Chapter Text
"Uncle! Uncle, Uncle!" A young girl, no older than four, her small feet pattering against the cool marble, came running across the room. "Please, please tell me more stories! You promised last time!"
Across from her, a hulking giant of a man looked down with a warmth that seemed to radiate from him tidal waves. Brilliant, puffy blonde hair sprouted from his head in two distinct tufts like bunny ears. His smile was a blinding, brighter than the sun itself, and his electric blue eyes seemed to crackle with wild uncontrollable energy. He stood as if drawn from the pages of a comic book, a character larger than life itself, his simple suit straining at the seams.
"AHAHAHA!" His voice boomed like thunder, seeming to vibrate the very air in the room. "Of course, young Melissa! I have countless stories to share of my heroic exploits! Let me see... AHA! I don't believe I've told you about my tussle with the villain known as Echo Black!"
The young girl's eyes lit up like twin stars as her uncle began recounting his battle in vivid, sweeping detail. The child seemed to radiate visible waves of wonder and amazement, her small hands clutching at the fabric of her dress. As the story of shadowy doubles and earth-shattering punches progressed, Melissa came to a sudden, realization. This was her calling. Her future. Her everything. One way or another, she WOULD become a hero. She would fight crime, save lives, and become a symbol of peace. Just like her inspiration. Just like her own hero. Her uncle. All Might.
Melissa vowed to herself that she would study hard and train even harder to become the hero she dreamed of being. Deep down, she just knew that when she manifested her quirk, it would be magnificent.
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But life, Melissa learned at six years old, was the furthest thing from fair. At six, in a sterile white lab with beeping machines and her father’s hesitant, heartbroken expression, it was final, after all the test, after consulting the very best doctors it concluded. Quirkless. The word landed like a death sentence, cold and final. With that cruel revelation, any chance of ever standing beside her uncle on the battlefield vanished, the dream crumbling to dust in her small hands.
Yet as time passed, a new path was shown to Melissa, forged not from power but from purpose. She may not be able to become a hero with her fists, but Melissa vowed she would become the greatest support technician the world had ever seen. She would change the world not with a smile, but with her mind.
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Years Later
Concrete towers soared skyward, their peaks seemingly kissing the outermost reaches of the atmosphere. Far below, people of all shapes and sizes walked the busy streets. The shining sun brought out a natural happiness in the passersby as they crossed the roads, while cars sped through the crowded streets.
Firm, worn hands gripped the black leather steering wheel, shifting nervously. "Are you sure you want to attend U.A. University, Melissa? There are plenty of other programs back home on I-Island that are far more advanced in support technology." The voice was soft yet well-spoken, but it carried an unmistakable quality of worry beneath the cautionary tone. It belonged to a man of average build with faded orange hair, square glasses perched on his nose, and small stubble growing on his chin. "I understand your need to leave the island for your medical degree, but surely you don't need to venture all the way to Japan."
He addressed the young woman in the backseat. "We've been over this already, Dad." She looked up from her phone, making eye contact through the rear-view mirror. "I've wanted to attend U.A. since I was a kid. It's only natural that I get my hero engineering degree there as well as my support license." Though she attempted a warming smile, it came out watered down before she immediately returned her attention to her phone.
Sighing, the man looked out at the road while shaking his head. "Melissa, I just want you to reach your full potential. You've accomplished so much in such a short time, but—"
BOOM!!!!!!!!
The thunderous explosion erupted from somewhere ahead, sending a shockwave that rattled every window in a three-block radius. The first thing David felt was the car shaking and slightly losing control from the shockwave. As his muscle spasm from his calf straining itself from slamming so hard on the breaks, his ear drums seem to quiver in pain from the sound as he instinctively slams his eyes shut. After a few heartbeats David gains a small sense of composure to look back at Melissa.
"Melissa!" He whipped around in his seat inadvertently cracking his back, glasses askew, eyes wide with panic. "Are you hurt? Are you okay?"
She had dropped her phone on the floor of the car; her hands pressed against the window as she stared at the chaos unfolding before them. Smoke billowed into the sky like a dark pillar, and people were already running. "I'm... I'm fine, Dad. Are you Okay?”
Before the man has time to answer, through the haze and scattered concrete dust, a figure emerged from the epicentre of the blast. Tall and lean, His expression seemed unhinged and enraged. His pupils wide and bloodshot, his skin deathly pale with his veins visible. However, Melissa seemed drawn towards his hair, a dirty off-white colour it seemed malleable and gooey, as it extended down his face. He seemed to radiate an absolute aura of fear and madness. An overly exaggerated smile etched onto his face as he held his arms akimbo.
“Run! Run! You little Rats.” His vice boomed across as if an aftermath from the sonic boom the explosion caused. The villain moved from the epicentre and seemed to stalk towards the direction of the car.
Seeing this, Melissa stiffened, visible shaken as her hand grasped the door handle turning her hands white “Dad! We need to leave right now.” Despite the brave voice she attempted it came out weak and shaky. Her fear seemed to breathe out into the air.
Still shaken Melissa’s father did not acknowledge his daughter’s own plea. Rather his door swung open and in less than a second, he was already trying to drag Melissa out. Panic surged around him, his body cold despite the heat radiating off the burning debris. Goosebumps held themselves firm on his skin as he rushed Melissa off to the safest place he could see, an alleyway. All of this happened in a matter of seconds, but to both father and daughter time seem far away, out of reach as it dragged on.
Melissa struggled to regain clarity across the scene, half of her was purely focusing on the villain, who was laughing manically at the scene around them. Grasping harshly at his strange hair he threw globs widely around himself. As they collided with the concrete below, they exploded in brilliant displays of destruction, shaking the Earth each time with their activation. Civilians ran wild, some took cover, other looked desperately for family and friends in a haze of panic. Most ran the opposite direction screaming for heroes to come.
The other part of Melissa mind was on her father’s hand. A deathly tight grip came with unnatural, adrenaline fuelled strength. Pain pulsating through her hand travelled up to her shoulders. Not hurtful in any way the strength was comforting as they pushed their way leading themselves through to a street over. Oddly secluded and seemed to be impossibly long the alleyway seemed to stretch for miles as her legs ran on autopilot.
Behind them, Melissa caught glimpses of other fleeing civilians. Namely one woman with green hair desperately pulling along a young boy who couldn't have been older than herself down the alley. The boy stumbled, his wide green eyes reflecting the same terror that gripped them all. His mother's voice carried over the frantic she half consoled her child that heroes were on the way, but it seemed it was said mostly to calm herself.
The alleyway seemed to swallow sound, creating an eerie bubble of relative quiet that made their ragged breathing echo off the narrow walls. Melissa's father glanced back once, his face pale and drawn, before pushing them deeper into the shadowy passage.
That's when the second bang rocked the entrance they'd just passed through. A hurling spread of metal bullets that screamed death intercept Melissa and her father. Sopping on a dime and shielding Melissa from stray shrapnel and rock as the bullets ripped through the ground.
From the smoke and debris at the mouth of the alley, two new figures materialized like nightmarish sentinels. The first man was built like a fortress, broad shoulders and thick arms that seemed to merge seamlessly with swirling tendrils of dark smoke. Twin shotguns gleamed in his muscular hands, the barrels still smoking. His lower body flickered between solid muscle and wisping vapor, as if he couldn't decide what served him better. Over his face was a pale grim reaper mask.
Beside him stood a woman, tall and unnaturally slender, her limbs elongated beyond human proportions almost reminiscent of a spider. Where her fingers should have been, razor-sharp claws extended like surgical instruments, each one catching the flickering light from the fires behind them, they extended up her hands to her dark purple skin. Her smile was predatory.
"Well, well," the woman's French accent cut through the alley like a hot knife through butter. "Look what we have here. Little mice trying to find their way to safety."
The smoke villain's laugh rumbled like distant thunder as he raised both shotguns. His voice a low and guttural drawl that sent pure fear into Melissa’s ears. “A pity. A real pity for you Mr Sheild.”
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‘Not all men are created equal.’ A quote as old as time itself with equally old and ambiguous origins. But, in today’s year of 2425 it seems to describe the sentiment of the public from Japan to America and all over the globe. It started with a young Chinese boy born in the countryside being able to produce small balls of light from his hands. From there, cases across the globe sprang up. Of the extraordinary happening. Off people with powers indescribable, bending the fundamental rules of reality.
The age of quirks was upon humanity, and it changed the world forever.
With powers came a new job. Professional heroism. Those extraordinary among the extraordinary stepped up and fought against those who used their powers for evil. Become icons across the world. Soon everyone’s dream was to become hero.
But ‘Not all men are created equal.’
Izuku Midoriya came to that realisation early on in his life. The day after his 5th birthday to be precise. The young boys’ eyes wide with shock. The brilliant emerald eyes seemed to simmer down to a dull forest green like a flame dying on a stove top. The single most dreaded sentence in this day and age.
“I’m sorry… but your son… his Quirkless.”
Soon after Izuku’s world was torn apart. Thrust out of childhood to young. Too early. Izuku Midoriya learnt just what reality is. Just what it means to be born in the world of quirks.
Sometimes, you just aren’t created equal.
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The years that followed were rough the young boy. While his classmates discovered they could breathe fire, move objects with their minds, or create explosion from the palm of their hands, Izuku remained painfully, devastatingly less. The playground became a battlefield where powers determined hierarchy, and those without powerful quirks found themselves at the very bottom.
His mother, Inko Midoriya, watched her son's struggles with a breaking heart. She saw the bruises he tried to hide. The eyes of a mother were always sharp. She knew all about the bullying of his former friend Katsuki Bakugo, his laughter echoing in the distance following Izuku around like a shadow. Inko witnessed the way her bright, determined boy's shoulders sagged a little more each day under the weight of society's dismissal.
The same video always played on repeat in their small apartment: All Might's debut, him saving hundreds of people in record time with that brilliant, unwavering smile. Her little boy would watch it over and over, his green eyes glued to the screen with desperate hunger. But the more he watched, the more those vibrant emerald eyes dulled to something hollow and aching. The more the crushing weight of just what he wasn't, what he would never be.
One evening, as rain drummed against their windows and the video played for what must have been the hundredth time that week, Izuku's small voice cut through the silence like broken glass.
"But All Might saves people with a smile, right? Even without a quirk... can I be a hero like All Might too?" Desperation seeped into his squeaky voice, raw and bleeding with hope that hurt to hear.
Inko felt her heart shatter. She wanted to smile through her tears, to pull her son close and whisper that yes, of course he could be a hero, that he had the heart of one and that had to count for something. She wanted to lie with the fierce protectiveness that only mothers possessed.
But what happened was far from that merciful deception.
Instead, she collapsed to her knees, her own dreams for her son crumbling like ash in her throat. Great, heaving sobs wracked her body as she pulled Izuku against her chest, her tears falling into his wild green hair. The weight of the world's cruelty, of her son's impossible dream, of her own helplessness crashed down upon her all at once.
Through her anguished wailing, only two words managed to reach her son's ears—two words that would echo in his mind for years to come, two words that confirmed his deepest, darkest fears about himself:
"I'm sorry."
In that moment, watching his mother break down because of him, because of what he wasn't, Izuku felt something inside his chest go cold and still. The last flickering ember of childhood innocence was snuffed out, replaced by a hollow understanding that some dreams were simply too big for someone so small, so powerless, so fundamentally wrong.
Yet even then, even with his mother's apology burning in his ears like acid, a stubborn spark refused to die completely. It would take more than tears and cruel words to kill the hero's heart that beats quietly within Izuku Midoriya's chest.
He filled notebook after notebook with hero analysis, studying every move, every technique, every strategy he could observe. If he couldn't have a quirk, he would understand them better than anyone else. He would find another way to become a hero, even if the entire world told him, it was impossible.
This was his purpose. He learnt his at a young age. He knew there was no other path for him. He tried to, he really did. But he knew deep down he couldn’t live any other life other than the hero one. He was going to be a hero. Or he will die trying.
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Now, as sirens wailed in the distance and smoke filled the air, that Izuku found himself face to face with real villains for the first time in his life. No notebooks could have prepared him for this moment. No amount of hero analysis could explain away the terror coursing through his veins as his mother's grip tightened on his hand.
Sometimes fate has a cruel sense of irony. Sometimes it places the most powerless exactly where power is needed most.
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"Holy fuck, the kid is still breathing!"
"Quick! We need a medic for this young man!"
"He saved us, please someone help!"
"C'mon kid, stay with us!"
Loud movement. Rushing sounds. Pandemonium mixed in with the air, making it so heavy you could feel it pushing down on your body like a ten pound weight.
"Shit, those legs are going to have to go."
"Why are you talking about his legs? His right lung is basically missing!"
"Is it not torture to keep him alive at this point? He's literally half a torso connected to a head with no jaw?"
"I don't know, but when All Might and David Sheild tell you to do something, you do it."
Confusion whipped around his head like a violent storm. In his half-conscious state, Izuku couldn't make out who these unfamiliar voices belonged to. The words floated above him, disjointed and terrifying. He tried to open his eyes, and immediately felt a strange tingle move down his face to where his jaw should be. Then the pain began. Thousands of red-hot needles ripping through his nerves, poking above his skin, teasing to break through entirely. He tried to scream.
"Hurg."
The sound that emerged was barely above a whisper, a wet gargle that made his throat burn.
"Holy shit! The kid's still conscious!" The scream was followed by another voice, panic-stricken "We need to sedate him!"
Izuku wasn't sure if it was the same person, but he didn't seem to care anymore. The pain was being quickly rushed away by whatever they'd injected into him, replaced by a bone-deep, freezing cold. Exhaustion leaked through the deepest cracks of his bones and spread through his entire body, pumping along with his blood like ice water.
It's fine, Izuku thought to himself, his consciousness already beginning to fray. All Might came. The villains are gone. I can sleep now.
From there, Izuku drifted off into a dreamless slumber of pitch black, unaware of the extent of what his heroic act had cost him.
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Melissa loved medicine almost as much as she loved inventing things. Graduating high school at the tender age of twelve, she still remembered the shock that had been stapled onto her father's face when she told him she wasn't going to study at I-Island. Instead, she had applied to (and was accepted into) Harvard Medical School. Regardless of his concerns, she had fallen in love with studying and practicing medicine: learning about the human body, different surgeries, diseases, the works. She loved it all.
But what always captured her attention were prosthetics and cybernetics. This was where her absolute passion lay, her two favourite things in the world, medicine and engineering, all rolled into one. As a result, instead of studying general practice, she had moved quickly into the specialized fields of cybernetic and prosthetic limb design. She imagined all the support technology she could integrate into them, all the ways she could help heroes recover and become even stronger after what should have been career-ending injuries. That was where Melissa knew she could be the biggest help to society. Where she knew she could save people, just like her uncle.
And now, as she stared at this green-haired boy, his face covered by a cloth, who had saved her life not too long ago, Melissa knew exactly what she had to do.
The sterile hospital room felt suffocating despite its size. Machines beeped rhythmically around the unconscious boy's bed, each sound a reminder of just how close to death he had come. Melissa's father stood beside her, his face pale and drawn, still processing the events of the day.
Dr. Yamamoto, the lead surgeon, entered the room with a thick medical chart clutched in his hands. His surgical scrubs were still stained, and the exhaustion in his eyes spoke volumes about the complexity of the operation he'd just completed.
"Mr. Shield," he addressed Melissa's father.
As if predicting what the doctor wanted to ask, David interjected, “His mother was with him in the alleyway, and she died on the way to the hospital. All Might is having people do some digging but we can’t find any other living relatives. Inko Midoriya’s just states everything she own will be Izuku’s. So, you can give your debriefing to us, and I will handle the rest.”
Sighing Dr. Yamamoto flips open the chart, his expression grave. "Very well then, Izuku Midoriya, age fifteen. The extent of his injuries is... unprecedented, for all intents and purposes he should be dead.” He gives a grave look to both father and daughter before listing, “Complete amputation of the right leg at the hip, left leg below the knee. Right arm severed at the shoulder joint. Massive trauma to the right thoracic cavity resulted in the removal of his right lung, and we had to remove several ribs that were completely shattered. His jaw was fractured in multiple places, we've managed to reconstruct it a little bit, but he may never be able to speak again. To top this all off his retinas in both eyes were damaged beyond belief… we had to remove his eyes. Currently he is stable but won’t wake from his coma for quite a while if not ever, we are looking to instal some minor cybernetics to keep his organs stable on their own rather than having him wired to machinery"
Dr. Yamamoto paused, looking between them. "I'll be honest with you both. In thirty years of trauma surgery, I've never seen someone survive injuries this severe. The fact that he's alive is nothing short of miraculous. However..." He hesitated. "Even with the best prosthetics available in Japan, his quality of life will be severely compromised. The psychological trauma alone—"
"No." Melissa's voice burst through the doctor's explanation like a freight train. Both men turned to look at her, surprised by the steel in her tone. "No, that's not acceptable."
She stepped closer to Izuku's bedside, her hands clenching into fists. "This boy saved our lives. He’s a hero! He threw himself at villains without any regard for his own safety, without any powers to protect him. He's a hero in every sense of the word."
"Miss Shield," Dr. Yamamoto began gently, "I understand your gratitude, but we have to be realistic about—"
"Realistic?" Melissa whirled to face him, her eyes blazing with determination.
Her father placed a warning hand on her shoulder. "Melissa—"
"Dad, no." She shrugged off his touch, her gaze never leaving the doctor's face. " I've published papers on cybernetic integration. I ha- no we have resources, technology, and knowledge that this hospital… no, that this entire country can't match. I can put him back together!"
Breathing heavily, she turned back to Izuku's still form, her voice softening but losing none of its resolve. “We're taking him to I-Island. Immediately. My father's facility has the most advanced prosthetic and cybernetic technology in the world. We can give him more than just mobility, we can give him a future."
Dr. Yamamoto frowned. "Miss Shield, I appreciate your intentions, but the boy is in no condition to be moved. The risk of-"
"I'll take full responsibility." Melissa's father finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. When both Melissa and the doctor looked at him in surprise, he continued, "If my daughter believes she can help this young man, then I trust her judgment. We'll arrange for a medical transport to I-Island within the hour. All of the finances will be fronted by us, I-Island will get him back too full strength."
"But the legal complications, the insurance, his family's consent—" Dr. Yamamoto protested.
"Will all be handled," Melissa said firmly. "Doctor, this is his best chance, his only chance at a normal life. No, better than normal."
She looked down at Izuku's peaceful face, her expression fierce with purpose. "He’s a hero.”
The promise hung in the air like a sacred vow, and somehow, despite everything that had happened, it didn't sound like false hope.
It sounded like a declaration of war against impossibility itself.
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The process of moving Midoriya to I-Island's medical facility, wasn't as difficult as Melissa had initially feared it would be It was quickly determined that Izuku's medical decisions would fall to his emergency contact which happened to be the Bakugo family, longtime friends of the Midoriya’s. They quickly agreed for him to be moved to I-Island facilities after hearing the expenses would be all paid for. Melissa comforted the family and assured them that he would be all okay. Despite this they insisted on a visit.
When Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugo arrived at the hospital, their faces were ashen with a mixture of guilt and horror. Their son Katsuki, notably absent, had apparently locked himself in his room and refused to speak to anyone since hearing the news.
She made her declaration to the doctor in a bought of guilt and defiance mixed with a bit of arrogance. Despite this she new this was something she could do, and she was going to do it for him. It was the least she owed him. Those two villains were after her and her father and yet despite this he still acted in such a selfless manner. To her Izuku was a true hero, just like Uncle Might, and she will do everything to get him back to health.
The transport to I-Island took eighteen hours, with Melissa never leaving Izuku's side. She monitored his vitals obsessively, double-checking every reading with the onboard medical staff. During the flight, she pulled out her tablet and began preliminary sketches, but not just of prosthetics, but of something far more ambitious. In the quiet moments between medical checks, she found herself thinking about Inko Midoriya, a woman she'd never met but whose final moments had been consumed by fear for her son's life.
She died thinking he would follow her, Melissa thought, stylus moving rapidly across the screen. I must make sure that when he wakes up, he has something to live for.
"Integration points here," she murmured to herself, stylus moving rapidly across the screen. "Neural interfaces at the spinal junction, synthetic muscle fibre networks, sensory feedback loops..." Her father, sitting across from her, watched with a mixture of pride and concern as his daughter threw herself into the most challenging project of her young career. He could hear the cogs turning and the words seemingly materialised all around her. Spiralling around her as she lost herself in the trance of technical jargon
"Melissa," he said gently, "I know you feel responsible for what happened to him, but you need to understand, even with our technology, there's no guarantee this will work. The psychological adjustment alone could take years, and that's assuming his body doesn't reject the cybernetic components.”
Melissa didn't look up from her designs, her focus absolute. "Guarantees are a crutch, Dad. This isn't about a guarantee. It's about a promise."