Archive of Our Own ^beta

Izuku opens a new tab in his browser, searching up the forum he uses to attain information on Japan’s heroes. He lets the site load, one finger tapping against the free space below his laptop’s keyboard. Once the page became colorful and the search bar was in sight, rather than just a spinning circle, he flipped open his notebook to a free page with one hand. The fingers on his free appendage moved to type Hawks into the search engine, getting ready to start up a new page of information.

The young boy always enjoyed writing down things about heroes; his passion present even when he was just a little boy. The compulsive need to constantly write things down always buzzed in the back of his mind; his hands itching to move lead across paper. In the mornings he satisfied the urge, waking up early just so he could fill in at least one page a day. He would do it during one of his free periods at school but the people around him found it creepy.

Every time he brought his analysis notebook out into the public eye he was judged, hit, or ignored. He often wonders if it’s due to his quirklessness, the fact he muttered while jotting down his thoughts, or if it was just him. Whatever the case may be, Izuku didn’t understand it.

Why couldn’t he just be himself? Do what he wanted?

Midoriya drew his eyes off of the screen, hunching over his notebook. His free hand moved up to his mouth, pinching his lower lip between his index and thumb as he muttered at an incredible speed.

Hawk’s quirk was an interesting one and Izuku wanted to pick it apart in person if given the chance. Not to mention, if he ever got the opportunity to ask the winged hero the many questions he had brewing in his mind, he would.

For example:

• If he can control his feathers individually, does that mean he has to work to keep the wings together? And if so, how complicated is flying really?
• If Hawk’s feathers can lift people, why can’t he just use one to pick himself up?
• What’s the max speed he can go?
• How far can his feathers travel?
• Does he have to preen like other birds or just take the feathers off?
• What happens if he doesn’t bring a feather back to his wings? Dose it just stay where it was left or does it home back to him?

He could go on for hours, asking question after question. However, there’s always the lingering thought in the back of his mind that he’d end up freaking the hero out.

Izuku set his pencil down, shutting his book in the process. He turned in his chair to get up as he closed his laptop; stretching moments later. Midoriya then went over to the closet where his gakuran resides, uneasiness settling deep within his gut.

The teen loved to learn, but it was hard to enjoy something when the fear of getting something wrong, muttering too loudly when jotting notes, or getting hit was hanging over him constantly. That’s why the boy shifted to only doing his work at home.

It was safer that way. No one was over his shoulder, waiting for him to drop his guard enough so that he wouldn’t notice a punch coming his way or taking his things. Nobody was there to hit him if his muttering got too loud. No one was there to glare.

He could be himself without the consequences of being judged.

Izuku was hit atop the head by a disembodied hand, causing him to quickly clamp his free hand over his mouth and look up. His teacher’s hand retracted back to his wrist while he looked down at the pre-teen in disgust.

Midoriya’s cheeks and neck burned with embarrassment as his peers around him snickered amongst themselves.

“If you’re not going to pay attention and instead disturb the class, Midoriya, I will need to ask you to take it elsewhere. I don’t appreciate my lessons going through one of your ears and out the other,” the teacher said in a condescending tone.

Izuku shrunk in his seat. “Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.”

The instructor just gave him an unamused look, mouth pressing into a line at the corners before he went back to teaching.

The snickers he heard around the room made the tingling feeling of embarrassment crawl down the green haired boy’s spine. He shriveled in his seat more, trying and willing it to swallow him whole.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t listening, he was, it was just that when Izuku was hyper focused on something, he tended to let the minimal control he had on his voice slip; the babble of words tumbling out of his lips in an incoherent stream of mutters. Not to mention, when Midoriya whispered to himself, he wasn’t fully aware he was doing it– it just kind of happened.

It was an uncontrollable thing, just like his quirklessness.

His quirk status always seemed to play a part in his day to day life, looming over him constantly. Whether it was just in school or at home, it always managed to appear in one form or another.

He couldn’t walk down the halls of Aldera Junior High without an insult or jeer thrown his way. He couldn’t walk home from school without the fear of getting jumped; couldn’t even be out in public without the anxiety of someone recognizing him. He couldn’t even be at home without his mom throwing him a look of pity or guilt.

He hated the looks of disgust from his peers, sure, but the sympathetic and remorseful looks he got from his own mother were worse. He already knew he was a handful to have around, but the gazes made him feel like more than a burden. A stain.

Reverting his gaze from the teacher and back down to his notebook, Izuku bit his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself from muttering. His grip on his pencil tightened, hand trembling slightly from his panic.

Trying to ignore his rising anxiety, the pre-teen tried to focus on the lesson, rather than the people around him. If he ignored them, it’d be easier to calm his raging thoughts… at least till the bell rang to signal the end of his torment.

Midoriya’s leg began to bounce lightly, toes staying planted on the ground as his heel tapped rhythmically against the hard tile. His eyes darted to the clock, only 5 minutes.

He focused back down to the paper, finishing off the shakily written sentence before flipping the book shut. He didn’t need to take notes anymore, he could just sit patiently in the hard and uncomfortable seat as the teacher wrapped up the lesson. Besides, Izuku highly doubts that his handwriting would be legible if he even attempted to jot something down right now.

The green haired child pushed both of his hands under his thighs as his leg sped up. The chair was warm from where his legs had been resting, the surface slightly rough from years of use. It was grounding in a way, having something solid under his fingertips as a steady weight was applied above them.

He breathed carefully, eyes darting to the clock again.

Three minutes.

Anxious viridian eyes watched the second hand tick by, skin getting clammy under his tight clothing.

Looking back to the front of the room once more, Midoriya’s teeth dug into his lip harder. Pain bloomed in the general area of his lower jaw and the faint taste of iron sat on the tip of his tongue, but he ignored both.

The pain was grounding enough to keep his racing heart at bay for the most part.

When the bell rang, Izuku pulled his hands out from under his lap, the lingering warmth on his hands keeping them damp. He slid out of his seat, lifting his bag to sit on his desk. His sweaty hands fumbled to pick up his book while the other one unzipped his bag. In a fluid motion that only comes from years of repetition, he shoved the book in his bag, followed by his pencil and eraser, before pulling the two zippers together. The green child pulled the straps of his bright yellow bag over his shoulders before briskly walking towards the door.

His feet moved in tune with his beating heart, each step matching rhythmically up to the quick pace hammering in his chest.

When the rows of getabakos were in sight, Midoriya nearly sighed in relief. His grip loosened ever so slightly on the straps hooked around his arms, before they were letting go completely in the midst of being tripped in favor of catching himself.

His thumbs caught in the straps, taking away vital time needed for his hands to come out in front of him. So the boy could only grunt as the force of the impact was absorbed by his nose, rather than his arms or hands.

He rolled over, his back bending over his bag uncomfortably while his hands came up to cup over his nose. The kid kept his now teary eyes shut for a moment before blinking them open, willing them to focus enough to see who tripped him.

A boy with a familiar head of straight ashy brown hair stood over him, smirking cruelly as his long fingers slowly shrunk to his hand.

He chuckled, jabbing his elbow back into his friend’s arm while glancing back to them, before turning to walk away.

Izuku’s gaze followed him, getting distracting enough for the other boy to land a solid kick to his side. Midoriya coughed, legs drawing up to his chest as he turned over on his side; one hand on his bleeding nose while the other gripped his torso. He distantly heard soft laughing as he writhed on the floor, form trembling.

Eventually, once the kid was sure it was safe to get up, his tightly shut eyes blinked open. He moved the hand on his side to the cool floor, shifting his weight to the limb. His elbow shook with the effort of pushing himself to his hands and knees.

Blood seeped between his fingers, the warm liquid dripping down to the floor with faint pats. Izuku’s misty eyes shut for a split second while the hand around his nose tightened; fingers adjusting to pinch the bridge of it.

Everything hurt.

Izuku turned on the tap, cold water running over his hands and washing away the dark crimson that stained them. His head was fuzzy, not the injured kind of fuzzy, but the kind of fuzzy that seemed to slow the whole world down. His fingers moved between each other slowly as he stared blankly down at them. He scrubbed at his hands, watched the red fade from them with each pass under the water, the repetition lifting the fog in his mind ever so slightly.

Once the water started to come out clear, Midoriya pulled his hands back, flicking the water down towards the sink. He turned the tap off and reached for the rough, old towel that he used to dry his hands.

Once only the cold lingering feeling of the water was left, he put the cloth down and walked out of the restroom, heading to his room.

The door creaked open to reveal the colorfully decorated walls. Each side of his room seemed to be an overstimulating mix of them; blending together into one bright mess in Izuku’s hazy vision.

The pre-teen pushed the door shut behind him, sniffling as he felt the phantom sensation of blood trickling out of his nose. That only served to make him wince though, pain shooting up into his head. The boy’s eyes shut momentarily before he inhaled through his mouth, not taking any chances with his nose.

Making his way over to his desk, Izuku pulled out number 12 of his analysis notebooks, grabbed a pencil, and opened his laptop. A faint buzzing entered the room; the sounds of the old fans within the machine filling the silence. Midoriya settled in his chair, shifting around until he found comfort in the barely padded plastic upholstery.

Typing in the password, he waited for the old pc to load in the forum he had used previously in the day.

Instead of the brightly themed page however, the kid was greeted with an error message. He refreshed the page but still, the error popped up. Midoriya tried one more time– still, nothing. The grip he had on the wooden pencil tightened.

Hero analysis is how he liked to clear his head. It provided a freedom that the real world couldn’t; allowed the boy to let his thoughts flow freely. Without it…

Izuku shook his head, a small spike of pain emanating from the movement. There were other sites, he didn’t have to just use this one.

Relaxing his grip, Midoriya set the pencil down on his book. Pushing aside the two items he pulled the laptop closer. He then opened a new tap and searched through whatever links he could find.

When one entitled https//:hero.net kept showing up, he clicked it, waiting for the page to load.

When the circling bar finally disappeared, he was greeted with a dark background. There was a spot for him to log in on the top right corner, and below it lay a few ads. On the left side sat tabs, each one used to scroll through different topics, resources, heroes, and more. Izuku’s eyes lit up, his finger dragging across the pad to move the mouse above the section labeled “underground heroes.”

The page took a second to load, his old computer taking a moment to process the code. Once it did though, the page was lined with different links that would lead him to sections of information.

Selecting the one about Midnight, Izuku flipped the notebook open and began writing.

Midnight

Name:

• Nemuri Kayama

Alias:

• Midnight

Quirk:

Somnambulist-

• Her quirk allows her to release a soporific scent that leaves opponents too weak to fight.
• Works better on men

Attack Patterns:

• Ultimate move: Sleepy Hollow
• Support Gear: Her whips and fans were designed to pick up traces of her scent and launch it in any given direction, giving her Quirk more accuracy

Birthday:
March 9

Height:
175 cm

Classification in terms of ranking:

• Power = D
• Speed = C
• Wits = C
• Technique = A
• Cooperativeness = C

Status:

• Alive

Equipment:

• Whips of Love
• Feather Fan
• Ultra Thin Fabric Suit

Weaknesses:

1. Close range fighter: If someone were to use a gun or bow against her at a long range she’d be effectively quirkless due to the fact her mist would take a while to reach further distances.
2. The thin design of her costume: Suppose she became paralyzed or weakened, or couldn't tear her costume for some other reason. Her quirk would become unusable since her clothes would block it.
3. Limited physical power: A villain with a strength quirk and a gas mask could take her down no problem. Not to mention, Midnight doesn’t carry around effective weapons.

Questions/Theories:

1. How far can her Quirk go?
2. Is there a limit to her expelling the gas, or is it essentially unlimited?
   • If it is limited, why not have gas canisters as a support item?
3. What does Quirk exhaustion look like for her? Does she even experience quirk exhaustion?
4. Why does it work best on males? Is it reactive to the Y-chromosome males have somehow?
5. Can the gas change colors?
6. Can she change how potent it is?
7. Why doesn’t she have a costume made out of her DNA? That way the weakness of her suit is negated.
8. Is her quirk always active?

Midoriya looked back up to the site that held far less information than what he wrote down. He moved the mouse to scroll down for further data, but got comments instead. He sighed, resigning himself to the fate that that was all the information he would be able to acquire about her.

He leaned back, fingers interlinking above his head as his spine arched and popped. The pre-teen’s head felt lighter, no longer plagued with the thick fog, and content sat deep within his gut, signaling that his analysis session could come to an end.

He reached a hand to the laptops lid, intending to close it, only to pause when his eyes caught on an anonymous comment:

Anonymous235 – March 15:

Is there someone that sells in-depth analyses on heroes? These sites are good sure, but they don’t have what I need.

Izuku blinked, reopening the laptop fully. He looked at the words on the screen for a long moment, before clicking the replies. He read through a few before moving the mouse to open a new tab.

The pre-teen searched through the web with newfound curiosity, diving deeper and deeper into the profession of analyzing. He had never heard of this before, not feeling the need to search into different careers besides heroics until now.

From as far back as he knew, Izuku always had his mind dead set on hero work; even if the people around him didn’t think he could do it. Midoriya wanted to help people, that’s just his nature. Maybe, if he couldn’t help people through hero work, this could be his chance to help people through other means.

The last site he clicked on was for job listings. He may only be 12 and can’t actually apply for any of the offerings, but he can at least plan for the future. After all, that is why the green haired boy started his analysis books in the first place.

Scrolling through the different opportunities, Izuku clicked on a summary that caught his eye. His gaze moved across every word, heart fluttering in his chest with pure hope. Maybe this was something he could do– the faith in chest then shattered as his eyes landed on the quirk requirements.

He needed a quirk.

With a remaining ounce of hope Izuku clicked off of the page, going back to the long listings of jobs. His heart clenched before sinking down to his gut. Every job offering required a quirk.

Midoriya’s shaking hand pulled away from the mouse pad before closing the lid of the laptop roughly. The light illuminating his room was snuffed out, bathing him in darkness; the only light coming into his room was from the now risen moon in the sky from beyond his curtains.

His front teeth dug into his bottom lip while he leaned back into the chair. The pre-teen’s mind was swirling with thoughts, each one worse than the last.

It occurred to the green haired boy long ago that quirks played a part in day to day life. However, he never realized how bad it had become for the quirkless.

Izuku brought his hands up to his face as he leaned his head back, taking in a deep breath. He didn’t want to think about this right now– it was late and he had school the next day.

Getting up, Midoriya pushed in his chair before moving over to where his bed was. He let his knees give out, flopping down on his bed– only to immediately regret it. Pain bloomed through his nose, spreading up to sit behind his eyes.

Turning over, Izuku clutched his nose, shutting his eyes in an attempt to dull the pain.

Why did his life have to constantly revolve around his quirklessness?

The man looked down at the research his workers acquired over the past few days. Paper lies scattered across every surface in sight, creating a mess that made the guy’s skin blister, itch, and burn.

Adjusting his pointy mask to ensure it was on correctly, the imposing figure moved to pick up a manila folder in a neatly gloved hand.

“Is this all the information you managed to get in the three months I’ve given you?” He asked, turning the thin folder in his hand with a scrutinizing gaze.

One of the men nodded, willing the nervousness out of his voice. “Yes, sir.”

The man hooked his thumb under the top lip of the folder, bringing his other hand up in order to catch the bottom of it once he flipped it open. His gaze moved across the contents, the skin on his forearm blistering slightly as the anger he felt became visible through his eyes.

“This is information we already had.” The man said, voice cutting through the air like a knife, carefully flat.

“Yes, sir,” the lacky repeated, hands moving in front of him to clasp together. “Japan’s quirk registry is extremely hard to get into and–”

The imposing man took a step closer as his left index finger hooked under the elastic of his right white glove.

The worker took a step back in return, voice raising an octave. “– not to mention, quirkless people are very rare. Their population is only down to around 10%. You have to unders–”

The employee was cut off as their boss’ ungloved hand made contact with their skin. A sickening crunch sounded out as the wall behind the once whole man became painted in blood. The worker’s lower half slumped to the floor, a mix of soggy clothing and liquid mixing together on the ground.

The individual, masked in gold and brown, looked down at the mess as he re-gloved his hand. “Clean this up. You have two more months to find me something useful. Not this crap.” The folder was tossed onto the table in front of the other worker before he walked out of the room.

Izuku groaned awake, the pain radiating from his nose enough to warrant a groan.

Shifting, the green haired boy reached a tentative hand to feather his fingers across the bridge. When pain bloomed from the touch, he retracted it and allowed the appendage to fall to his side.

Viridian eyes blinked open, staring tiredly up at the ceiling.

His body felt exhausted, his muscles not wanting to move, and his joints seemingly locked in place. The boy knew he had school, but the throbbing pain that sat behind his eyes was making him not want to move.

Sitting up, Midoriya grumbled, running a hand through his grimy mop. His hand came to a stop on the top of his head, fingers threaded through the sleep tangled curls. Izuku sighed, looking down.

His nose felt swollen, the nostrils unable to take in air– and any air he did manage to get in, shot pain through his head.

Getting up with a hand over his nose gingerly, Izuku made his way to the restroom. The boy’s feet patted against the floor, each step seemingly making his headache bloom into new areas.

When he finally made it to the bathroom, he pushed the agape door out of the way and cracked his eyes open, trying his best to look at his nose in the dark.

When it didn’t do him any good by squinting in the unlit room, the green haired boy squeezed his eyes shut once more, reaching his hand out to the switch.

He fumbled in the dark for a moment before his fingers brushed against it. He flicked the switch on before opening his eyes, only to immediately shut them again with a wince.

The sting of his headache increased in a spike due to the sheer brightness of the room– and even with his eyelids shutting out most of the light, it was still causing the pain in his head to increase.

Izuku took a moment to adjust to the ache before slowly peeking hooded lids open.

Looking at himself in the mirror, the boy paused. Under his eyes were a dark shade of blue that blended with his natural complexion at the edges. A similar shade was on the tip and bridge of his nose, the bruise darkening towards the center.

Midoriya cringed, nose wrinkling carefully. His shaking hand came up to feather over the injury once more, the corners of his eyes lining with tears.

Was it broken?

The child’s heart sped up slightly, eyebrows pinching together at the edges. Panic crept its way into his mind at all the implications that this injury could entail. His mother couldn’t know about it– she couldn’t afford a spontaneous trip to the doctors. Besides, knowing he broke a bone at school would just make her worry.

Bending down slowly, in order to not aggravate the ache in his head, Izuku reaches to grab the first aid kit he kept under the sink of his bathroom. He always made sure to keep it stocked, knowing that he could need it at any point in time.

His classmates didn’t really care for limitations when it came to their harassment towards him; going as far as using their quirks on him. It started recently, the practice seemingly getting worse by the day. Therefore, keeping a kit full of supplies was always a must.

Setting the container on the counter, the green haired boy zipped it open to pull out a nose plaster. It was white in color, a metal piece located in the center to hold the broken bone or cartilage in place.

Peeling the back off of it, he returned his gaze to the mirror, hovering the bandage above his face to adjust where it needed to be. Once he found the position suitable, Izuku gingerly put the splint in place, wincing slightly.

His fingers gently applied pressure to the edges, making sure it wouldn’t come off. He let his hands drop to the edge of the counter, looking in the mirror for a long moment.

He didn’t like what he saw. The plaster on his nose was as foreign as ever, along with the bruise peeking out from under it, plus his hooded eyes, but the untamed mop of curls was familiar. He couldn’t stand how they always seemed to go in every direction no matter how hard he worked to control them.

He also disliked the fact that his freckles made his complexation seem lighter than it already was. Sure, he didn’t go out in the sun as much, but that was because of safety reasons. The people around his apartment complex knew who he was and therefore, knew his quirk status. If he could get beat up at school, what’s to say he couldn’t near his own home.

Sighing, Izuku shifted most of his weight into his left arm, using his free hand to turn on the tap. He turned the back of his wrist into the stream of water, waiting for it to be at least lukewarm.

Once he was satisfied, he returned his hand to the counter, bent down, and submerged his head under the flow of water.

The water ran through his curls, spiraling down the wavy strands until it came into contact with his scalp. It was cooler than he would’ve liked it to be, but it placated the pain in his head nonetheless.

The green haired kid stayed still for a moment, eyes shut and lips slightly parted in order to keep water out of his respiratory system, when he eventually decided to breathe in. He shifted his weight to lean the front of his hips against the counter’s edge, all the while moving his fingers to card through his mop.

Midoriya didn’t feel like taking a shower today, the pain in his head and the ache in his side enough to scare off the idea. So, the sink was the next best thing– that way at least his hair wasn’t grimy at school and he looked somewhat decent. After all, the boy didn’t want to give his bullies more ammo.

Turning off the tap, Izuku stood up straight, allowing the water to pool at the tips of his curls and weigh them down before eventually falling onto his shoulders and back. His clothes darkened with each drip, the liquid seeping into the fibers and damping the upper half of his torso.

He reached over and grabbed the same old towel he used to dry his hands the previous day, now using it to scrunch his curls.

The boy sighed while putting the rag up, walking out of the restroom in the process. His head still hurt like hell, the pain radiating from his nose still spreading throughout his skull. It wasn’t enough to make him bedridden, but that didn’t mean he didn’t not want to be.

If the boy was being completely honest, he would rather spend his days in bed than Aldera. The mix of pillows and blankets was safe and it provided him with a warm comfort that the world beyond his room couldn’t.

When his laptop caught in the corner of his eye, he paused, turning to look at it. The page from the night before was still pulled up, the imposing site locked away behind the shut screen.

His heart clenched as he recalled the information gained last night, and with the returning sensation of his headache mixing in with the pain in his heart, the boy looked away. He didn’t feel like filling a page right now.

Going to his closet, Izuku pulled out the wrinkled black uniform, moving to set it on his bed shortly after.

Walking into Aldera, Midoriya briskly made his way to his getabako. Once in front of it, he placed a hand on the cold metal, shifting his weight into it. His free hand reached down, index finger hooking into the back of his red shoes, before pulling them off.

He repeated the action one more time prior to slipping on the plain white shoes that once sat in his small locker. The green haired child then tapped his toes against the ground a few times to ensure that they were on correctly, before making his way to class. He only prayed that when he got back to his locker that his property lay untouched.

Shuffling into the classroom, Izuku’s gaze caught onto his childhood friends, the latter giving him a light glare before turning away. Meanwhile, the former mentally sighed in relief, glad that Katsuki wasn’t going to bother him that morning. His head was still pounding, the painkillers he took before leaving the house not doing much yet, so the green haired boy really didn’t want another thing added to his plate to make his day worse.

Sitting down, Midoriya placed his arms onto the surface of his desk. He rested his forehead down onto them, shifting around ever so slightly till he found comfort. Izuku then allowed his eyes to shut, breathing out a deep sigh.

He’d get up when the first bell rang, not wanting to get embarrassed for being called out on his impromptu nap– but for now, the child just wanted to rest.

Izuku placed down his bag as his bedroom door shut behind him. The pain in his head has dulled to a low throb; the Tylenol he took earlier finally kicking in enough to actually dwindle the ache. Not to mention, his school day had been mostly uneventful; only a few whispers here and there.

Moving to his desk instinctively, he sat down, hands already moving to both open his laptop and pull his notebook off the shelf.

His fingers moved with practiced ease, typing in the password and letting the computer load in at a snail’s pace. When his gaze caught onto the job listing webpage, the boy could only pause.

Memories from his last session flooded his mind, and that discouraging feeling made its way back into his gut.

His finger applied excessive pressure onto the mouse pad, limb shaking. Furthermore, his hands felt clammy as he stared at the screen; the mild pain in his skull falling into the background.

Izuku’s mind became plagued with thoughts far too deprecating for him to fully process them all.

He shut his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath to calm his raging mind. A moment later they reopened, and his expression soured slightly, a frown tugging at his lips. The child then quickly closed the tab. He didn’t want to look at that site again, knowing it would only make his mood worse.

As the other tab came onto screen–to replace the now nonexistent one–finally loaded, Midoriya came face to face with the same comment by the anonymous user. He stared at it for a long moment, mind racing.

Izuku didn’t let his gaze leave the words on screen. Did he really have to apply to an official job in order to help people?

If he wanted to make a living off of his notes, or at least try to, he’d have to actually submit a portfolio– that is to say, if his analyses were even good enough to use for profit. However, the green haired child knew that if he did apply, he’d only be rejected.

Although, if he did sell them, he could put the money towards helping his mother. If that were the case, he’d have to lie to her, tell her he had gotten a job in order to keep her from rejecting the money that he seemingly pulled out of thin air. It was either that or just sneaking the money into her things slowly.

Furthermore, if he sold his notes, it would enable him to help people like he wanted…

Making up his mind, Izuku clicked the reply button.

Reply to: Anonymous235 - From: Anonymous5342– April 29:

How much are you willing to pay?

The next morning, the green haired boy woke up to an inbox that was one notification heavier.

Bonus Scene

Bakugou shifted on the desk he was sitting on, looking away from the classmate he was talking to as a familiar head of green curls caught in the corner of his eyes.

Deku was walking into class with his head ducked, his usual timid demeanor causing the boy to have a slight hunch to his shoulders. The blonde planned to just ignore the nerd, but the fucker must have felt him staring as Izuku’s head lifted a bit. Deku’s gaze drifted, looking at Katsuki through the corners of his eyes.

That’s when he noticed it.

Izuku’s face was normal for the most part–freckles, creepy green eyes, and a wobbly line for a mouth all still there-but the bright white plaster on his nose was new.

Crimson eyes flicked towards it for only a moment before they were back on viridian ones.

It wasn’t like Katsuki was worried or anything, he wasn’t friends with the nerd, and in turn, didn’t need to be concerned over something so minor. That didn’t mean he couldn’t think about it though. After all, the bruise that was spread across the bridge of Izuku’s nose and cheek bones was dark. Not to mention, the stupid bandage on his face was doing nothing to cover it.

Katsuki’s expression hardened, jaw tightening, before he looked away from the other boy.

The blonde didn’t want to look at the nerd–look at that injury anymore. The sight was making his mind go to places he didn’t want it to. He didn’t want it to be on Deku at all–he was already enough of a parasite in Katsuki’s life.

Bakugou shifted on the surface of his desk, readjusting his position so that he could focus back in on the conversation going on in front of him.

Whatever the fuck was going on with Deku, it wasn’t his business, he didn’t need to care, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to get involved. He’d let the nerd do whatever stupid idea that flowed through his head if it meant that other people finally stepped up and did his job for him–that they saw how annoying the nerd could be. Besides, he’d be fine.

Deku could take it.

Izuku messed with his own hands, shifting in his seat every so often. He was currently waiting on Anonymous265, or as he later found out through private messaging, Inaba Tomoki, in a local coffee shop a bit away from his house.

The man worked as a marketing director in the heart of Musutafu, earned a decent salary, and apparently, was interested in the boy’s analysis due to the fact he wanted to get his coworker–a huge hero fanboy–an appropriate gift.

Even though it wasn’t exactly hero work, it was still helping someone in need. Besides, the green haired boy had to build up a rapport online before people like heroes would acknowledge his work.

Looking up as the bell to the shop rang, Midoriya shifted in his seat to gesture for the familiar guy to come over with one hand.

Luckily, the description he was given matched perfectly. So, he had no trouble deciphering the man from just any other customer looking for a cup of coffee or pastry.

The buyer was a short, skinny man, who looked to be around his thirties. He had thin, silvery hair coming from atop his head and stretching to his waist. Furthermore, Inaba had no visible quirk off of what Izuku could see and overall, the man didn’t give off a strange aura. That was one thing Izuku had been worried about… meeting up with some creep.

He strolled over, a kind smile on his face as he made to sit across from the teen. Midoriya greeted the man with a friendly expression as well, shifting in his seat to adjust to the guy’s gaze. Not to mention, the boy was trying to keep his nerves under control; wanting to keep up a professional façade.

“Inaba, correct?” Izuku inquired, forcing his timid nature out of his voice.

The man nodded, reaching a hand out to shake the boy’s. “I assume you’re the person selling the analysis I need?” Midoriya took the offered hand, his grip far weaker than the guys. “You never told me your name, kid.”

Izuku’s brows knitted together while he let go of his client’s hand. The child never informed the guy of his name– what if he knew him? Knew who Midoriya Izuku was? If that were the case, he’d never be taken seriously. People who already knew him, found his notes creepy; they’re constant jeers, never letting the boy forget that fact.

If this man ever caught wind of the fact that Izuku was quirkless, his whole plan on using his analyses for money would be thrown out the window. After all, it wasn’t like the boy could just start over, the man already knew his face.

With his mind racing, Midoriya blurted out the first coherent thought that came to mind. “Uh, Deku.”

The green haired teen inwardly cringed as the word left his mouth, quickly trying to correct himself. Before he could though, Inaba spoke up again.

“Alright then, Deku. Can I see the information before I pay ya? You know, quality insurance.”

Izuku nodded, and moved to unzip his yellow bag that sat next to him on the booth’s bench. He reached in, blindly searching for the packet, till his fingers brushed across the paper envelope. He gingerly pulled it out and looked back at the man, holding it out for him.

Inaba took it before unfastening the medal tie and flipping it open. He tilted the opening downwards into his open palm, gave it a light shake, and pulled the contents out.

He reordered the items, putting the envelope towards the back of the stack. His eyes then scanned the pages and Izuku’s hands felt the urge to mess with something.

Midoriya had made sure to make his analysis thorough, going as far as sectioning out the topics. Usually, when doing his notes, the boy didn’t care about neatness. Since, when it came down to it, only he had looked at his analyses till now. Never before had he shared them willingly.

Pushing his hands under his thighs, Izuku licked his dry lips in anticipation. Under his lap was warm, comforting. His gaze moved to where his hands reside, leg beginning to bounce underneath the table. In his mind, it was okay for his leg to move– the man couldn’t see it.

If Inaba thought his work was bad, would he destroy it like everyone else? If the papers were ruined, that means that he really couldn’t make a profit off of them, and therefore, not help his mother.

“10,000.00 yen.” Inaba spoke up, interrupting the pre-teens thoughts.

Deku’s gaze shot up to look at him. “I-I’m sorry?”

“Will you take 10,000.00 yen for it? Or is that not enough?” Inaba asked, still looking down at the papers as he resealed them. Once they were back in their packaging, he looked up to the green child. “I can always raise it.”

Izuku spluttered, pulling his hands out from under his lap to wave them in front of himself in an ex gesture. “No! No, 10,000.oo yen is already too much. If anything, you need to lower it, not raise it.”

The man raised a brow, setting the envelope down on the table. “Kid, these are on the level of a full blown pro. Why would I pay you less?”

The child paused, arms coming to rest on the table slowly. He swallowed, eyes flicking between the package and Inaba. To Izuku, his work was nothing special. It was just the ramblings of a kid with too much free time. However, if someone he’s never met before–someone who doesn’t know of his quirk status–is telling him they’re good, maybe people only told him they were creepy and worthless because he was quirkless.

Thinking back on it, his peers only started making jabs at him once that information was leaked. Even though Midoriya was only around five at that point, and those memories have become blurry with time, the boy can remember the praises he was given.

He was complimented on how smart he was, on his good grades, his friendly nature, and so on. However, after that fateful doctor’s appointment that led to his first ever heartbreak, he’s been picked on.

Taking in a deep breath, Deku nodded. “The price is fine, Inaba-san.”

“Great.” With that the man reached into his coat’s pocket. A moment later, he was handing Izuku a manila envelope that was identical to the one he was buying; if not for its small size.

Midoriya gratefully took it and clutched it to his chest. His upper half bent forwards, despite the fact he was still seated, so that he was in a small bow.

“Thank you, sir.”

Tomoki huffed, swiping his hand over the table’s surface in Izuku’s line of sight so that he’d look up. “None of that. If anything, I should be the one thanking you, kid.” He picked up the envelope, elbow on the table, and wagged it side to side ever so slightly. “This helps me way more than you think it does, and if I’m being honest, a thank you from me won’t cut it.”

Izuku’s expression grew confused while he watched the man stand.

“You have a real talent here, Deku. As compensation, I’ll spread the name around, get you a few more customers.” He then turned to leave, giving a wave over his shoulder and not waiting for the kid to respond.

Izuku stared after Inaba, a warm feeling in his chest. He could tell his cheeks were burning from the complement, but he couldn’t help it. The man was the first person to tell him that not only were his analyses good, but that he had a prowess in doing them.

Finally getting himself together, Deku pushed the money into his still agape bag before zipping it closed and standing to leave.

Midoriya absentmindedly dragged his pencil in patterns in the corner of his assignment. His mind was completely distracted by this morning’s news, so it was nearly impossible to focus on the work given out.

The number 4 hero, Edgeshot, had gotten into a fight that morning in central Tokyo. The pro’s fight was all over the news; several angles being captured.

Izuku had watched a handful of the videos on the way to school, the footage being released while he was on the train. The battle was amazing to watch, capturing both hero and villain in action perfectly. However, besides the fact that the boy had gotten to watch the hero’s fight patterns, he also got to watch his quirk.

A client, that Inaba had most likely sent his way, had contacted him a few days after his first sale, asking about the number 4 hero. When Deku had asked for specifics about what the man needed, he had elaborated, stating that he needed quirk information.

Izuku had gone digging that same night, trying to find at least one decent piece of footage. He had found a lot of interviews, ads, and a few low quality clips, but nothing that he could use effectively. The videos were either too grainy or he just wasn’t using his power.

In conclusion, the footage given out this morning was a god sent.

Midoriya had gotten a good look at his quirk from multiple different angles and picked it apart within seconds, questions flooding his mind.

What’s the thinnest he could safely make his body? And if he went past that point, what would happen? How long can he stretch until it’s completely fatal? How does his organs, bones, and vital areas compress and still keep him functioning while he’s using his Quirk? Can he feel himself compress? Or is it so fast he can’t feel anything at all? He can take control of someone’s nervous system, so he can obviously be inside a person. Does that mea-

Midoriya’s mumbling was cut off as the back of his head was hit so hard his face slammed into his desk. Pain shot through his nose, eyes immediately shutting as tears welled up.

The ache went up through his skull, causing the green haired boy to drop his pencil onto the table and bring both of his hands towards his head. One came around to rest on the back of his curls, fingers encapsulated by the locks. The other was brought to cup over his nose.

Distantly, he heard the all too familiar sound of someone telling him to “shut up,” but the pain in his head was enough to make it fade into the background. Not to mention, the fear in his racing heart was clouding his mind.

The feeling of blood trickling out of his nostrils was added to the pile of sensations. It seeped between the cracks of his fingers, flowing through the microscopic trenches in his skin.

The boy took a moment before lifting the hand that was pushed into his hair to be raised. His head remained ducked, nose still covered. Midoriya waited for the teacher to notice him, breathing choppily through his mouth around the accumulating blood.

An exasperated sigh could be heard from the front of the room. “Yes, Midoriya?”

Izuku shifted his hand up to uncover his mouth while his head tilted up, trying to keep the blood from getting everywhere. Due to the movement, a blood streak was left behind, going from his top lip, a few drips escaping to fall down his chin, and disappearing under his hand.

The teacher sighed once more and gestured towards the door.

Without further incentive, the boy moved briskly out of the room, heading straight to the nurse’s ward.

Izuku peeled the plaster off of his nose with a grimace, looking at himself in his restroom’s mirror.

The bruise that had faded marginally over the past few days had reappeared. Only this time, it was darker, an almost black shade. It stretched up the bridge of his nose and down the tip, fading towards the edges. Under his eyes were the start of yellow tinted shiners that connected to the darkened area. Luckily, however, the nose wasn’t too dented; just skewed somewhat.

Midoriya’s eyes brimmed with tears at the sight, hands shaking. He didn’t know if now was the time to tell Inko or if he could just wait. After all, he had been hiding it rather well– avoiding direct contact with her at all costs. Did the boy really want to just tell her? Get the people at Aldera in trouble?

His grip on the used plaster tightened.

Kacchan was at Aldera. If he were to tell Inko and the school got backlashes, Katsuki might get a mark on his record. If the blonde did, then he wouldn’t be able to get into Yuuei. Furthermore, would the police even do anything?

Midoriya was quirkless, and by definition, worthless. If the teachers, a form of an authoritative figure, haven’t stopped his peers’ actions, would the police even attempt to open a case? Would they just brush it off like everyone else?

Taking a deep breath, Izuku turned away from the mirror. He threw out the old plaster, reaching under the sink like he did just a few days prior. The boy pulled out the first-aid kit, placing it on the counter.

He repeated the process of applying a new bandage to his nose before cleaning up and leaving the bathroom.

Walking into his room, the child shut his eyes momentarily. The room was aggravating the ache in his head; the bright walls not mixing well with the shining sun entering the space through cracks in his curtains.

Trying to solve the problem, Midoriya pulled one of the thicker blankets off of his bed, moved over to the window, and draped the fabric over the curtain rod.

The room was bathed in darkness, the only light seeping into the space now coming from under the door.

Sighing in relief, Deku migrated to his desk. He pulled out the newly bought notebook entitled Hero Analysis for the Future #13 and sat down.

His free hand reached to the laptop before pushing open the lid. The screen began to cast shadows across his face, the light slowly fading the further into the room it reached. The boy’s fingers glided across the keys, typing in the password with practiced ease.

The fans in the old system buzzed loudly, cooling the insides in order to keep it from overheating. Along with the whirring of the blades was the clicking noise of the old hard drive working. The cacophony of sounds mixed together to create an almost calming hum.

Once the login page disappeared, the room was bathed in a white light that caused Midoriya to wince; pain rippling through his skull. His eyes remained squinted while he moved to turn the brightness down– and even though it was only there for a few seconds, he kept it lowered.

Reorienting in his chair, Deku got ready to start his analysis; pulling up the news feed from this morning.

Bonus Scene

Izuku stepped off the train, gaze downcast on the news feed playing on his phone. The boy’s earbuds relayed each sound into his ears, the noise’s of battle ringing out through his head.

Edgeshot’s fighting style was amazing to say the least. When fighting the man stuck to a mix of martial arts and his power. He’d thin out his body to avoid attacks or to disappear to the naked eye. If he chose to disappear he’d then reappeared in a spot that his appoint didn’t expect. Furthermore, if he wanted to take down someone quickly, he would thin his body to a microscopic point, pernitrate their skin, and attack their body from the inside out.

Midoriya couldn’t help but mumble as he watched the fight on screen; hand coming up to pinch his bottom lip to remind himself to at least keep his voice down.

The hero twisted mid air, his upper half unfurling like a ribbon in order to avoid a punch from his opponent.

The villain growled, fist relaxing and fingers outstretching to try and make a grab at the hero’s now thin body. Instead however, Edgeshot’s still fully intact legs pushed off the ground, causing him to jump back.

With the given time and space between the villain, he reformed his body and readjusted his stance.

It was right as the number four hero was about to take down the villain with his ultimate move, Ninpo, that Izuku felt himself bump into something.

The boy let out a small grunt, looking up to expect a pole or trash bin. Instead, the young man came face to face with an elderly woman.

The lady had dark grey hair that was cut into an almost bob like shape, thin rimmed glasses that sat neatly on the bridge of her nose, and a small black horn protruding from her forehead near where her hair parted off to the side.

In one quick motion, Izuku pulled his earbuds out, letting them dangle from off of his phone, before practically folding his body in half.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going. I swear I didn’t mean to bump into you!” The boy said quickly, cheeks burning.

Midoriya waited in anticipation for the lady to yell at him, only to startle as she let out a chuckle.

Patting the top of his head she spoke. “It was an accident, deary. No need to apologize.”

Izuku slowly stood straight at her words, hands moving to mess with the cord of his headphones. Even though the woman said it was okay, Midoriya couldn’t help the guilt that was forming in his gut. If he hadn’t let his love for heroes get in the way of his attentiveness, he wouldn’t have bumped into her.

As if sensing the boy’s unease with the situation, she pointed to the other side of the road.

“If you would like, I wouldn’t mind being helped across the road. You seem like a nice boy. I don’t think I could ask anyone else.”

The kid in question nodded quickly, bunching up the cord in his hands and shoving it–along with his phone–into his pocket.

The old woman looked at him with a gentle smile, reaching out a shaking arm for him to take.

Izuku, once ready, hooked his arm with hers, beginning to gingerly guide her across the busy road.

He kept his pace slow, matching up with her stride with ease. Furthermore, as they walked Izuku’s shame slowly diminished to a low buzz in the back of his mind.

In the boys brain, helping someone always seemed to relax his nerves. It allowed his mind to able to focus on something else, rather than his own anxiety.

Once to the other side of the street, the lady gave his arm two pats. “Thank you. Roads like that are scary to an old bag like me. We can’t really move like we used to.” She laughed. “Take care now, and make sure to pay attention. No more of that phone of yours, young man. They distract you kids too much.” She then slinked her arm out of his, turning to leave.

Midoriya couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the woman’s words; warmth blooming in his face once more. Although, he also couldn’t stop the small smile from forming on his lips.

He watched the woman’s back retreat for a moment longer before turning to leave himself– this time, keeping his phone tucked away within the confinements of his uniform’s pocket.

Naomasa placed the thin manila folder for the recently started case, on his desk. He pulled the black leather chair stationed behind the table out before sitting down. The detective then opened the file, looking at the papers within.

The case was opened recently due to the rise of a new informant in the underground. They’ve been around for about two weeks now, selling information and going by the alias Deku.

The file they had of the analyst contained little to no information besides the fake name, gender, and a grainy photo that was practically good for nothing.

The photo was taken from a surveillance camera across the street from Kohi, a coffee shop located within Musutafu. It showed a male figure with green hair and a yellow bag exiting the store’s doors. While the miniscule description was helpful, if the feed wasn’t choppy to the point of obscuring things like his face or important identifiable features, it would actually be of use.

So far, what they have is that he meets up with clients in places like coffee shops–hence, how they even have a photo of the guy–and as much as the police would love to station every pro at one within a 10 mile radius of Musutafu, that would just allow other villains a chance to attack places or people. Furthermore, they know that he’s sold to three villains so far. However, with how known he’s become, that number might be far off.

The first one they captured, Aikawa Nakai, was going through processing when they had found the packet. It was loaded with detailed information of the number 4 hero; the pages neatly organized and handwriting neat. The man hadn’t given anything on Deku, when questioned, only the name of the analyst and the fact that someone they knew would come after them if they gave out his information.

The interrogation didn’t last too long after that, the villain not having anything of value to his arrest or the informants case.

The second and third villain told the same thing, only this time, they gave out their boss’s name, Inaba Tomoki. That didn’t help with anything besides a completely different case centered around a villain organization named Heiwana.

So in short, Deku was a mystery wrapped up in a riddle.

Naomasa sighed, leaning back in his chair.

The analyst was smart and had apparently avoided detection for weeks, if not more; never letting too much information about them slip. Furthermore, they seemed to have a villain institution wrapped around their finger to the point they’re protecting him.

Dragging a hand down his face, his gaze moved to the phone that sat in the corner of his neatly organized desk. His finger tapped against the papers, mind racing.

They needed to take down Deku as quickly as possible. The guy was dangerous, illusive, and intelligent. The detective had seen it first hand through the guy’s notes, so he knew that Deku was nothing to scoff at. If they wanted to arrest him quickly, they needed someone to match his intelligence.

Picking up the black corded phone, Tsukauchi placed it on his ear. His finger moved off the paper, the rhythmic tapping coming to an end in favor of punching in Nezu’s number.

The phone rang for only a few seconds before a cheery voice picked up. “Hello, Tsukauchi-san. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The man shifted in his seat, turning his head into his shoulder to hold the phone between the two appendages. His hands moved to the file, spreading out the few papers that filled it. “Nezu. A recent case that popped up might need your assistants in solving. The guy’s dangerous and going off of what we’ve seen, incredibly smart.”

A hum sounded out from the rodent on the other end of the line. “And the information you have so far?”

“Practically nothing.”

“A name at least?” Nezu added.

“So far they’re going by Deku,” the detective replied.

The hybrid hummed once more and Naomasa could practically hear him nodding. “I can come around after school hours to take a look. If this case is as dire as you make it seem, then I don’t mind helping at all.”

Nezu looked over the files in his paws, gaze scrutinizing. The information was just as minuscule as Naomasa had said. The photo was grainy and the information they had got was from the villain that let his gender slip.

In all honesty, it wasn’t helpful. The papers they had gotten off of one of the villains though…

“You said you had gotten a page of his analyses?” The rodent asked.

The detective nodded, pulling a few evidence bags off of his desk and handing it to him. Nezu took them graciously, looking through the clear sides in order to read the writing.

The mustelid’s eyes shone with interest as he perused the papers. The information held within them was incredible; detailing things down to even the smallest of detail.

Whoever this Deku person was, the detective was right, they were indeed intelligent.

Nezu nodded, tail swaying lightly. “I do not believe that whoever we’re dealing with is older than eight-teen or younger than ten.”

Tsukauchi looked at his higher up in surprise. “I’m sorry? Nezu-san, you have to understand that this level of work is far too advanced for a child. They’d need years of practice, and even then…”

“Unless they’ve been doing it for years.” The hybrid piped up, moving to set the bags on a nearby chair. He then worked on pushing the stool over to a pin board to the left of Naomasa’s desk as he continued.

“And I already know what you’re thinking, detective. That would be implying that a child has been honing a skill that is incredibly dangerous.” He paused once the chair was into place, picked up the papers once more, and climbed atop the stool's surface.

He then pulled a pin out of the corkboard, reaching up soon after. The rodent then pinned the bags to the board. “With what I’ve gotten off the information provided, the man we’re working against is nothing more than a child.”

His paw pads bent in so that just one was pointed out and he used that pad to point at the sentences written on the displayed papers. “The handwriting for one, has a forced neatness. While that may just seem like any other professional mindset of a villain, there’s parts where he does mess up.” He pointed to one of the larger blocks of text.

“Right here. It resembles that of a child. Now, taking a closer look in this light, do you see it?”

Naomasa’s eyes squinted, looking at the section Nezu mentioned. “A bit, but that’s just going off speculation. He could just have messy handwriting when he gets excited.” He leaned back, gesturing vaguely to the board. “He’s clearly passionate about this whole thing.”

“That’s not my only thing leading me to this conclusion.” Nezu turned to look at his colleague, holding a paw out to motion for the folders containing the other information on Deku.

The detective moved swiftly, pulling the thin stack of papers out of the folder, before handing them to Nezu.

The mustelid took them from the man with appreciation, moving to pin them on the board as well. “Off of what we have gathered about the Heiwana origination–the one Inaba-san runs–they’re protecting him. While they’re known for being villains, they’re also recognized to be kinder towards children. If Deku was on the younger side, it would make more sense on why they’d keep him safe. After all, they don’t hesitate to rat out each other when it comes to their colleagues.”

Nezu pointed to the photo next. “And although the photo is on the more pixelated side, I can still make out the details of what he’s wearing. Do me a favor detective and lean in a bit more. Try to pick apart the colors, please.”

Naomasa sighed, shuffling closer to look at the image. His eyes narrowed, brain slowly painting a picture in his mind. “‘Socks?’”

“Indeed.” The principal chipped, paws clasping together behind the small of his back.

The detective turned his confused gaze to him, eyebrows pinch together in thought. “I don’t get it…”

“It’s childish.” The rodent informed, tail giving a light sway behind him.

“Childish?”

“Deku, a professional analyst–keep in mind–wearing a childish piece of attire wouldn’t make sense if he were an adult. After all, going through the evidence, I can tell he wants to be professional. So why would he wear a childish shirt to a meeting about selling analyses?”

The detective’s eyes widened as he looked at Nezu. When it was put like that it made sense.

“Of course this is, like you said, all speculation.” He finished, hopping off the chair. “Lets hope for all our sakes that Deku is not one.”

Izuku stretched his arms above his head, fingers interlocked. His back arched and let out a few pops before he allowed it to bend back into the chair, slumping into it.

The boy had just finished doing an analysis on Mirko, the number 6 hero, for a client. He had filled around 6 pages of information for them but somehow, still itched to do more.

Looking back to his laptop’s screen, Izuku’s eyes zeroed in on the clock. The time was only around seven, he had time for one more session. Flipping to a new page in his notebook, the boy’s hands flew across the keyboard, searching the number 2 hero’s name.

When the links for Endeavor finally showed up, Deku clicked on the first one that popped up.

It was an article detailing his life, which wasn’t exactly what Izuku needed, but he was desperate; just wanting to satisfy that buzz of needing to do something in the back of his mind. In a logical sense, if the boy were to do a full analysis of him–life history and all–eventually he’d get tired enough for the urge to fade and his body to crave for rest.

Pressing two of his fingers down onto the mouse pad, Izuku scrolled through the site until his eyes locked onto a heading entitled Major Events. His gaze then moved across the words, taking them in while occasionally letting it flick towards his notebook to write something down.

He continued this process several times until he got to the event entitled Sekoto Peak. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he read, pencil slowly coming to rest on the notebook. His hand absentmindedly shut his book and pushed it to the side while the other pulled the laptop closer.

The article detailed the death of Todoroki Touya, Enji’s oldest child. It stated how the fire was caused by the boy’s quirk going out of control and how he wasn’t ever resistant to it in the first place. In Izuku’s mind, that already raised red flags. If he wasn’t fire resistant, why would he have been using his power at all? Endeavor should have made sure the child wasn’t using his quirk unsupervised.

Furthermore, the text tells how although the fire was quickly put out, they found no remains of the number 2 hero’s son.

The look of confusion on Izuku’s face grew and he swiftly made to type the Todoroki’s name into the search bar. He wanted to look into the boy’s quirk since in past fire related incidents that he’d looked into–in terms of quirks–typically a skeleton was left behind.

When a person is the user of a pyrokinesis type power, their bodies typically mutate in order to accommodate it. Things like a warmer body temperature, tougher skin, and heat resistance becomes the norm for them. However, in the case of Touya, it seems like he wasn’t given the aspect of heat resistance. Despite this, he should still have one, a warmer body temp, and two, a heat resistant skeleton.

The reasoning for the green child’s conclusion is the fact that the Todoroki is even able to use his quirk at all. Quirks reside in the core, or otherwise known as the heart or brain; depending on the type of power. When one is activated, it causes the nerves in ones body to react and provide a sensation related to the quirk. When it comes down to fire type quirks, a user will experience high spikes–similar to that of the heat fire gives off–in body temp. If he was fully unable to withstand high heats that fire would provide, the moment he attempted to use his quirk, he’d be essentially cooked from the inside out.

If his body was even the slightest bit fire resistant, the ability to use his quirk would be possible, as his form wouldn’t degrade. The reason for this being that his body would be able to stand the heat it generates during use internally. The external part however, is a different story for the man.

The outside of his body seems to be that of an ice user’s, from his mother’s genes, while the inside–where his quirk resides–is a fire user’s, his fathers genes.

A really bad combination in Izuku’s opinion.

Midoriya pushed the laptop back to make space for his notebook. He then flipped the pages of the book till he came to a blank one, analysis of Endeavor forgotten. Picking up his pencil once more, the boy began a new section in his book entitled Todoroki Touya.

Bonus Scene

Izuku blinked sluggishly, setting his pencil down with a yawn.

He had spent who knows how long finishing his analysis on Touya and felt exhausted. Furthermore, the newfound hatred for the number two hero didn’t help dwindle his fatigue. If anything, it made it worse. He didn’t feel like moving, his limbs already feeling the tole of bone deep exhaustion.

Interlinking his fingers, Midoriya gave a small stretch before releasing his hands once more. His fingers wrapped around the back of his laptop before pushing it close; bathing the room into darkness.

The kid yawned once more, hand coming up instinctively to cover his mouth while his eyes shut.

Finally, he turned his chair to stand up and when his eyes reopened… he saw it.

His window’s curtains had a small hue to them, light seeping through the cracks.

His heart dropped at the sight, whole body freezing for only a split second before he was shooting to his feet. The boy reached the window in no time, hands quickly wrapping around the soft curtains and pulling them apart.

When he saw the mix of oranges and purples in the sky, along with the fading reminiscent of bright scattered stars, his heart somehow sank even further.

Head ducking in what could only be shame, the sleep deprived twelve year old sighed. “Not again…” He groaned out.

The masked man moved the miniature test tube off of the burner with similarly sized metal tongs, using his free hand to grab a pipette. He brought both in front of himself, tilting the glass container ever so slightly to stick the tip of the dropper into the liquid. He then pulled some of the liquid into the pipette before setting the test tube back on it’s rack.

Moving over to where the microscope resided, he sat down, grabbing a new slide. He held the glass steadily in his gloved hand, placing a drop of the liquid onto the slide. He then set the dropper back into it’s spot, keeping his space neat.

Picking up small tweezers, not planning to even attempt to flatten the drop with his encased fingers, he grabbed the clear cover slip with the tips of the metal pinchers.

Once it was aligned properly–the liquid evenly spread out–he placed the tweezers back in their correct area; tapping it into place so that it sat perfectly on the table.

He set the slide down for only a moment, lowering the stage of the microscope in order to access it better, before picking the thin glass back up. The metal clips fastened around the slide as the man slid it into place, light flickering on with just a tap of the switch.

The guy leaned forward, adjusting the lenses, focus, and the position of the stage until he could see the cells correctly. His eyes scanned the area, taking in every detail. When a blue colored cell came into view however, he paused. His hands tightened around the dials, the skin on his forehead beginning to itch.

The blue cell, or otherwise known as the quirk factor gene, was still there.

Leaning back and letting go of the microscope, the person scowled. He had spent months at this point attempting to remove the gene from a person’s DNA–and so far, he hasn’t even come close to succeeding. Every test he’s conducted so far has either led to no results or the cells dying within seconds.

He was still too far away from his goal.

As the skin on his forehead began to burn, he stood up violently, chair getting pushed back by the back of his knees with a gut wrenching screech. It scraped the floor, creating an imperfection the man would later glare at.

He planned to unglove his hand, reach out, and destroy the microscope for not showing him the results he wanted, before the door creaked open.

Looking over his shoulder threateningly, hand frozen midair, the man’s gaze caught onto his masked employee.

“Overhaul?” Nemoto asked, voice slightly muffled by the black bird mask he wore to obscure his face.

Kai pulled the hem of his glove back, readjusting it on his hand, but not letting go. He then took in a deep breath, ignoring the itch buzzing under his skin. “What is it?”

“It’s about the job you had me and Deidoro take over–The one about the quirkless person you requested,” he replied, stepping into the room calmly and shutting the door behind him.

Chisaki’s shoulders relaxed minutely. “Have you found one?”

“Not really,” Nemoto informed. “However, I did find something to at least move the search along.”

Overhaul turned to look at him fully, beckoning him on silently.

Moving to pick up the fallen chair, Shin continued. “I was looking into the underground more, to see if I could find something like a traffic ring, when I heard about a new informant.” He relocated the chair back into its spot, making sure to line it up perfectly to the desk’s edge. All the while, Chisaki’s eyes followed him, taking in the information.

“I’ve heard they’re good.” He turned to look at his boss, hands still resting atop the back of the stool. “Doesn’t question things either.”

“Whatever it takes, Nemoto. I can’t get anywhere without one.” Overhaul replied, crouching down while he finally slipped his right glove off.

Placing the tips of his fingers over the scrapes in the floor, the both of them watched as they slowly faded away; the tiles under his hand becoming perfect once more. However, hives appeared on his skin at the cost of fixing the imperfections.

Standing up, Kai kept his elbow bent so that his hand was not touching anything besides the air. “When you contact them, tell them the price is whatever they want it to be. At this point, I don’t care what means we have to go to in order to develop the bullet. As long as I can purge this world of its imperfections, I’ll pay any price needed.” He then turned to walk away, not waiting for a reply. “Now go, so I can wash my hand.”

Nemoto nodded, turning to leave.

Shin walked into the room dedicated to researching. It would be a rather plain room if not for the dozens of papers strewn everywhere. The walls were still white, but compared to the rest of the compound, it had a bit more life to it.

The facility’s theme was supposed to be bare in order to keep it sterile, due to the fact Chisaki couldn’t stand germs. This room however, was the one exception.

The man never came into the space, meaning they didn’t need to clean it as often. Not to mention, it was rather difficult to keep a place clean when you had to constantly move things around, add information, or remove items. Furthermore, the person he was working with was a complete slob.

Said man was currently sitting in a chair, feet propped up on his desk, and alcohol in hand.

Nemoto’s eyes narrowed behind the lenses of his mask. “Deidoro, did you at least get the email set up before relaxing?”

Sakaki tilted his head back, taking a long swig of his bottle. He then licked his lips, pulling the bottle away from his mouth. “Email? Why the hell would I write one of those?” He slurred.

Shin sighed, rolling his eyes soon after.

Not bothering with his colleague anymore, he moved over to his own desk that sat next to the drunkard.

Pulling his chair out, the man masked in black put in the password to his computer. Once it loaded in, he turned his attention away from the screen to grab the paper that contained the analyst's contact information.

Providing a quick, hidden side glare to his impaired colleague, Nemoto looked back to the monitor. His fingers spread to provide his muscles a light stretch before they were back on the keyboard, getting ready to start a message.

Midoriya’s feet pounded against the concrete with a panicked rhythm, clammy hands fisted to push off of the air by his sides. The sounds of angered and cruel jeering accompanied by unfaltering footsteps could be heard from behind.

Izuku pushed himself to the edge, his legs burning with each step. His heart pounded in his chest erratically with both terror and exertion.

Glancing back, the green teen almost flinched. The proximity between both him and his bullies had shortened sometime during the chase. Teeth gritting to keep him from yelling out, the boy kept pushing himself.

If he got caught, who knows what would happen?

One of the last times he got beat up they broke his nose, but he didn’t run that time. This time however, he tried to get away; not wanting his nose to somehow get reinjured once more. He knew he shouldn’t have, but the fear of having it messed up more had become too much. After all, the two injuries sustained to his face had made it difficult to breathe–at least when it came to his nose.

Huffing out tired breaths through his mouth, Izuku looked forward once more.

The train station was in sight, the security checkpoints as well. One of his hands reached back, blindly searching inside the side pocket of his bag for his keycard.

When his fingers didn’t immediately feel the hard plastic he shot another fearful glance back.

They were closer.

He pushed his hand deeper into the pocket, desperately trying to find it. His heart rate spiked and the boy’s lungs burned with the stress of his restricted breathing; the sweatiness of his limbs not helping in his search at all.

When the tips of his fingers barely touched the edge of the card, his torso tilted to the side, hand practically slamming into the plastic and yanking it out.

Izuku would’ve sighed in relief, if not for the fact he was running out of air and his body felt like it was going to collapse at any moment.

He pushed himself harder, knees and ankles screaming in pain.

He stopped for only a moment in order to swipe his card, waiting with baited breath until the scanner glared at him with a red light; telling him to try again. The boy’s breath caught while he uncurled his fingers to look down at the item. Practically punching himself mentally, Midoriya flipped over the plastic before swiping it again.

This time, the light shone green and the lock released the spinning rods. Moving his hand–along with the card–back to his body, he pushed through the gate.

Without looking back, Izuku ran towards the stationary train. In the boy’s mind, he prayed to Kami that he’d make it in time.

Anxiety raced through his veins, adrenalin pumping. However, the moment the muffled steps of sole hitting pavement turned to hollow metal, all of it was replaced with bone deep exhaustion.

He moved, pace slower but breath quick, to collapse in a seat with a view of where he came from. The chair was uncomfortable and cold under the child’s body, but nonetheless, he allowed himself to relax into it.

He let his eyes slip shut, and distantly, he heard the sounds of the loud speaker and the train’s doors shutting. Deku paid it no mind though, brain already on the topic of sleeping.

He shifted, head tilting back to rest against the cart’s window. It was cold against his scalp, filling in for the comfort that an ice pack could provide for an aching skull.

His nose felt like it was on fire; pain radiating through his head from the appendage.

Ever since he had broken it, his nose never seemed to function properly. It felt like it was clogged all the time and his nostrils whistled with each heavy breath he took in.

In recent days, the boy had been breathing out of his mouth more often. It was weird for him, sure, but it kept his peers–more specifically Bakugou–from glaring at him out of annoyance.

Izuku wonders in the back of his mind if it would have been different if he had gone to a doctor for his injury, rather than treating it himself. However, the boy knows that nothing can be done for it now–that’s why it’s only an afterthought.

Eyes opening to set their gaze upon the ceiling above, Midoriya sighed heavily.

When he got home, Izuku just wanted to sleep. However, the boy knew if he wanted to keep up with his long list of requests from his analyst account, he couldn’t take breaks.

Yawning, Deku pushed the lid of his laptop open. He typed in his password like normal, pulled up his inbox like normal, and checked each email that was sent in like normal. Despite everything being his usual routine, there was one message that was completely out of place.

The email stated how the sender, Nemoto Shin, needed help with a project he and his colleague were assigned. Everything was normal about it, all things considered, but the fact they wanted to meet in person sent warning bells through the boy’s head.

Granted, he usually does his meeting in person, but that was on his own time and when the analysis was already done. They wanted him to come during school hours and possibly, do the analysis in person.

He wasn’t completely against it, if the pre-teen was being completely honest. They said they’d pay any sum he named. He’d be able to help Inko with the bills… However, if he took up the offer, he’d miss school.

Midoriya had never really been one to miss school, going even if he was injured or sick. If he missed there would be no one to tell him what he actually needed to make up; just the teacher handing him a large stack that the boy knows was made specifically for him. A stack that, keep in mind, takes him days to complete.

Not to mention he doesn’t have any friends or classmates that would be willing to let him copy notes.

It’d be easy for him to skip though. After all, his mother left the house before him.

Despite the circumstances, the money would be far worth it.

Over the past two, nearing three weeks, that Deku had made a name for himself, he’s learned how much he should charge for each detail a client wanted.

Quirks–how they worked–and the fighting style of a person were around the more expensive side, due to the fact those are the hardest things to analyze. The lowest pay would come from something like someone’s personality or locating a person.

Some of his clients had come to him with strange requests, so by this point, Izuku had the prices memorized; he’d be able to come up with a price on the spot. Though, that didn’t stop the constant question of why people that have the most mundane jobs ask him for the most thorough analyses.

On the other hand, this person could be a criminal, trying to lure him into a trap. Unlikely, he was worthless, no criminal would be after him.

Maybe the police then?

It would make sense actually, given the term classified information. If it was the authorities trying to contact him, then that means his name finally reached them.

He had already planned to send out an email to a hero named Eraserhead tomorrow in order to give him his data and to spread his name. This was just speeding things up.

The man was an underground hero centered in Naruhata, illusive, and had too many flaws to his costume. The pro was dressed in a simple black suit, utility belt, yellow goggles, and a scarf. It was simple in order to not draw attention, but the floating hair ruined that aspect.

His hair flying up was one of the main reasons people knew he was using his quirk. If it were short or pulled back, not only would it get rid of the tall tail sign, but it would also allow for a better field of vision.

Furthermore, if the style of his goggles were changed to a more sealed off design, he wouldn’t have to worry about debris or dust being kicked up into his eyes. After all, the current look they had provided little to no protection.

Shifting in his seat, Izuku clicked off his email.

He was getting distracted from his job.

His mouse moved across the laptop’s screen, pulling up the few familiar sites Deku used, before he opened the search engine.

His plan was already made, so there was no need to dwell on the aspects of it further. He would send out the email to Eraserhead before he left, so by the time he got back from Osamu Depository, there would hopefully be a reply in his inbox.

Izuku sighed, closing his door carefully as he heard the front door shut. His view, the crack in the door, that he was looking through now gone.

Skipping school was far more terrifying than he thought it would be.

His heart was beating fast, hands slightly trembling. However, he knew there was nothing he could do about it now. After all, if he left now he’d be late–and the boy would rather not be there at all, then face his teacher’s scolding, and in turn, his humiliation.

Breathing out shakily, Deku moved over to grab his bag. Knowing he needed to bring some supplies in case they ask him to do an in person analysis, he migrated to his desk next.

The boy gingerly set his bag onto his chair, grabbing his most recent notebook soon after. He went to set it in the bag but paused when he remembered the email he had to make out to Eraserhead.

Huffing out a breath, Midoriya grabbed the top handle of his bag, moving it to the floor. He replaced the empty spot in his chair with himself, using his heels to pull himself closer to the desk.

He set his notebook down, reaching for his laptop. He had set it on the charger last night, knowing he might need to use it during his meeting with Nemoto. If it died before he finished, it’d be embarrassing. Not to mention, he didn’t know how long he’d be out for, and if the location he was meeting up with them in would have outlets.

His fingers pushed through the gap between the laptop's base and lid, tentatively lifting the top so that the screen would turn on. The loud buzzing of his fan and the familiar clicking filled the room as his system tried to start up.

He really needed to buy a new one soon.

Once the sound simmered down to be quiet background noise, Izuku typed in the password and waited. The screen was a plain light blue for a moment before it flashed white. The boy waited, screen frozen.

When it didn’t show anything but the plain color after a few seconds–like it usually did–his mouth pressed into a thin line, and Deku’s hand reached towards the escape key, pressing it a few times.

Finally, it loaded in, the screen darkening to show the anonymous forum he’s grown to love. Although, despite the affection he felt for the site, the green boy didn’t need that right now.

His thumb reached towards the mouse pad, while the rest of his fingers kept on the keys. He moved the cursor to the close tab button, clicking it, and narrowing the tabs down to just be his email. Hopefully, it’d run smoother now.

Izuku took his attention off of the screen, bringing it down to his notebook. With practiced ease, he flipped through the pages to his completed one on the underground pro.

Looking towards where he had written the man’s contact information, he started a new email.

Deku had spent hours trying to find his information, only to turn up blank on many occasions. Despite this, he didn’t relent, not stopping till he found the email because ultimately, at the end of the day, Eraserhead was the only one who would most likely take him seriously.

The man, to the people who knew about him, was a logical person. If some random person decided to contact him about something that was important, he’d at least spare it a glance.

Granted, Izuku would rather give the man his analysis in person to avoid a villain getting the information; that’s why he did his transfers in person. However, if a twelve year old boy came up to him, begging the man to read something that looked like nothing more than fanboying, he wouldn’t take it seriously.

Over the internet, though, Eraserhead wouldn’t know who Deku was. Unless the word of him being a kid got to him, but that was unlikely.

His name was well known around the underground–a place where information was spread-sure, but not his age. Clients always seemed shocked when they saw him due to this fact. However, they didn’t treat his work like it was nothing.

In short, Izuku was grateful the internet existed.

Typing out the last sentence, Deku’s eyes scanned over what he wrote, looking for mistakes. The paragraphs were long, but they detailed every piece of information that he wanted to include. He didn’t leave anything out, wanting to incorporate not only the man’s costume, but also his quirk and some theories he had. When he didn’t find any errors, his mouse moved over to the bright blue button labeled send.

He adjusted in his chair, lower back beginning to hurt from how long he had been sitting for. He went to stretch it, but paused at the implications of that sensation.

How long had he been sitting here for?

Viridian eyes moved to look at the time displayed in the bottom left-hand corner of his portable computer’s screen. Panic raced through his veins, heart stuttering.

He had spent way more time than he needed to on his message, not even realizing that he let an entire three hours pass. Meaning, he had only around an hour to get to Osamu Depository and had already missed the first two trains.

Quickly shutting his laptop and notebook, Izuku practically flew to his feet. He turned to his bag that lay abandoned on the floor and bent down. His hand grabbed one of the unzipped sides and pulled it away from the other.

Reaching up blindly, the green child searched and grabbed both of his needed items and slammed them into his pack; careful to keep the pages of his notebook from being ripped or creased.

He then zipped it closed, lifted it with a grunt, put it over his shoulder, and went to leave.

His steps stuttered when he neared his bedroom’s door, however, as a thought crossed his mind.

Turning to look back at his closet, the boy swiftly shuffled over to the doors and pulled them open. His hand reached within the small space, pushing his shirts over to one side in order to get access to his hoodies.

He grabbed the first one he saw, a dark green colored one with a white decal that spelled out hat in English. Slipping it off the hanger and tossing the piece of plastic onto the bed soon after, Midoriya fisted it in his hand, advancing to the door once more.

Deku stood up from the cushioned train seat, legs stiff from the long ride. It had taken around two hours to get to Osaka Prefecture and Izuku’s window of opportunity was slowly closing.

It was already past noon.

He stretched his legs out while reaching up to the dangling handle above. His fingers wrapped around the hard plastic with an iron grip. The train was still moving, nearing the station, but Izuku wanted to be able to get off as soon as possible. He was already late as it is, there’s no need to add on more time to his arrival.

The train gave a light jerk, Midoriya’s feet having to plant in order to keep himself from falling.

The speakers within the car sounded, announcing that they were arriving at the station.

Deku turned to look behind him, grabbing his bag off of the seat. The boy maneuvered both of his arms into the straps, switching which hand held onto the handle as he did.

Izuku shifted the bag around on his shoulders, free hand reaching over his shoulder to dislodge his hood and pull it up. It wasn’t like he was paranoid or anything, it was just that he rather not get caught outside of school and brought back to Musutafu by the cops.

The muffled sounds of the train’s brakes screeching reached the boy’s ears. He watched with anticipation, the train giving another jerk as it stopped next to the platform.

The speakers chimed before the doors opened, and with a final adjustment to his hood, Deku moved to get off the train.

Midoriya moved through the bustling streets with purpose, looking down at his phone every now and then so he didn’t get lost.

He had never really been in the area, and furthermore, never been to the place Nemoto wanted to meet up at. So, having a GPS pulled up was necessary.

Turning down a narrow street, Izuku tuned out the sounds of the vendors and merchants trying to advertise their goods. Usually, he wouldn’t ignore people like this, it was rude after all, but the boy was already running behind and stopping to be polite wouldn’t do him any good.

Izuku’s feet followed the path mapped out by his phone, his stride quick and focus unyielding. The packed city from before slowly faded, the buildings becoming far and few between, but the amount of paved areas becoming common. Eventually, though, his phone chimed, signaling his arrival.

Looking up while he pocketed his phone, Izuku came face to face with a large building. It was grey in color, the sliding doors stretching at least halfway up the front, and the roof coming up to a point. There were similar buildings on both sides and a few cranes that sat behind them that faded into the blue sky due to the distance from him.

Looking away from the cranes, Deku flinched back as he saw two men exiting the side of the building and into the alley. They were arguing about something, but the boy couldn’t exactly make it out.

One of the men, the one on the right, had a lengthy build and a black colored cloak like outfit. His face was completely obscured by a black mask that came to a point; the lenses attached to the mask being the only way he could see. Behind the mask he seemed to be wearing a white balaclava to conceal the rest of his features. Finally, the black large brimmed fedora on top of his head shadowed the rest of his face.

The one on the left had long black hair and a slight hunch to his spine, a bottle in hand. His torso was bare and over and around his shoulders sat an off white, fluffy jacket that did nothing to cover his back. His lower half was covered with brown jeans, and his face was completely obscured by a bird-like mask as well. This mask however was white in color, the beak being flat against the face and angled downwards.

Maybe it was the fact that the boy couldn’t see their faces or identifiable features at all, but a spike of anxiety shot through him, heart rate elevating.

Were these the people he was meant to meet up with?

The people he was looking at didn’t look like police at all, and in all honesty, if anything they looked like villains. Not that Izuku was one to judge people, but still.

Swallowing roughly, Deku’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Nemoto, right?” He took a chance, voice raised enough so that the two men could hear him.

The bickering between the two halted as they turned their focus towards Izuku.

Guess these were the right people.

The boy in question could practically feel their scrutinizing gazes burn into him, the atmosphere almost making him want to squirm.

Pushing down his anxiety, Deku gave a small bow, standing up straight rather quickly. “Sorry for being late. I lost track of time while I was writing an email and missed the first two trains.”

The one masked in black shifted at his words, his demeanor changing ever so slightly. He then pulled a hand out of his cloak and waved Izuku over. “It’s fine. You got here before we left, that’s good enough.”

Midoriya’s shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension in his body being soothed by the man’s non-threatening tone.

He shuffled over to the alleyway, meeting up with the two men between the buildings.

Deku went to speak, only to be cut off by the one masked in white. “You’re a kid?” He somewhat slurred, leaning down.

Izuku leaned back a bit, the scent of alcohol burning his nose. “Uh, yes sir?”

Nemoto elbowed the guy in the arm, nudging him away from the green child. “Move back a bit from him, will you?” His tone was sharp and commanding–and Izuku immediately got the feeling that the two didn’t get along.

The drunkard grumbled, but complied, shifting back.

“Sorry about him,” Shin said, disgust palpable through his voice. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get started.  We’re already running short on time after all.”

Deku nodded, shifting on his feet. He couldn’t really help it, they had something about them that made Izuku feel… off.

“Like we said before, the pay is whatever you want it to be. Our boss is at his wits end by this point, so he doesn’t care. A million yen or ten thousand,” he shrugged. '“It really doesn’t matter.”

Izuku nodded, taking in the man’s words.

“Anyway, the project we’re working on was started in order to find a quirkless person for our boss.”

Izuku’s heart stopped.

“Knowing you’re pretty well diversed in different topics, we thought that you’d be able to do a better job than we’ve been. Quirkless people are a rarity these days, you know? Only down to around 10%.”

Deku couldn’t breathe.

“The damn population’s just a bunch of old guys anyways, the numbers are all messed up. That’s not what we’re looking for, though. The person we’ll pay you to find needs to be young, not someone a flick away from death’s door. If you happen to know some already, then we’ll pay you right here and now.”

Nemoto looked at him, demeanor seemingly shifting once more. “Do you?”

Midoriya went to take a step back instinctively–the minimal amount of comfort he had felt earlier completely gone–but instead, his lips moved, words tumbling out of them before he could stop himself. “I do.”

Izuku cringed and quickly went to correct himself, but for some reason, his brain wasn’t cooperating with his mouth. The words he initially wanted to say to make up some excuse, were replaced by, “I’m quirkless.”

The child swiftly covered his mouth with both hands, his whole body stilling. Both of the men weren’t far behind in their frozen states. Fear shot through his body, his heart rate spiking and sounding out through his ears.

Why the hell did he tell them that?!

The moment Nemoto’s hand so much as shifted towards him, adrenalin was coursing through his veins and his feet moved before he could stop them.

The child turned away from them, feet pushing off the ground with so much force that his ankle hurt. He paid it no mind, though, the instinct of survival overwriting the pain.

The sound of a bottle being smashed against the ground sounded out from behind him, and Izuku stupidly spared a glance over his shoulder. The look back allowed the child to see the man masked in white jerk his arm out towards him like he threw something.

Deku was just going to ignore it–after all, the mouth of the alley was almost in his grasp–but when a sharp pain shot through the back of his left calf, he let out a cry of pain; fearful eyes brimming with tears.

His leg gave out on him and he fell to the ground with a small slide. The boy’s hands gained new scrapes to their palms from the sharp contact with the concrete and his hood fell off from the gust of wind that his fall created.

Midoriya didn’t allow himself to rest, trying to push himself up with a grunt that screamed effort. However, the boy just ended up falling to the side while another wave of pain swept through the nerves in his leg.

Finally looking towards the source of his agony, the child’s body began to tremble.

The handle of a knife stuck out of his leg, the attached blade embedded into his flesh. Blood pooled out of the injury at a slow pace, the liquid running down his leg towards his shoes. A few drops made their way to the ground below, staining the concrete in crimson. His shorts however, were too short to catch any of the stray blood.

The tears in the boy’s eyes increased tenfold, the sight of the injury somehow making the ache worse.

Quickly adjusting his position so that he was sitting–arms behind him in order to keep himself upright–Izuku used his right heel to push back from his assaulters, keeping his other leg in the air in order to not injure it further.

Nemoto sighed, slowly stalking forwards. “Did you have to stab the kid?” He asked his partner, annoyance clear in his voice.

“I didn’t want him to get away. Besides, you should be thanking me.” The guy grumbled back, watching his colleague.

Shin only scoffed in response, crouching down next to Deku and grabbing his wrist to stop him from going any further. “If any blood gets in the car, you’re cleaning it. No-” He was cut off with a grunt as Izuku’s foot made contact with his chest.

“Let me go!” Midoriya cried out, voice trembling, while he pushed himself back by his hands and uninjured foot–the one he used to kick the man.

Nemoto froze for a moment, the scowl he wore under his mask clear in his demeanor alone. “Deidoro. Would you use your quirk on him already?”

The guy in question chuckled–whether it was because of the fact that Shin got kicked or the man’s impairment remains unknown– while making his way over with a light stumble to his steps.

Izuku pushed himself back further, his heart beating erratically in his chest. The only thoughts running through the boy’s head were to escape and dawning regret.

He wishes he never came here.

As the child’s back hit the wall of the alley, he could only stare up in fear as the white masked man shuffled closer. Tears streamed down his face in small rivers, his breath getting caught in his throat a few times as he breathed.

However, all the sensations in his body came to a grinding halt as Deidoro’s hand came in contact with his wrist.

His head began to feel both light and cloudy all at once and his awareness began to slowly slip away. It was almost like he wasn’t fully there anymore. His memories became fuzzy and his sense of time was completely gone.

He remembers being lifted at some point and possibly being brought to a car, but the time in between those two events was nonexistent. The memories between the actions seemingly not being made at all.

It was the same with the time in the vehicle. The boy remembers being asked a few things, answering them, and the fact that motion made him sick… but that’s it.

All his memories were just one large blur.

Nemoto sat comfortably in the moving car, going through Deku’s things in hopes of finding some information about him. However, the only things of use that he found was the boy’s notebook.

He had skimmed through it, looking for something of importance, but all he found was the usual notes that the kid sold. Sure, they’d be useful in the future, but not for digging something up on him.

Looking up from the notebook, Nemoto looked to his partner that sat across from him in the dark colored van.

Deidoro was sitting next to Deku, one hand still on his wrist while the other tapped against the neck of a fresh bottle of alcohol.

He scowled under his mask at the drunk before looking at the green child. He was seemingly relaxed into the seat, eyes shut, and head tilted up. The boy’s leg was still bleeding, a small pool of blood now under his left foot, but he didn’t seem to feel it at all.

Usually, Shin didn’t like to ask people questions when they were under the effect of Sakaki’s quirk, as they were quite literally drunk and impaired. Not to mention, his truth quirk didn’t work great against drunk people as the line of reality becomes blurry for them. However, they needed something to use against the kid to keep him from escaping. After all, the child was probably smart enough to find at least one means of escape.

“Deku.” He spoke up, voice flat.

The boy in question looked over, eyes opening and head tilting to the side. His eyes were hooded over, the rims of them red from his earlier crying session.

“Who’s someone important to you?” The man carefully asked.

Deku hummed and after a moment of contemplation, spoke up, words slightly slurred. “All Might. He’s my idol and I want to-”

“That’s not what I meant,” Nemoto said, cutting the boy off.

Deku just looked at him confused–gears turning in his head slowly–and after a moment of deafening silence, he spoke up. “My mom.”

Shin nodded, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees. “And where is she exactly?”

“At home… Work?” The boy replied, eyebrows furrowed. “She left for work this morning but she gets off soon–at around four. She worked the short shift today, so-”

“And where exactly do you live?” Nemoto asked, cutting the kid off before he could begin to ramble.

“Apartment 348 in um, building number 6, in Musutafu.” He replied slowly.

Leaning back with a sigh, Shin waved the kid off, other hand reaching for his phone. That’s all he really needed from Deku and Nemoto didn’t really feel like dealing with another drunk person anymore. After all, he worked with one every day of his life.

He unlocked the phone with one hand, the other coming up to adjust his mask so that his mouth was visible. It was easier for the phone’s microphone to pick his voice up that way, as there wasn’t a large piece of fabric muffling his voice.

The half masked man then typed in one of his colleagues numbers, put the phone up to his ear, and waited.

Inko shifted her weight foot to foot as she slipped her shoes off by the door. She then hung her keys up before shuffling into the kitchen. She wanted to get started on dinner for her and Izuku before she felt the day’s exhaustion get to her.

Said son was most likely in his room, his routine of coming home and locking himself away already ingrained into her memory. That was fine though, she wasn’t going to bother him while he was most likely sleeping or working on an assignment anyways.

She grabbed her apron and placed it over her head, tying it while she moved over to the cupboard. The green haired woman bent down carefully, one hand rested on the counter’s edge to make sure she didn’t fall, while the other opened the small door, reaching into the space.

She pulled out a small pot, standing straight soon after. Inko then shut the cabinet, shuffling over to the sink. Her free hand reached out to turn on the tap before it was cupping the bottom of the saucepan to keep it steady.

The woman’s green eyes watched the pot fill with water, letting it get just over halfway before shutting the tap off.

Migrating over to the stove, Inko placed the water-filled saucepan onto the burner furthest from her. However, before she could turn it on, the doorbell rang out through the apartment.

The woman’s movements paused, hand retracting from the dial as her head turned towards the general direction of the door.

“Just a second!” Inko called out, wiping her hands off on her apron.

Shuffling out of the kitchen, Inko moved to the front door, curiosity burning in her veins. The woman doesn’t remember inviting someone over and her only friend, Bakugou Mitsuki, would’ve warned her before coming over.

Maybe it was the post, then?

Her hand reached out, clicking the lock open. A moment later, she was opening the door with a small smile, ready to greet whoever was on the other side.

The rodent hummed, looking down at the files in paw as he stood outside the apartment complex. His normally cheerful expression was replaced by one of contemplation and seriousness. The area–or more specifically, apartment 348–was completely blocked off, police located in each square inch to collect evidence.

The previously once thin file on Deku had grown. They now had a face, name, age, everything, due to the email the child had sent Eraserhead.

They had a watch out for the analyst already, so when Aizawa had gotten the email from them detailing the man’s quirk, costume, and weaknesses, the underground pro had immediately contacted Nezu.

The mustelid had a team tracking the IP address within minutes and after narrowing down the search, pinpointed it here. Despite the fact they were quick in their approach to the apartment, when they arrived, neither of the Midoriya’s were there; both seemly non-existent.

Nezu shut the file, handing it back to the detective. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look inside for myself.”

Naomasa nodded, putting the folder under his arm while he made his way towards the stairs. “I already have a team working on gathering photos and bagging evidence of the area, along with a few people collecting anything we might be able to send to forensics.” He paused once they got to the top of the stairs, showing his ID to the officer that stood at the top. “We’re waiting to send out the missing persons statement to the news until we know the whole situation.”

Once he was given a nod of confirmation, he continued. “When went to find the laptop he uses, it was nowhere to be seen and we still don’t know if he has any physical copies of his notes, but if he does, we can’t find them.”

Nezu let out a noise of contemplation, tail swaying. “He might’ve taken it with him. Run off, perhaps?”

“That’s what we thought at first, but there’s no signs that he was planning to leave for a long period of time. His clothes, chargers, and personal items are all there. It’s the same with his mother.”

The detective led the rodent into the apartment, maneuvering around the cops who swarmed the area. “Plus, when we took a look into the kitchen,” he added, rounding the corner into said room. “There’s signs that someone had been cooking, but for some reason stopped.”

Looking towards the stove, Nezu could see what the man was describing clearly. On the stove sat a small pan that, going off of what Naomasa had said, was most likely filled with some sort of food. Furthermore, the hook most likely made for hanging an apron was empty.

“We were going with the idea that one of them was cooking and a break in occurred, but when we checked the doors and windows for signs of it, we found nothing.” Tsukauchi continued.

Nezu nodded. “If the person was let into the apartment willingly then they wouldn’t need to break in. There’s also the possibility that the person who did this already had lawful access to the apartment.”

Naomasa blinked, adjusting the file in his arm. “Are you implying that Deku was involved in a struggle with his mother?”

The mustelid nodded, paws clasping together behind the small of his back. “Indeed. The boy is a villain, Tsukauchi-san. It’s worth considering that he might have snapped in a way.”

Naomasa’s mouth pressed into a thin line as he listened, finger tapping on the folders cover.

“However,” Nezu added on, facing his colleague once more. “The most logical conclusion is that someone has taken him to take advantage of his intelligence. Taking the mother could’ve just been for leverage. Not to mention, the memo that he snapped doesn’t quite fit him after the email we got about Eraserhead.”

“Do you think he’s innocent then?” Tsukauchi responded.

The hybrid let out a soft chuckle, his thin tail giving a light flick behind him. “Have you ever heard of Schrodinger’s cat theory?” He inquired instead of answering.

Naomasa quirked an eyebrow, silently requesting Nezu to elaborate.

“The theory involves placing a cat, a radioactive atom, and a neurotoxin within a box and closing the lid. Now because you cannot see inside the container, you don’t know if the cat is dead or if the radioactive material has decayed. Therefore, the cat is considered to be both alive and dead at the same time.”

The detective blinked at the mustelid, not sure where he was going with his statement. “I don’t see how this-”

Nezu held up a paw, silencing the man with a small smile. “In the case of the Midoriya’s,” he continued. “Think of them as the cat. We don’t know where they are, the scenario, or the events that occurred. They could either be alive or dead, Deku could either be the villain here or the victim, or they both could’ve been taken or left on their own accord. We won’t know until we solve the case.”

Naomasa sighed, reaching his free hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “So in short, this whole damn things a mystery relying on theories.”

The mustelid clapped his paws together in front of him in a cheerful manner. “Exactly.”

Tsukauchi groaned, turning to leave the kitchen to head further into the house. “I can already feel the headache this is going to bring me…”

Izuku groaned awake, head pounding. Awareness to the boy felt hazy, like it was just close enough for him to see, but no matter how hard he strained himself, he just couldn’t seem to reach it.

The smell of bleach assaulted his nose, accompanied by the scent of warm machinery and iron.

Shifting sluggishly–head feeling way heavier than he remembered–Izuku’s eyes peeked open slightly, the lids still hooded. Wincing sharply from the light, the boy’s viridian eyes closed again, hand attempting to reach towards his aching head. However, he barely lifted his arm a centimeter up, before he felt something pull taught against the appendance, holding it down.

Eyebrows furrowing, Midoriya’s eyes squinted open once more, looking down towards his arm leisurely. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, but when they did, the adrenaline rushing through his veins forced the fatigue out of his body.

Around both of his wrists were dark brown, leather straps that were bolted into a metal chair. On his right forearm was what looked to be orange paint that stained his skin. Focusing on the more important aspect of his arms, the boy looked to the straps. Leaning to one side, Izuku tugged against them, trying to dislodge his arms from the restraints.

The only good yanking his arm against the leather served to do however, was rub the skin under them raw.

Abandoning the idea, the child looked up and to the right, taking in more of the bright room despite the dulling pain still in his skull.

In his line of sight were a few metal cabinets, a table containing lab equipment that was neatly organized, and a large trash bin.

The decently sized room was blank to say the least. The area was completely sterile, as if not a single piece of grime had even entered the room.

The boy would have analyzed the room further–if only to calm his panicking mind–but a sound coming from his left had made him jump. His head quickly whipped towards the noise, fearful eyes locking onto a man while he came from somewhere behind Izuku.

The guy had on a black button up that was loose at the collar, without a tie to pull it together. The shirt was buttoned all the way down despite the top; the end tucking into his dark colored pants. His hands donned a pair of white gloves, the sleeves of his button up not reaching them, as they were rolled up past his elbows. Finally, a black fabric surgical mask covered the lower half of his face, leaving only his piercing, yellow eyes and short brown hair visible.

Deku watched the man, heart beating against his rib cage painfully.

The person was walking towards the table on the right side of the room. It was similar to the other one, only this one had a few monitors resting on it. Furthermore, above the table were a few televisions that were hooked to the walls–screens off–and a wall with a large window. The window covered the majority of the upper wall, the room beyond it most likely built for observing.

Watching the man pick up one of the sharper medical tools, the child’s eyes widened, pupils dilating. Izuku began to panic, arms once again yanking back and rubbing his wrist raw. He tried to stand in his struggle, but found the effort futile as his ankles and waist pulled the leather straps bounding them to the chair taught.

His heart began to beat faster, breathing quickening. The waterlines of his eyes filled before the tears slowly began to trail down his face.

He didn’t know this man, didn’t fully know his intentions, but the fact that Izuku woke up chained down after he was essentially knocked out, made his survival instincts flare up.

He struggled against the leather binds, form trembling with effort as he tried to get free. Meanwhile, the unknown man stalked closer.

When he got close enough, his gloved hand wrapped around Izuku’s right arm–just under his elbow–and pushed it down against the armrest of the chair.

The child’s breath hitched as his throat croaked out his voice. “Wait, pl-ease!”

The man’s grip on his thrashing limb tightened, holding it down. “If you don’t stay still, I’m going to need to try other means to get you to listen, child,” he warned, voice annoyed.

Deku didn’t listen despite the threat, the mix of adrenaline and the hangover from Deidoro’s quirk messing up his sense of reason.

“N-no!” The boy bit out. “I want to- Let me go, I want to go home!” The words tore out of his throat, raw and full of emotion. “I want my mom! I want-”

The guy’s grip tightened once again to the point Izuku could almost feel his fingernails through his gloves. “You won’t have anything to go back to if you don’t lis-”

Midoriya’s head turned to him so quickly that a wave of nausea coursed through him. “What did,” he hiccupped. “Where’s my mom?!”

The man’s forehead blistered, red hives forming along the corners. A moment later he was stepping back, adjusting the scalpel in hand so that he could take off one of his gloves. “I always have to get my hands dirty when dealing with you guys.” He scowled, uncovered hand moving towards Izuku. The child could only thrash around in response, mouth still flowing out incoherent, terrified babbles. “Never wanting to listen properly.”

The moment Izuku felt the guy’s fingertips against his skin, all the boy knew was pain and darkness. The pain was sharp, red hot, and it made Izuku want to scream from the sheer sensation. However, it felt like he had his vocal cords stripped from him, the organ no longer able to conjure his voice.

Before he knew it though, Izuku was blinking wide, teary, and terrified eyes open to the laboratory again. His mouth was slightly agape, spit lingering on the corners. Every inch of the boy was trembling, and for a moment, nothing felt real.

It was like he could feel every atom in his body in that split second of nothingness yet, everything at all. It was quick, sure, but in Izuku’s mind, it felt like a lifetime.

His nerves burned with every minuscule movement that he made. Each rapid breath that entered and left his lungs caused a small scorching feeling to run through his skin. It was as if all of his nerves were scrapped raw and left in the cold air to experience every atom that rubbed against it.

Flinching minutely as the man crouched down in front of Izuku to catch his ducked gaze, viridian eyes quickly moved to look at the man’s still exposed hand.

“I don’t like getting my hands dirty, Midoriya. So I expect you to cooperate from now on. Or that,” his hand lifted–elbow resting on his knee–and Izuku recollided. “Will happen again. Do you understand?”

The thought of how exactly the man knew his name shot through the green boy’s head, but not before the thought of blinding, hot pain. With a quick nod of his head, Deku pushed the thought down for later.

“Good.” The imposing person replied in satisfaction, slipping their glove back on, and standing up. Readjusting the scalpel that had been sitting between his fingers, he moved back over to Izuku’s right side.

The child’s eyes followed the masked person, his body filching away from the sensation of his gloved hand pressing against his arm once more. However, this time it was like he could feel every individual fiber interacting with his neurons and it was sending a febrile pain up his arm.

Izuku’s gaze moved down to watch the man’s hands and more specifically, the small knife.

His heart pumped faster, moving the blood through his body with a sensation similar to water. The river flowed from his chest, through his arms and legs, and up his spine. Most importantly though, the rushing crimson river pushed up into his ears, ringing out like a drum. The beat to the instrumental like pounding reverberating off of the insides of his ears, making them hum.

When the cold blade finally touched Izuku’s arm it made him shiver. His eyes quickly shut, head pressing back into the headrest. The tears that were left on his waterline were squeezed out, beginning to flow down his face once more.

Deku began to quiver, brain already getting ready to endure the sensations that the scalpel will provide.

Nothing could prepare the child for the stinging sensation that developed in his arm though. It trailed down his forearm, starting just below his elbow and running down to just above his wrist.

Izuku wanted to scream from the pure pain he felt, but for some reason, he couldn’t. Instead, he resorted to letting out choppy cries–the sobbing being the only form of agony that the child had energy for.

“You’re very important to a project I’m working on, Midoriya.” The man spoke up, his voice steady.

Izuku’s head turned to the side and away from him, trying to tune his voice out. However, listening to it was far easier than listening to the sounds of blade cutting through flesh.

“The quirked are diseased. They need a cure.” He paused, most likely focusing on the task of doing whatever he wanted to Izuku’s limb. “The quirkless, however, are a gift. One in a million. That’s why it’s important you help me.”

The pain radiating from his arm was excruciating enough that the boy was beginning to feel light headed. However, he didn’t want to pass out–not in front of this man at least. So he resorted to making his breaths more manual and controlled, body coating in a thin layer of sweat from the forced control. 

The now warm metal of the blade sunk deeper into his arm, tearing through every tissue with sickening wet slices. He groaned, shifting as much as he could within his restraints in an attempt to get comfortable. However, while shying away from the pain the blade went sideways.

Izuku’s mouth gaped open as he stilled, the sound he wanted to make not being expelled and being replaced by a high pitched squeak. Saliva pooled in his cheeks, resting on the corners of his mouth.

The guy grumbled something Deku couldn’t understand before the sound of him tossing the blade down on a nearby surface rang out. Something cold was then placed within Izuku’s arm and clamped down. It was painful, sure, but the fog seeping into his mind was slowly shutting the feeling off.

He could vaguely still feel something within his arm being cut and removed sometime after the clamp was applied. The sensation was cold, his arm filling with a static buzz that faded out towards the shoulder. 

The guy had set something down, the sound of metal hitting metal wetly ringing out through Izuku’s ears. 

Deku breathed out through his mouth with great effort, his nose now too clogged from crying to actually be of use.

He wanted to ask the man questions and more importantly, get answers, but right now Izuku’s whole body was experiencing too much for him to fully comprehend how to talk. All the boy could seemingly do was choke out involuntary pained sobs. However, he did find it easier to focus on his breathing and the quick pace of his heart.

“Also, keep in mind what I said earlier. If you don’t stay cooperative, I won’t hesitate to dirty my hands with another Midoriya’s blood.” The masked man continued, applying what Izuku think’s is both stitches and bandages. Although he couldn’t really tell. His head was becoming foggy from either his hyperventilating or the vivisection he just endured.

Deku allowed himself to stew on the man’s words, trying to figure out what they meant. Despite the forced focus though, he couldn’t.

Everything was just too much.

One thought was clear in his head though… Izuku didn’t know if he wanted to help people if this is what it led to.