his heart out of panic. “You- You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Ikehara hissed, looking a bit crazed. “Yes, I’m sure, you stupid- It’s kind of hard to miss such a big jump in someone’s worth, Midoriya. And you’re telling me you don’t even know— okay, you know what? Go brush your teeth and- and whatever. Get ready for bed. I’ll be waiting in the room. If you take longer than five minutes, I’ll assume you’re guilty of robbery and have made a run for it, and I’ll call the police. Now, go.”

With that, Izuku was shoved upstairs.

⟚