Chapter Text
Katsuki Bakugo had always known he would become the world’s best hero. No one had bothered to tell him that being the best wasn’t the same as being wanted. So now he was alone and a failure, his empty apartment taunting him as his dreams fell apart.
He’d applied to as many hero agencies as he could a month ago, and today he’d finally received his first reply. The letter, stamped with an official agency logo, sat mockingly on his coffee table. He hadn’t opened it yet. He didn’t need to. Agencies didn’t take this long to say yes.
Everything was so quiet that it hurt. Katsuki’s costume had hung unused since his graduation from UA the previous month, as useless as he felt.
Eventually, the silence was too much to bear, so Katsuki grabbed the TV remote and clicked on the television, skipping through channels until he found the news. Bad idea.
“We’re already seeing new heroes on the scene just one month after UA’s third years graduated,” said the presenter, gripping a microphone as a fire raged behind her. “Hugely popular young hero, Red Riot, arrived first, closely followed by Grape Juice. The two quickly…”
Damn it. Of course Kirishima is “hugely popular”, but Mineta? How the hell did that little pervert get signed off and not him. Especially with a name like Grape Juice. He struggles through a replay of their heroism before shutting the TV off and allowing the silence to surround him yet again.
It was times like these that made him think of his life before UA, of his old friends. Of people like Deku, and his other friends who never chose the hero route. Well, maybe some of them had wanted it - Izuku Midoriya certainly did - but only Katsuki had been gifted the opportunity. And he had fucking wasted it. It’s not like he cared about those people from his past; they were all weak anyway.
But didn’t that make Katsuki weak, too? If he wasn’t a pro hero?
He almost laughed. Of course he wasn’t weak. Those hero agencies just weren’t aware of his potential. Katsuki knows he’s stronger than Endeavor, probably on par with All Might. Flashes of blurry memories permeate his vision; the first time he lost, to shitty Deku of all people. When he won the competition against Todoroki, but not because of skill. Todoroki had lost his own internal battle, which Katsuki’s victory only mirrored.
A sudden, sharp rap on Katsuki’s front door threw a dagger through his thoughts.
“It’s open,” he yelled through gritted teeth. It was probably his mother.
When nothing happened, he almost shouted again, but was stopped when a slip of paper passed under the door. God, the people in this building pissed him off. Just a bunch of kids, the lot of them.
Reluctantly, Katsuki climbed off the sofa and retrieved the little rectangle of ghost-white paper, muttering angrily to himself as he did so. Turning it over, he was surprised to find a business card that simply read:
“Want to be part of something bigger?
Midnight, at the next full moon.
High risk, high-reward job.”
And gave the address of some quiet bystreet not far from Katsuki’s apartment.
Katsuki felt his face scrunch up as he read the succinct card. High reward. He liked the sound of that. Something bigger. That had to mean heroes, right? But heroes didn’t send anonymous business cards requesting a clandestine meeting under the cover of darkness.
Then again, did it really matter? There he was, alone and unemployed in this silent crypt. His dreams were gone, shattered like a mirror that would grant him seven years of bad luck.
So Katsuki tucked the card into his pocket and thought, fuck it.
* * *
Izuku Midoriya was getting desperate.
Inko Midoriya was getting sicker.
But there was nothing he could do. No miraculous cure, no hope of treatment. Not unless Izuku could find hundereds of thousands of yen in the next month. Even the three jobs he worked while studying at a local college would never accumulate enough to cover her treatment.
Of course, Izuku Midoriya had had his own dreams, too. Before his mother got ill. When he was really little, Izuku adored watching the heroes that saved lives and fought crime. He watched the people that did good and knew that one day he would be just like them. A hero.
Then came the day his life lost colour. The walls closed in on him and he suffocated.
Izuku Midoriya had no Quirk. And he never would. UA didn’t want quirkless nobodies. Agencies didn’t scout talentless losers. Because that’s all Izuku felt he was. No one.
He still watched those heroes, only now he felt shame, resentment even.
Izuku had to shake his head hard to get rid of these thoughts that threatened him as he stacked shelf after shelf during his night shift. He sat down. Think about something else. He told himself. Anything else.
He felt his notebook in his pocket dig into his thigh, mocking him. It was full of superhero analysis, his admiration and studies of those he looked up to. He pulled it from his pocket and, without thinking, flung it under the meat aisle.
“Crap,” he whispered almost immediately, scrambling for it under the fridges. The notebook stayed just out of reach, taunting his tiny body. He retreated, bringing up only dust and cobwebs.
Izuku cursed himself and reluctantly brought himself into the staffroom, a tiny, dull room with only a few grey, scrappy sofas, a battered coffee table, and a television. The TV was on, colour blaring silently. The news.
Izuku sank into an armchair, which groaned precariously, and stupidly brought his eyes up to the TV. There had been a fire. Fortunately, heroes had arrived to “save the day,” as were the words of the giddy news presenter who was tightly clutching a microphone. He forced his eyes away from the subtitles and focused on the two heroes. One with the reddest, almost punk-like hair, the other short and gesturing wildly. The two boys could be no more than Izuku’s age, but they had already achieved more than he ever would.
But then Izuku’s attention was stolen by a small envelope on the coffee table that beared his own name in an ambiguous print. He hesitantly reached for it, almost grateful for the distraction. Inside was a simple white business card. Its corners were sharp and intimidating, the typed message was neat and completely anonymous. Izuku’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes skimmed over it.
“Want to be part of something bigger?
Midnight, at the next full moon.
High risk, high-reward job.”
Something bigger. Those words created the impression of heroism in his mind. Someone wanted him. Had a place for him. But why wouldn’t they just send an email? What was with all the anonymity.
High-reward. Enough of a reward to save his mum? Enough for her to get better? Izuku was willing to risk everything for his mother. Everything.
* * *
The flickering screens were bright and disorientating, but everything felt promising.
Candidate 5: Katsuki Bakugo.
Quirk: Explosion.
Proceed with caution.
Full pyschological profile attached.
This one looked deliciously prospective. Of course, there was the other candidate.
Candidate 4: Izuku Midoriya.
Quirkless.
High cognitive potential.
Full pyschological profile attached.
This one sparked pure delight. He was perfect. They both would be.