Chapter Text
“The Public Quirk Registry was essentially a government campaign in the Emergence Era, the phenomenon in which newborn children became the First Generation of Quirked Individuals. It was intended to be a means of keeping track of dangerous individuals as well as keep the public safe by painting these super-powered children in a criminal light, and ensuring that the government could monitor and later indoctrinate these children to join their armies by suggesting it was their only choice in a world where they were outnumbered in the population and discriminated against by the general public.”
Izuku frowned at this information. He stays silent, pencil continuously jotting down notes.
“The irony about this system,” Jian solemnly says, giving Izuku an acknowledging glance, “Is that it’s become an easily accessible method of dividing the Quirked and the Quirkless as it was intended to this very day, but instead of ostracizing the Quirked, it’s now the Quirkless who will be outcasted just because they’re not found on that very same registry.”
Another moment of silence.
“The world does not revolve around an individual, Izuku, no matter how it feels like it. History repeats itself, and it is a decision of our own in whether we fight against the past or move along. The First Generation of Heroes, the known and respected Vigilantes, fought for equality and the well-being of the weak — they fought to have a place in this world, and some were war veterans who realized the cruelties of society. Now, Heroes fight for their own ambitions, just as how we survive for our own reasons, but we, the Quirkless, are gradually losing our right to live in this world. If one group improves, another will be targeted, unfortunately. In the Pre-Quirk Era especially, as an example, women were widely discriminated against as the targeted group, and as they started holding an equal standing to men, another group became the targets. Sex. Race. Social Class. Gender. Sexual Orientation. Sometimes it’ll be something else, a topic like Abortion that opens a door even just a crack for those who wish to control, subdue, or target a group, calling them the minority when really the targeted group could actually be the majority. Despite not being as prominent as Quirk discrimination, they are all still problems in society that continue on.”
“And it just so happens that the Quirkless are now the widely targeted group?” Admittedly, that left a bitter feeling in Izuku as he stared at the various pie charts showing the most recent statistics. It was an international survey that listed different types of discrimination — Mental and Mutation Quirks were roughly the same percentage as Quirkless Discrimination.
“Yes. There will always be an issue regarding all of those topics and groups, but that’s because we humans are fallible. It will be a matter that you will have to face and overcome, as you will likely become the first Quirkless Hero.”
There was a challenge to Jian’s words, an unspoken weight hanging in the air.
“You intend on joining the Heroes for your own reasons, and no matter how you feel about it, you will end up being a symbol for the Quirkless. Whether you succeed or fail, you will spark change in others for better or worse.”
His words were not a question, but a statement, a matter-of-fact.
He will need to rise up in the face of this issue.
“Tell me, Izuku. For you, what does it mean to be a Hero?”
He opens his mouth only to stop himself when Jian shakes his head.
“You use All Might as your symbol and definition of a Hero, and there’s nothing wrong with that. However, you cannot mimic a man who places himself on a pedestal and expect to come out unscathed. All Might is, in fact, powerful, but he is still human. I don’t want to hear your answer now — tell me before you enter high school. What does it mean to be a Hero? What kind of Hero do you want to be? Why choose to become a Hero, when there are other options? When civilians, villains, and fellow heroes think of you, what do you hope they see? Think about your answers, but don’t let these questions control you, and you must never allow opinions to sway you.”
To be a Hero was to save a person in need with a smile. This was something Izuku had believed in for countless years, but it was not the answer.
Because it was what Heroes are meant to do, but they almost never do.
“Why do you want to be a Hero, Izuku?”
So… what was his answer?
The first thing that appears out of place is a wallet left on the restroom floor at Jian’s house. It was mostly a blackish-grey, with fragments of sky blue that were clearly tearing off.
Probably something sentimental than practical with how old and worn it was, and the wallet did look like it’s seen better days. Maybe it’s from one of the older women who attended the book club? It was Sunday evening. Maybe if he was quick enough, he’d be able to quickly catch someone.
Or so he thought, until he picked it up and opened it.
It belonged to Matsu.
Or rather, his sister, apparently.
‘I didn’t even know he had a sister other than Ki-chan…’
The ID picture that was covered by a folded piece of white paper with a black scribble was of a young lady who looked like she could be Matsu’s twin, but slightly younger by a few years. She had short black hair in a curled mess, her hairstyle haphazardly cut.
There was a purikura tucked into the side pocket behind the ID, folded so that it wouldn’t crease mid-picture. The images faded with both time and lack of ink — photo booths were hardly used nowadays, not unless they were hero-themed. This was one clearly a classic simple white frame that he’s seen in Pre-Quirk Era movies and comics.
From the two pictures he could see, which were likely the first two taken, there were two young women. One matching the ID and the other with orange cat eats that matched the colour of her long hair and purple eyes with sharp catlike pupils. The newer girl had her hair tied in a side braid, wearing a high school uniform with a cream-coloured cardigan, with a demure smile. Meanwhile, Matsu’s possible sister had a blank expression wearing her glasses as opposed to the one in the ID.
The second was much friendlier than the first, with the Cat Quirked girl grinning, holding up a peace sign as Matsu’s maybe sister smiled softly, her arms wrapped around the other’s shoulders with clear affection.
He remembered seeing the black scribble on the other side of the purikura. Flipping the purikura back to covering the ID, he saw the black scribble and squinted his eyes to try and read it.
Matsuri Shimizu + Irisu Wakasugi 20XX
There were tiny hearts between the two names, and it was dated six years ago when Matsu himself was 17.
‘Definitely twins…’
Assuming that because one of the two girls wore a school uniform, Matsuri would’ve been Matsu’s age at the time it was taken. If not, then a first-year, possibly? Matsu’s parents divorced when he was pretty young, so it’s possible, but that didn’t really explain them looking almost exactly the same.
Jian probably homeschooled her, too, which would explain why she didn’t wear a school uniform. Still, it was kinda odd…
There wasn’t a single picture of her until now.
Maybe she…
. . .
It might bring up bad memories if he asked.
He doesn’t find Matsu in the study as one might expect.
Instead, he finds him in one of the more unused areas of the house. He really shouldn’t have been surprised at the fact that Jian was right, but honestly it’s hard to disassociate Matsu from the study. Then again, Matsu does live in the house, so it shouldn’t be unusual.
But it was.
The basement’s lounge area felt a lot more like an adult hangout place, so Izuku often avoided going down there. Matsu typically had no reason to go downstairs since it had wine bottles and a storage space for alcoholic drinks — locked, of course — and wasn’t a good place for him to have peace and quiet when he was trying to study or finish his schoolwork. (On the other end of the spectrum was Yukari, who was technically banned from the basement because she kept trying to pick the lock for the drinks ever since she was in high school).
There was a TV, a karaoke machine, a foosball table, a dining table with plenty of seating and a sofa with more seating. Jian’s Sunday Book Club also met up in this area, but Izuku never really ran into them unless they were going upstairs to the kitchen to get food or snacks.
Decorating the walls were more pictures, although the pictures were more familial. Pictures of Jian and his family, pictures of people that Izuku knows with their respective families. There was even a picture of him and his mom up there.
(It was still a very somber feeling, knowing that some of these are people he’ll never meet.)
And then, he notices something off.
He’s somewhat familiar with the smell of alcohol, because the elders liked to drink and cheer every once in a while at parties and events. Even if he never hung around them specifically, it was hard to get away from the smell of alcohol.
Izuku spots Matsu, sitting on the sofa with his face buried in the palm of his hands. He spots the bottle of alcohol on the table — some sort of peach champagne — but no cup in sight.
“Hm?” Matsu sighed, leaning back into the sofa as he looks over towards the staircase where Izuku stood. “Oh… did you need something, Izuku?” He now had a better look at the older man — his white-collar shirt wrinkled and dishevelled, he was wearing black sweatpants, and the bags under his eyes seemed to have worsened.
To put it in Yukari’s words, he looked like shit.
“Um…” he nervously scratched his cheek, feeling as if he’s seen something he shouldn’t have. “Your wallet was on the floor,” he hesitantly stated as he approached the older man, holding out the wallet to the man sitting before him.
“Oh,” Matsu blankly responded, sluggishly taking the wallet and sliding it into his pocket. “Thank you.”
And that was that — the atmosphere of the room was awkward. Izuku didn’t know what else to say, and he was getting increasingly uncomfortable as the silence stretched on.
“Was there something else?” Matsu dully asked, as if wanting him to say his piece and leave already. “A health-related question? Something you wanted to ask in general? A review of what you recently learned under my teaching?”
“Can I… ask you something?”
Matsu gives him a weary look before tiredly holding his head and staring at the table. “Go ahead,” he said. “But, after your questions, I’d like to ask you to leave me be. I don’t get a lot of chances to drink by myself because I don’t want Kiyoko to grow up near alcohol like this. I do want to have this day to myself, though, since Kiyoko’s at school right now and won’t be back until after dinner because she’s at a friend’s house.”
That did explain why Izuku felt like he stumbled on a very personal moment.
Still, he’s worried about him drinking too much…
“Unlike Yukari, I know when to stop,” Matsu dryly added. “I only needed a bottle after everything that’s been happening, and that’s it for the day. And then after that, I’ll get some sleep, and by the time Kiyoko comes back, I’ll be the same old me you know.”
Clearly this must be a common occurrence for Matsu to add that disclaimer.
“…okay.”
He breathes, glancing nervously at Matsu who remains silent and tired.
(Unlike before, her feigned smiles were more like a grimace, sighs long and tired, eyes lost and lacklustre.)
“Why did you want to be a doctor?”
“Not a doctor,” comes the immediate, flat response. Another sigh, followed by Matsu taking a swig of his drink straight from the champagne bottle. “I can’t be one anyway — not legally, at least.”
There was a reason why Matsu couldn’t be hired as a hospital doctor once he finishes his doctorate, but Izuku wasn’t quite sure why that was the case. He did try looking it up, but he couldn’t really find anything — probably because of Quirkless Discrimination, but did hospitals have the capability of rejecting more doctors just because they’re Quirkless? Hospitals always seemed understaffed, from the glimpses he’s seen.
“But you want to be, right? Legally, I mean.”
He bites his tongue before he could add a comment about him being a nurse because he couldn’t become a doctor. That would’ve felt like something Yukari would call out, therefore, meaning it might be too insensitive to say at a time like this. Despite saying nothing more, Izuku was struck by guilt at the mere thought of it — that was too blunt, too insensitive, too straightforward. There were some things that shouldn’t be said out loud, and other things that needed saying.
That wasn’t one of them.
“I wouldn’t really say that I want to be a doctor,” Matsu admits, looking at the photos on the wall. Everyone else always does that, Izuku noticed, when the conversation seems to be… uncomfortable. “The unemployment rate for today’s Quirkless is at an all-time high, and it’s expected to continue rising as long as the Quirkless population continues to shrink.”
He knew that. It was a contributing factor behind the Quirkless suicide rate among adults. People give up if they can’t secure a reason to live. Financially or not.
Rarely, it’s the other way around.
“I don’t like being a pessimist — I told you that before, I think — but sometimes it can’t really be helped when it’s an actual fact. In this world, we’re fighting Quirkless Discrimination in countless ways. We’re pissing them off by staying alive, because our society’s coldhearted and cruel because they say we’re a waste of space. People will tell you that it’s life, that it can’t be helped, that it’s the way things are supposed to fucking go. Yukari thrives off of pure spite just to keep moving forward, I…” he trailed off, abruptly pausing his rant and ramble.
Matsu took a deep breath, tiredly looking towards the photos on the wall. He faltered, as if being rendered speechless, and he looked sad, lonely almost. For someone who was normally always well-composed, he looked like he might cry at hearing the right words.
(Izuku wishes he knew the words that would make him smile.)
“I have my sister,” Matsu eventually mumbled out, looking away from the photos as if ashamed. Of himself, or maybe of something that couldn’t be easily seen.
Izuku doesn’t think he’ll ever understand.
“It’s… hard, and difficult, Izuku. People will come and go, and you’ll get attached. Maybe you’ll find someone unrelated to all of us, someone willing to understand and emphasize. Kiyoko makes it easier for me to breathe, I’m not gonna lie, and she makes me want to keep moving forward for her, for her future.”
. . .
Izuku can understand that. He has his mom and her kind eyes and her warm smiles.
(He used to have Har[]k[], too…)
“When you look at these photos, at all of these people, what do you see?” It was an abrupt question, like an intrusive thought trying to cut through the drunken rambles. “What do you see when you look at them?”
Izuku looks at the photos again, at the images of children and teenagers and adults smiling with joy. They were happy, genuinely so, but…
“I…” he swallows, nervous and hesitant. It felt almost like a trick question, if he had to be honest. “I see lives that could’ve been saved.”
The second the words came out, he felt a twinge of guilt. There’s a pinched look on Matsu’s face, as if the statement had hurt him more than anything.
(He feels guilty about that now, too. It was another thing he learned from Har[][][]—)
Matsu takes a sip from the bottle, a simple one, and he puts the bottle down. He doesn’t look at him, but there’s a bitterness to his eyes that looked too pained and—
“There’s a reason why I don’t consider myself a doctor,” Matsu sighed, his hand clenching around the bottle as he stared at the table with hardened eyes. “No matter what you or anyone else says, I’m not a doctor, and I never will be.”
It felt surprising, to know Matsu felt that strongly about this matter. It was almost as if he was used to this topic of discussion.
“You’re a righteous person, Izuku, with a strong will to do some good for this world. I don’t care about that, though, I don’t care about saving lives because it’s good. I don’t see lives that could’ve been saved, families that could’ve avoided ruin,” he scoffed at the word “families”, as if it were an insult. He was glaring at the pictures, or rather… “What I see are lives that were given up on, and lives that gave up.”
It was then that Izuku noticed a picture frame on the floor near the wall, collecting dust as if it hadn’t been touched for years. He was tempted to take a peek, curious and worried about why Matsu was outright directing his bitterness at the fallen frame.
But it felt disrespectful to Matsu if Izuku did that.
“I force my patients to live for one more day, like how Heroes force people to live when they’re almost ready to give up. I force them to live, with all the medical knowledge that I have no matter how limited it may be. What I see, Izuku, are people who felt like they had no choice but to accept the cards they were dealt with and died whether it be by choice or inevitability. Most doctors don’t have to deal with patients that want to die, and even then, they’ll prioritize the ones with Quirks and the ones they have a personal stake in helping.”
Izuku never saw it that way. He never thought that people who want to die could be saved by Heroes, regardless of whether they wanted to be saved or not. His notebook doesn’t hide the facts, it’s a constant reminder that people have killed themselves, but what about the people that tried and failed? Will they try again another day? Are they happy to still be alive?
Were the people written down in his notebooks one of those who tried, failed, and tried again, only to succeed in the end?
The answer will never be a simple yes or no.
(A field of flowers, bright eyes, a blooming smile as she sways side to side.
And for her and only her, she had a happy ending.
. . .
Because she died.)
“You asked me, Izuku,” Matsu seemed to remind him, “Why did I choose to become a doctor, when I can’t actually become one in this society without struggle. I stayed to be a nurse because it paid the bills, was related to something I’ve been studying countless years of my life for, and I have a little sister to take care of, but you want to know why I chose to save lives over anything else.”
He did.
He doesn’t think he wants to know the answer any more.
“I used to want to save lives, but as a doctor, that’s just part of the job. Eventually, I’m still doing it out of spite, maybe. Not because I’m doing good, not because it feels rewarding, and not because it’s a good, consistent pay. Yes, it’s all of that and probably more, but that’s not why I do it, and sometimes it doesn’t even feel worth it.”
It felt almost as though Matsu wasn’t talking to him any more, but was talking to someone distant and far away. Something about his words felt… oddly loathing.
“I wanted them to know that it’s okay to want to live. And I wanted to force them to stay for one more day.”
And Izuku… isn’t quite sure who he’s talking about. He doesn’t want to know that, either.
“I wanted them to know that death wasn’t the only option.”
Who exactly was Matsu even referring to?
The Heroes? Or the Quirkless?
Or maybe it was…
. . .
(Maybe it was Matsu himself who needed to know?)
He sits on the roof, a cheerful radio show playing in the background as his legs dangle back and forth on the edge. Izuku frowns, placing his notebook in his lap as he places his forehead against the metal railings. Izuku sighed, feeling absolutely miserable at the things that’s plagued him for the past several days.
‘It’s a little disheartening to think about,’ he absentmindedly thought. ‘I want to make people smile like All Might, to make them feel safe while villains are threatened, but is that possible for me?”
He had to start with what he knew, with what he wanted to get done, and how it could be achieved.
Well, to start with people he knew: he knows that Yukari’s just stuck in recovery. He’ll have to drop by and visit, maybe tell his mom about wanting to see her because his mom would undoubtedly insist on bringing a gift and the two of them could visit the bedridden girl together. Miyui’s been wanting to have a little family get together involving the support group, but felt that it wasn’t a good time after what happened. After that, he’ll figure out a little more about the Yukari situation — maybe he’ll look into the Case of the Kuchisake-Onna. Matsu mentioned it before, and Jian wanted to go over criminal cases with him eventually, so he could familiarize himself with standard procedures.
Then, there was the issue with Matsu. Admittedly, there wasn’t a lot that Izuku knew about him, apart from a poor relationship with his birth mother and having a better relationship with his father and half-sister. In fact, there wasn’t anything he could do to help, not unless he could ensure that Matsu would be hired as a doctor. Matsu could get his doctorate, but that doesn’t mean a hospital would hire someone Quirkless without much issue… not to mention that Matsu seemed quite bitter about it.
Could Izuku even be a hero despite being unable to help the people closest to him?
Suddenly, the sound of a metal door — the rooftop door? — slammed open. Izuku’s shoulders jolted, his head whirling around as he dropped his pencil. This must’ve been what Yukari meant by a “deer in the headlights,” huh? He’s not exactly fond of the feeling…
“Wait!” shouted a hurried, desperate voice, huffing and puffing as he leaned against the door, tired and clearly out of breath. Did he run up several flights of stairs? What for? “Don’t do it!”
It was a teen, a boy who was likely his age who wore a standard black middle school’s uniform. He had spiked up purple hair, with black bags under his eyes from clear lack of sleep. His blue-purple eyes were wide with terror, desperation bleeding into him.
Izuku blinks, “Don’t do what?”
For only a brief moment, everything felt hazy. It was reminiscent of a blanket being draped over his shoulders, a sleepy haze where he was only half-aware.
A moment after, he was snapped out of his trance to meet a dumbfounded look on the newcomer’s face.
What was that?
Izuku was no stranger to having people use their Quirks against him, but that sensation felt almost… relaxing? He didn’t feel afraid, and felt surprisingly comfortable, although he thinks he knows what it feels like to actually feel vague now—
(“—And that was Heart a la Mode, covered by Marie☆FD and Peace, requested by an Anonymous Listener who wants some courage to confess to her special someone! Thanks for tuning in to Put Your Hands Up radio, and let’s keep on sending our anonymous lovebirds some positive vibes by keeping this love hype going! Oh, yeah !”)
“Oh god, that’s kinda embarrassing — I normally listen to the hero news station on the radio, but I also like to listen to Present Mic’s radio show and it just so happened to be a Weekend Lovebirds special that’s going on right now for White Day, and I’ll probably die from the embarrassment if Yukari and anyone else found out about—”
“—uh,” the purple-haired boy still had a dumbfounded expression on his face, his eyes staring at the radio before glancing at him down to the laptop at his side, to the small blanket on his shoulders, then at the notebook and pencils sitting beside him.
. . .
“Was it really that strange for me to be on a rooftop in the evenings? Huh… maybe it was, now that I think about it.”
Aunt Shiori used to always say that him and Haru were both strange kids for wanting to cuddle up in high places with a blanket and stories when the sun begins to set. Izuku never felt too self-conscious about it, because he was never alone in those instances. He wouldn’t give up this little tradition for the world, but he supposes that it was starting to get a little late…
It was still his apartment building, though. He knew all the neighbours, ranging from the disgruntled ones to the friendly ones, to the pitying ones and to the indifferent ones. They more or less steered clear of him though, all minding their own business and leaving him to his own devices, since they knew he was well-behaved and never got into trouble with anyone.
Well… he is a middle schooler now. It’s not like he was safe to work in the libraries though, since he couldn’t stay too long in fear of running into his former peers — Jian’s personal library was one thing, but it wasn’t the best place for Izuku to calm down and concentrate. There was always something that served as a distraction at the house…
“I… I’m sorry for bothering you…” the stranger muttered, cheeks flushing red as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking just as awkward as Izuku probably felt. “I just… assumed the worst.”
“Huh?” Izuku blinked, slowly looking at his position so close to the railings.
To a stranger, it must’ve looked like…
Oh…
…?
Oh!
Izuku immediately scrambling up as he sputtered, trying to explain himself. “I-it’s not what it looks like!” he exclaimed, panicked as the realization smacked him upside the head. “I-I was just working on my homework and studying!”
“I can see that,” tired boy dryly answered back, posture relaxing. He looked like he would rather be anywhere but here.
Still, it was nice for someone to show that they cared. Even if it was a short moment, and even if his attitude would take a complete turn for the worst, it was touching.
Maybe… that was exactly what Izuku needed to do?
“Um, thank you,” he hesitantly called out as the stranger slowly shuffled back towards the door.
Izuku just… needed to show them that he was there for them, that he could be a shoulder for them to lean on when times are rough. It’d be nice if it could be a situation so easily resolved just like this, but some things take time. Now that he knows that there’s a problem, he just needed to try and keep an eye on the situation to see if some sort of intervention would be needed.
Although that led him to the same problem: what to do when that time comes. He’s essentially relying on the possibility that two young adults would be willing to trust a kid with their issues.
. . .
Maybe Izuku doesn’t need to know the story to help?
Or he could always ask Jian. He was normally open to discussing stuff — probably because he passed so much time gossiping with the elders.
“Why’re you thanking me?” the stranger looked over his shoulder, halting in their steps with their hand barely brushing against the doorknob. He raises a brow, and despite his monotone voice, he was very much confused by the gratitude.
“Even if it was just a misunderstanding, you wanted to save me, right?” he smiled, and the stranger’s eyes widened upon hearing: “It was really heroic and kind of you — not a lot of people are like that to someone they don’t even know. Your Quirk’s really cool, too! And it’d be perfect for a situation where you’d actually have to talk someone down.”
There’s a moment of silence as the stranger looks back at the door. A nearly inaudible exhale, and Izuku’s not quite sure what to expect now.
“Shinsou,” the boy — Shinsou, his mind helpfully notes — quietly states. “Shinsou, Hitoshi.”
Oh…?
“I’m Midoriya, Izuku,” he couldn’t help the giddy grin creeping up on him — a new friend, maybe?
“Are you always… just hanging out on this roof?”
“Almost every evening! I love hanging out under the night sky especially, it’s quiet and peaceful, and it makes studying a lot easier. It’s hard to write when it starts getting darker though, but I usually head home when it starts getting pretty late out anyway so it’s no big deal.”
“Hmm. Sounds nice…”
“It is! Um… you’re welcome to join me, if you’d like?”
“…I’ll think about it.”
Before Izuku could say any more, Shinsou leaves the rooftop.