Chapter Text
“Am I not a discordant string in the divine symphony?”
- Light, Wind, and Dreams by Nakajima Atsushi
His face was transfixed to the screen in front of him, playing a clip near and dear to his heart. Green irises widened with joy; a tumultuous declaration of admiration fills the room as the words “Fear not! Why, you ask? Because…”, followed by a grin, “I am here!” swayed him. The desire of heroism, akin to electricity, flowed in his veins. Small hands grasped onto the toy replica of the hero; his whole being shaking in excitement. It was always what he wanted. There was nothing he could ask for.
Midoriya Inko, full of maternal concern, cautiously tries to curb her son’s enthusiasm. She was fully supportive of his dream filled with heroics. Yet, she could not stomach the situation unfolding in the clip. Her eyes focused on her son, then an odd sense of doubt and worry settled in her heart. Her lips joined together, forming an uneasy expression as the feelings in her swirled together, mingling to create something that she could not describe. To her, it was like sorrow, and yet it also was not. Weak-willed as she was, she exited the room quietly while maintaining that gaze, clouded with her emotions.
Midoriya Izuku could not shake off the fear in his bones. U.A. suddenly announced that they would resort towards having a dormitory system for their students. They said that it was for the safety of their students, given that the first years had been targeted by villains during their summer training camp. He did not want to talk to any of his teachers. Doing so might destroy the world he so carefully created. He needed to keep his world together. ‘It can’t happen again. Never.’
He patiently waited for his teachers to arrive, sitting down on the couch. The kitchen was filled with noise as his mother was washing the dishes. Aizawa-sensei and All Might were scheduled to arrive after lunch, so the Midoriyas ate beforehand. The clacking of plates occasionally replaced the dead silence in their apartment. Izuku was too preoccupied with his thoughts about stabilizing his world. Inko was around the house, doing chores. It seemed like the perfect scenario for a family of two. After all, his father was already absent by the time he was a few months old. Izuku only had his mother now, and he swore to himself that no one would take her away from him. Not after what happened that day.
The world cracked into pieces, shards lying on the floor. That day, everything about him felt wrong. His existence was like a dissonant note in a melodious sonata. He felt like a blemish on a perfect canvas. A being that should have never been created. ‘If only… Then everything would have been perfect… Nothing… not a single thing… would have gone wrong…’
That day he drowned in sorrow, despair overshadowing him as his mind screamed for any being to will his existence out of this world. After all, if his world was his mother, who had gone and abandoned him, then there was no replacing it. His mother, who had tried to cheer him up after the devastating news, had lost faith in trying to keep him afloat. How could a bullied and ostracized 9-year-old do the same for themselves?
"Izuku has an extra toe joint. Research points to the conclusion that he has no individuality.” That tone. Cold and unfeeling, piercing even the calmest of hearts, had killed his desire. After all, the lack of individuality was something scorned in this age. Majority were individuals, who are the norm. Those that were not were marginalized. Social stratification formed, widening the already-huge rift between the two strata. Izuku felt like he could no longer decide his fate. His life to be doomed into one of never-ending struggle; of strife and agony.
His face was transfixed to the screen in front of him, playing a clip near and dear to his heart. Green irises became dull, tears pooling in his eyes as the short distance between him and the screen felt like an untraversable expanse. His mouth was filled with anguish as the words “Fear not! Why, you ask? Because…”, followed by a grin, “I am here!” resonated once more. Words eluded him. An unbearable taste coated his tongue. Speech was something he was reluctant in employing. After all, if frigid words were enough to destroy his dreams, how could he prevent himself from doing so too?
Tears were falling from his face as he turned to face his mother. The same anguish that was in his mouth coated his words, trying to delude himself into thinking that he was an individual too. “A super-cool hero like that. That’s… what I want to be.” His mother, grief-stricken by his own words, rushed to him. Maternal instincts overclocked as Midoriya Inko tried to console her child. She apologized to him for a fate she could not ascertain, her own face now dripping with tears.
Izuku murmured to himself introspectively. “Why am I haunted again by my past? What is-?“ His thoughts were interrupted by the rapid knocks on their door. Inko, surprised by the early arrival, quickly headed to the door. Nervous, she opened the door, revealing the emaciated form of All Might, with Aizawa Shouta behind him. “P-Please… come in… have a-a seat…” She stuttered with her words, the notion of All Might superseding all other thoughts in her head. “I-I’ll get some t-tea… Izuku, dear, s-show them to the t-table please?...”
He did as he was told, leading All Might and Aizawa towards their dining table. The former glanced around the house before placing his gaze at his successor, seated oppositely at him. Aizawa, on the other hand, looked around his surroundings attentively.
Being his homeroom teacher, Midoriya’s odd behavior had not gone past him, in the months that transpired. After having talked to the Bakugou family about the current dormitory scheme, he was now trying to descry any clues regarding the connection between Midoriya and Bakugou. His mind tried to notice the small details that may allow him to extract information. ‘Hm… The house is well-lived. Let’s see about their belongings.’ He scanned the walls and shelves available to him, seeing that they had little to no knick-knacks and family pictures. ‘Odd… Hearing about his mother from small anecdotes here and there, I was sure that there would have been pictures showing their guests how much of a doting mother she is…’
Discrepancies in information usually raised red flags in his head. They were usually caused by only two things: First, the omission of truth. Second, the declaration of lies. Aizawa, the underground hero that he was, was hoping that Midoriya had done the former, rather than the latter. It would not bide well towards the school if Midoriya had been hiding something, given that he had managed to get himself embroiled in circumstances that induced trauma.
Midoriya Inko returned with tea, her arms shaking as she slowly set down a tray on the table. Four cups of green tea and a small cheesecake were served for the parties involved. All Might spoke, not wanting to waste precious time. “Regarding the U.A. Dormitory system… I would like to know your stance on the matter… We, the faculty, had been hoping that we could get word quickly to push through with the plans.”
Inko, the mother that she was, was hesitant to reply. Her stutter and anxiety were surprisingly gone as she spoke. “Ah… Yes… about that… I humbly object, All Might. My son Izuku has been hospitalized more than enough for the sake of heroics. I placed my trust in the U.A. faculty wholeheartedly, with the hopes that you would have guided my child into a future where he would not have to experience such events at an early age. It seems like my decision was wrong. Considering that, as well as the recent event in Kamino, I have lost faith in the school. I cannot, in good faith, place my son in a school that does not teach their students the importance of self-preservation. What good is a hero school such as U.A. if its students know not how to secure their own safety first before others. You do not produce heroes, only martyrs blinded by fame and glory. Once more, I apologize All Might. Until U.A. manages to restore my trust, I will not allow my Izuku to go back to the school.”
She tried her best to be firm in her answer, knowing that her decision would hurt Izuku. However, she was a mother. She had to protect her child, no matter what. She would not bend to anyone’s wishes, not even the Symbol of Peace’s.
Aizawa listened to Midoriya Inko’s reply. He understood her desire to protect her child. He also acknowledged that U.A. had fallen short about its teaching method. Despite that, he had a problem with her. Her words may have carried conviction, and yet her eyes were blank. Empty. As if she had stared an abyss for too long. That itself unnerved him. It was unnatural for a protective parent to look robotic. Another red flag was raised in his head. If lies were about, he was set to find them. He would not allow for anymore discrepancies to arise. It had to end there.
Even though the school has knowledge about the individuality of their students and their parents, Aizawa knew that individuality registries could still be falsified. If Midoriya Inko had lied about hers and had been committing atrocious acts towards her son, he could use the contract U.A. had with parents to have Midoriya Inko be charged accordingly and transfer the parental responsibility of Izuku from her to the school. If she was a different individual, one who can transform into others, it would then be a different story.
His individuality subtly showed towards Midoriya Inko, his hair trying to escape the bun it was styled into. His eyes glowed a bright scarlet as he tried to confirm or deny his second hypothesis. He had considered every outcome possible. The reality then was that the woman was no such individual. He sighed inwardly, finding himself back to square one.
Izuku noticed that some strands of Aizawa-san’s hair were slowly raising. He became curious about the sudden showing of individuality. “Aizawa-san, what’s wro-“ And then he realized his mistake. He forgot, in that split second, that his teacher’s individuality was a form of nullification. In that moment, the world that he had created, cultivated so laboriously, had just come crashing down.
Midoriya Inko slowly faded out of view, as if she was a ghost. What followed next was torrential rain, as if the sky wept for the pitiful, broken child that was Midoriya Izuku.
“’Excellently observed’, said Candide; ‘but let us cultivate our garden.’”
- Candide, ou l’Optimisme by Voltaire