Chapter Text
People aren’t born equal.
That was the first great discovery of my life.
I heard it when I was four years old, in a cold consultation room, under the white light of a hospital that smelled like disinfectant and my own disappointment. Next to me, my mother broke into tears while the doctor, with an almost casual tone, told me I didn’t have a quirk. That I never would. As if he were simply informing me that my existence didn’t fit the world around me. Maybe, in that moment, he stopped considering me worthy of his touch—just a child who would never be anyone.
I once believed everything could be fixed with effort. Back then, I was a naive child. I believed that if I wanted something badly enough, if I tried harder than anyone else, if I never gave up, if I kept my optimism and smiled through adversity… maybe I could achieve it. Maybe I’d have a chance.
That thought was everything to me for years. I clung to it like it was the only thing keeping me alive. Like it was a promise. A beautiful lie.
But I suppose once quirks came… everything changed. And that was long ago. I’ve never known a world without them. I guess now the worth of a life no longer depends on character, or heart, or soul. It depends on a gene. On an extra joint in your finger.
And those of us born with that joint—without that gift that’s now the norm, without shine, without anything—we simply learned to make ourselves small.
To hunch our backs. To not be a bother.
I was one of those.
Izuku Midoriya. Quirkless. Hopeless.
And yet… I dreamed.
I dreamed of being someone. I dreamed of saving others the way heroes did, the way my hero did. I dreamed that one day, someone would say: “He made it.” I dreamed that if my idol believed “Anyone can be a hero,” then maybe I could be.
But dreaming, sometimes, is a curse.
“Writing nonsense again?” The voice hit me like a whip. I knew that tone. I'd known it for years.
I turned clumsily. Kacchan stood there, behind me, his palm crackling with energy—a reminder of everything I didn’t have. He snatched the notebook from me effortlessly, the way he always did with everything I valued.
“You’re still on this garbage?” he scoffed, flipping through my notes like they were trash, probably without even reading them. My notebook… where I poured everything that made me feel close to my dream. Every observation. Every analysis. Every ounce of hope.
“It’s just… hero analysis, Kacchan,” I murmured, lowering my gaze. I still called him that. I still clung to that part of me that saw him as a friend. As someone important. That believed he might have cared about me, even just a little.
But it was clear he didn’t see me the same way. Maybe he never had. Maybe he always knew I was destined to fail.
He turned to the others with a crooked grin. That grin he wore before crushing me.
“Did you hear that? He still thinks he can be a hero!” he shouted, and the laughter rose like knives stabbing my back. Hollow laughs. Automatic. Like a rehearsed joke.
He walked over to the window with confident steps.
I knew what he was going to do.
My body knew, but when he looked at me, I didn’t move. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I watched him open the window, the wind ruffling his blond hair. In his hand, my notebook ignited in a small explosion. Fragments of its cover flew through the air before it fell, burned and broken. Some pages charred. It sounded like it hit water…
“Go get it, Deku,” he said, placing his burning hand on my shoulder with a smile that hurt more than the fire that had scorched my clothes. “Maybe you’ll start practicing how to jump.”
There was a pause. A tense second of air.
“Who knows… maybe in your next life, you’ll be born with a quirk.”
Silence.
He said it casually. Like it was another joke. Like it wasn’t a death sentence.
And for a moment—just one—my mind believed he was right.
I didn’t move. Not because I didn’t want to. But because I no longer knew if it was worth it.
Maybe… he was right. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe… I should never have dreamed.
That was just a Monday. One of hundreds.
The kind of day that repeats so often it stops hurting… or so I thought. But something inside me broke in a different way this time. Not because of the notebook. Not because of the fire.
But because of the silence that followed.
Because no one said anything. Not the teacher, not my classmates. Not even I tried to convince myself otherwise.
No one.
And that was the worst part.
Because if I didn’t stand up for myself, if I didn’t give myself hope… who would?
As the wind blew through that open window, I felt like I was the one falling.
Not from the building.
From the dream I once had.
From what little was left of me.
I vaguely remember going down the stairs in total silence. The hallways seemed longer, the lights colder. My body moved, but I didn’t feel my legs. It was like watching the world through foggy glass.
When I found the remains of my notebook on the ground, I barely recognized my own hands as I picked them up.
Trembling hands. Empty hands.
A trembling smile appeared on my face. It wasn’t joy. It was a way to not cry.
I walked home like a ghost.
Everything hurt, but I couldn’t pinpoint where exactly. Everything was confusing. Everything was gray.
I thought of his words.
“In your next life…”
What if there was no next life?
What if this was the only one… and it was already broken?
As thoughts flooded me, I began walking home without realizing it. My body moved without thinking. Maybe that was better.
The way home felt endless. I don’t remember greeting anyone, or crossing streets, or even waiting at traffic lights. Everything felt like an echo. Like the world was moving around me and I wasn’t part of it.
The voices, the cars, the sun… Everything felt distant, like I was watching the city from the bottom of a pond.
Am I floating? I feel like I’m separating from my body…
I clutched the burnt remains of my notebook to my chest like I had to protect what little was left of me. The charred cardboard scratched my fingers, but even that didn’t bring me back.
My thoughts tangled in the same loop, over and over, like a broken record:
I’m useless. I’ve always been useless. No matter how much I dream. I’ll never be enough. Dreaming won’t change that.
“In your next life…”
I kept repeating it. Without meaning to. Over and over.
What if there’s no other life?
What if this was my only chance… and I ruined it just by being born like this?
I closed my eyes for a moment as I walked. My body kept moving, but I wasn’t really there. It was like the world kept going… but I didn’t.
It didn’t hurt as much. It was like floating. Like I’d disappeared. I felt a bit of peace. I wasn’t here anymore, even if no one noticed.
And then, without warning, everything changed.
A violent, wet, disgusting pressure wrapped around me from behind. It pulled me back, snapped me out of it.
My feet left the ground.
The air vanished from my lungs.
Something covered me completely.
I didn’t understand what was happening.
My body slammed into the ground of a dark alleyway, bags of trash bursting open on impact. I screamed. Tried to get up. But it was useless.
A thick, dark liquid slithered over my skin, up my neck, into my mouth, into my eyes. It suffocated me. It invaded me.
“This body will do!” a guttural voice roared from within the viscous mass trapping me.
I tried to fight. To tear. To push. I couldn’t. The liquid slipped through my fingers—I couldn’t grab it to push it away. I couldn’t breathe.
I felt the air escaping. My fingers losing strength. No way out.
The substance entered my nose. Slid between my teeth. Everything turned black. I writhed like a cornered animal.
And then, a thought came. Stupid. Painful. Brutal.
Not like this. Not here. Not now.
I can’t die like this.
Not in an alley. Not in the trash. Not as a discarded body no one cares about.
Even if I have no dreams. Even if I have no hope left. Even if no one is waiting at home with comforting words…
I still have my mother.
I can’t leave her alone. Not after everything. I can’t make my disappearance her guilt. I can’t vanish like this. I don’t want to be just another forgotten corpse.
Please… please… someone…
The pressure intensified. The darkness covered everything.
I was about to give up. My hands stopped trying to catch the viscous liquid.
And then, amid the suffocation and pain, I heard something.
A voice. Loud. Powerful.
–I AM HERE!
A burst of wind. The pressure vanished.
Air flooded into my lungs violently. Coughing. Retching. I doubled over as the sludge evaporated into the air.
I fell to the ground, trembling, soaked, a mess. I blinked.
A tall silhouette. Unmistakable.
Golden hair. Immense smile.
My vision was blurry, but I knew who it was.
All Might.
My hero, the symbol of peace.
It was impossible…
I tried to stay awake, but my eyelids were heavy.
I felt soft slaps on my cheeks. Clumsy but firm taps.
“Come on, kid. Wake up,” a deep, warm voice said. My heart raced.
I blinked. Sat up. Everything hurt.
And then I saw him. Really saw him.
He was in front of me.
Not an illusion. Not a fantasy.
All Might.
I wanted to say something. Anything. But all that came out was a broken exhale.
My eyes fell on the remains of my notebook, still clenched in my hand. Instinctively, I moved it away from my chest, looking for a spot—something—I needed his autograph. I’d never get this chance again.
I looked for a partially intact page.
There was already a signature.
I laughed. Laughed through tears. Through sobs.
“Thank you,” I whispered, voice broken, without thinking, without a filter.
Not because I wanted a keepsake.
But because, for a moment, I wanted to hold onto something that wasn’t pain.
Because despite everything, even now…
I still wanted to believe heroes existed.
"Well, it looks like everything's under control," said All Might, glancing over at where the sludge villain had been reduced to a few bottles, wearing his signature satisfied smile. "My job here is done!"
I blinked, still on the ground, shaking, lungs burning.
All the joy from getting his autograph was starting to fade.
Was that it? That’s all? And what about... me?
I tried to sit up fully, but my ribs ached, my throat still tasted like filth, and there was something thick clogging my ears and eyes. My clothes were sticky, smelling like a mix between damp rot and death.
Shouldn’t I be taken to a hospital...?
I can’t breathe properly. There’s liquid in my lungs. My whole body’s trembling...
But then I saw All Might’s dazzling white smile, ready to leap away.
And I shook my head silently.
“No... I don’t need that. I’ve been through worse,” I whispered, as if saying it aloud would make it true.
All Might has better things to do. He won’t waste time on me. That’s just how it is...
I clenched my jaw and swallowed the pain.
There was so much I wanted to say.
So much I needed to ask.
He’s my hero.
The Symbol of Peace.
The one who gave me hope.
The reason I still dreamed.
But before I could gather the courage to speak, All Might bent his knees.
Ready to jump—without hearing a word.
My heart stopped. No, no, no—no!
Without thinking, I lunged toward him.
My arms clung to his leg like a desperate child, right as he launched himself into the air.
“What are you doing, kid?!” All Might roared mid-air. “Let go! This is going too far!”
I was trembling. The wind whipped against my skin, and the sudden height made my stomach churn. I already felt sick, and this only made it worse.
“I can’t! If I let go... I’ll die!” I cried out, my voice splitting between panic and the fear that he’d push me off.
For a moment, I really thought he would. That he’d shake me off like some annoying bug. That he’d let me fall.
And... maybe I’d deserve it—for looking like some obsessed stalker, right?
But he didn’t.
With a sharp exhale, the hero gripped me better and landed on a nearby rooftop with a clean, practiced thud.
I dropped to my knees.
And everything spilled out.
“I...” I stammered. “I’m sorry. I just... I needed to talk to you. I have so many questions... so many things I need to know...”
My voice was trembling, and my thoughts were racing faster than I could speak.
I’d dreamed of this moment my entire life—or at least since the day they sentenced me.
But now that he was right in front of me... all I could feel was small. Clumsy. Dirty. Pathetic.
Finally, between broken words, the question escaped:
“Can someone... someone without a Quirk... still be a hero?”
Silence.
All Might didn’t answer right away.
I looked up at him, afraid that—
What I saw froze the blood in my veins.
His muscular frame vanished.
In its place stood a frail man surrounded by smoke, like a balloon that had just popped.
His face had changed.
Thinner, gaunter, shadows under his eyes, blood at the corner of his mouth.
I took a step back.
“W-What...? Are you... an impostor?”
“No,” the man answered in a hoarse voice. “It’s me. This is... my true form.”
He explained everything.
The injury. The battle. The limited time.
I listened in silence.
Each word stripped something away from me.
“Look, kid… If someone with a Quirk like mine ends up like this...
Then you, without a Quirk...
You don’t stand a chance at being a hero.
You can’t.”
His words weren’t a blow.
They were a sentence.
A gravestone gently placed atop my dream.
Silence.
I wasn’t breathing.
I wasn’t moving.
I wasn’t thinking.
I was just... breaking.
I didn’t blink. I didn’t cry. I didn’t speak.
I didn’t know what to say.
I just lowered my head.
All Might looked away awkwardly, scratching his neck in that scrawny form that looked like the broken reflection of the symbol I admired so much.
Maybe he felt guilty for crushing my dream.
If he even cared...
“You could... I don’t know. Be a police officer. Or a doctor. They help people too.”
It was a mechanical consolation, thrown like a bandage over an open wound.
But it didn’t work.
There was no room left in my chest for bandages.
Only cracks and pain.
Cracks now breaking on top of each other.
In the state I was in... those words weren’t comfort.
They were a verdict.
An insult.
A mockery.
A cop? A doctor?
Is that all I’m worth? One of “those”? Not them...
It’s not that those jobs aren’t noble. It’s not that those people don’t matter.
No.
It’s that I never wanted that.
Never.
But would I ever be anything?
Could I even be one of “those”?
Being anything but what I dreamed of being...
I nodded slowly. My face stayed blank.
But inside...
something in me snapped.
Something that would never come back.
I dreamed of something more.
I dreamed of being a hero.
And now he says I can’t...?
That I’ll never be?
That the world decided from the start that I wasn’t enough?
My heart twisted.
Pressure built in my chest.
The air tasted like metal.
My fingers shook.
My throat closed up.
He said something else, but I didn’t hear it.
He leapt to another rooftop and vanished between the buildings, leaving a gust of wind behind him.
And I was alone.
Alone.
On a strange rooftop.
With a battered body.
And a shattered soul.
The sound of my own heartbeat thundered in my ears.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Too fast. Too loud. Too much. It hurt.
My vision blurred.
The world spun.
My knees buckled.
I couldn’t breathe.
Air came and went like I was back inside that sludge villain.
I covered my mouth with both hands.
I felt sick.
My fingers were trembling uncontrollably.
What do I do now?
What am I?
Who am I without that dream?
The tears began to fall.
But they weren’t soft.
They were hot, violent, full of rage and pain.
I covered my mouth so I wouldn’t scream.
My chest hurt.
It hurt so much.
I collapsed to my knees, and a thought crossed my mind—dark, poisonous, a whisper from the shadows:
“Go fetch it, Deku. Practice jumping.”
I remembered Kacchan’s words.
The smoke of my burning notebook.
The wind through that open window.
What if I just...?
The edge of the rooftop was close.
One step.
Just one.
I crawled closer.
The world would be quieter.
The pain would stop.
No more fighting.
No more failing.
And then...
“Mom.”
The word came out on its own, like an anchor.
Like a rope pulling me back when everything else was letting go.
I thought of my mom.
Her clumsy but warm hugs.
The tears she shed when the doctor told her I had no Quirk.
All the love she kept giving me. Her worry.
I couldn’t do that to her.
I couldn’t vanish like that.
Not today.
I took a shaky step back.
I didn’t stop crying.
I didn’t stop shaking.
But I moved away from the edge.
And I climbed down.
My body hurt.
My chest burned.
But I walked.
Each step felt like dragging a ton of guilt.
The streets were noisy.
But everything sounded far away.
People passed me by without a glance.
No one noticed the boy who had just lost his dream.
They never do.
No one ever sees me.
But I guess the world keeps turning. I’m not important.
Nothing would change if I left.
Self-destructive thoughts tangled in my head like thorns:
“I’ll never make it.”
“I’m worthless.”
“I’m a burden.”
“I’m a useless Deku.”
It hurt to walk.
My whole body felt full of sludge on the inside, like the villain never really left.
Maybe he was still there, curling up in my stomach.
It’d explain the nausea better than just saying it was pathetic.
Pathetic.
That’s what I am.
And then, when I wasn’t sure if I was crying or just running on autopilot—drifting from my body again...
BOOM.
An explosion shook the area not far from where I was.
People screamed.
The ground trembled.
Smoke filled the air.
I looked up.
The sky, tinted orange by the setting sun, looked like it was burning.
And without knowing why...
Without even thinking...
Maybe just out of habit. Or instinct.
Even knowing I couldn’t be a hero.
My legs started running toward the blast.