Chapter Text
"Kaa-chan, where is Tou-san?" Midoriya Inko froze in the middle of scrubbing the rice bowl in her hand, turning to her almost-three-year-old daughter on the stool beside her. Midoriya Uguisu solemnly stared back at her, curly green hair framing large eyes, charming freckles and baby-round face. Inko had been expecting this question, of course, but perhaps not quite this soon. She should have known better.
Inko's serious daughter had always been independent, some unknown drive pushing the toddler to master standing, walking and various other gross and soft motor skills ahead of her cohort. As soon as her little Isu-chan could be counted on not to break the dishes, she'd insisted on helping out dinner prep and wash-up. Her sharp eyes were always watching, always analyzing with intelligence beyond her years. Inko sighed at the prospect of having to plan Isu-chan's First Errand so soon. Her daughter was determined to grown up so fast, Inko mourned.
"What brought this on, Isu-chan?" Inko asked. Her daughter was unusually logical for her age – or even those three times her age for that matter – and her mutterings and questions usually had some sort of context Inko could follow. Rarely did Isu-chan ask questions out of the blue like this.
"Kacchan's tou-san came to pick him up today," Isu-chan replied simply. Oh, Inko thought, of course Isu-chan would be curious about her own absent father, when most of her preschool had salarymen fathers who worked in the local area.
"Your Tou-san has a fire-breathing quirk and works abroad, in the United States of America, Isu-chan," Inko replied distantly, starting to sink into her own memories. "He was sent there by his company six months after you were born. He has an important and busy position, so he can't call home often, but he works hard to send money home to support us. He loves you very much."
Inko hated the waver in her tone at the last sentence, hoping her perceptive daughter didn't pick up on it. Hisashi was forever getting lost in his head, like the absentminded scientist he was; Isu-chan came by her mumbling tendencies honestly. Inko and her husband had worked on setting aside time for Hisashi to call home in the beginning, but those set times always came and went without a call. He was, fortunately, better with email; Inko never failed to receive long, stream-of-consciousness epistles every week, ramblings about his latest projects interspersed with gushing and questions for her and Isu-chan. Inko understood the indiosyncracies of the man she married, so always forgave him. It didn't mean it hurt any less. Trying to keep the tears that sprung into her eyes from leaking over, Inko started scrubbing with renewed vigour.
"You know, we were going to name you Izuku after your Tou-san, if you were a boy," Inko said once she'd regained her composure. Mistaking Uguisu's surprised flinch at the name for confusion, Inko helpfully traces the kanji in the soap bubbles. This prompted an impromptu lesson on varied pronunciations and meanings in kanji and hiragana. To Inko's delight, this drew giggles from her daughter. "When we found out you were a girl, though, Hisashi insisted you be named after me instead." She traced her name in kanji, then the corresponding pronunciation in hirigana: 'Parakeet'.
"The day we found out about you being a girl, we came home to find a nightingale twittering in the tree outside our window." The ancient oak tree in the courtyard of their apartment complex was so tall and gnarly it almost reached past their fifth floor apartment. "Then when you were born, you refused to cry. Even when the doctor patted you on the back, you only whimpered 'ugui, ugui' instead. Scared your Tou-san and I to bits with worry until the doctor assured us you were perfectly healthy. So there was nothing else we could name you after that than 'Uguisu'. That it fit with the bird theme was just a bonus." She traced 'Midoriya Uguisu' in kanji, waited until her daughter copied her name, before wiping the soap bubbles off the counter. Unbidden, the tears she'd been holding back started coursing down her cheeks.
"Oh," she sobbed while futilely trying to reassure her alarmed daughter, "Kaa-chan is fine, Kaa-chan just...misses Tou-san sometimes." Her daughter continued to eye her solemnly, but Inko was so focused on trying to hold back she'd missed Uguisu drying Inko's hands and hopping from the stool. Inko blinked and was momentarily bewildered to find herself on the living room couch all of a sudden, with similarly tearful Isu-chan hugging her. Uguisu, like Inko, was a sympathetic crier.
"I'm not Tou-san, but you don't have to be scared of crying. Why?" Isu-chan blurted out in her blunt way. Before Inko could protest, a smile bravely bloomed on Uguisu's lips through her tears. "Because I'm here. So you can let it out. I'll catch you."
Inko would be ashamed of herself later for her breakdown; for not even having the control to pull a tissue box over so she wouldn't have to cry all over Uguisu's t-shirt. For now, all she could do was hug her strong, wonderful daughter close and sob her heart out, marveling at her Isu-chan's wise, heroic heart.
Over the next few years, Uguisu continued to demonstrate the wisdom and strength of her character.
Uguisu's milestone fourth and fifth birthdays came and went without manifesting her quirk. Inko fretted, finally taking her to a Quirk Specialist. Then came the damning diagnosis from the x-rays: Uguisu possessed the vestigial extra toe-joint, which meant that she was officially Quirkless. Inko was devastated. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought of how she'd failed her daughter.
Uguisu, however, merely hummed, considering the x-rays onscreen thoughtfully. She nonchalantly passed her mother the tissue box – for once no trace of tears, sympathetic or otherwise – and turned back to the doctor while Inko worked to compose herself.
"So I don't have a quirk, but I'm otherwise healthy?" The doctor - who'd been eyeing the mother-daughter duo in detached pity ever since he'd pronounced Uguisu's medical results – blinked in surprise.
"Ah, well, yes...you seem to be in good health otherwise," he stammered, a beat late. Inko too was distracted from her tears by Uguisu's matter-of-fact question. She recognized that cogitating tone from her husband's similar habit. Fortunately, her daughter didn't keep them in suspense for long.
"Everyone obsesses about quirks, but that's only because all the kids I've met at school want to be pro heros with flashy quirks. But I want to be a doctor," Uguisu started muttering, thoughts burbling in a quicksilver stream of consciousness; the similarity of her rambling to Hisashi was never so evident. "Statistics show that 20% of the world-wide population are Quirkless, but those with healing quirks? Only around 4% in Japan and China, even less in other countries. Japan alone needs more doctors and nurses than that. It wouldn't make sense for only those with healing quirks to go into medicine. I may not have a quirk, but neither would the majority of those applying to medicine have a useful quirk for healing; or if they're creative they'll be quirks that would only help sometimes..."
"Whoa whoa, kid, you thought a lot about this," underneath the shocked confusion at his young patient's barrage of thoughts, the doctor no longer looking at Uguisu in pity; he seemed to be more and more intrigued as Uguisu's monologue went on.
"Er...right," Uguisu blushed, forcibly reigning in her runaway train of thought, "point is, I may not have a quirk, but I certainly have a brain. Medicine is something I can learn, so I can use what I learn to make people better."
"I...can't fault your logic," the doctor finally replied. He hesitated, but eventually continued, tone complex but thoughtful. Inko thought she'd even detected respect in his voice. "And it's clear that you've got drive and intelligence beyond your years. I admit, it's not easy diagnosing someone as Quirkless, due to our society's obsessions with quirks. It's...hard, seeing a kid's dreams come crashing down like that. It always felt like I was giving a death sentence.
"But you've reminded me that a quirk does not a person make," the doctor motioned to his hair, which due to his quirk changed with his mood. What had been a tired grey when the doctor pronounced Uguisu's diagnosis was now a blue-green. "This certainly never help me any through medical school, except to let my then-girlfriend know when to drag me out of my books to prevent burn-out. So thank you, Midoriya-chan. I think you will be a great doctor. Don't let anyone tell you different."
Both Midoriyas stood up as one, bowing with matching tears of gratitude in their eyes.
"Thank you, Masuyoshi-sensei!" Inko managed emotionally, as the doctor handed her a referral letter for the quirk counsellor at Uguisu's primary school. All children, quirks or no, were required to receive at least one quirk counselling session by the time they were 6 years old. Uguisu echoed her mother's thanks as she followed her mother out the door of the examination room, but turned back at the doorway.
"You know, grown-ups usually never admit they're wrong to kids," she said bluntly. "I was supposed to see Tsubasa-sensei last year before we had to reschedule this appointment; he certainly never would've admitted it. I'm glad we saw you today instead. I think you're as brave as any of the pro heroes I've ever seen on TV. Thank you for believing in me." The doctor's hair flashed a myriad of colours before settling on a joyful All-Might yellow, making the girl giggle as she straightened from another thankful bow.
"Midoriya-san, you and your husband must be very proud of your daughter. Keep me updated regarding your progress, Midoriya-chan," Masuyoshi-sensei smiled in farewell.
Even as she gushed about the whole encounter in a long email to Hisashi later that night, Inko marveled once again at her daughter's gift for touching hearts and changing minds. What would have been a tragic day for any other family had turned 180 due to her daughter's wise words. Uguisu may have only inherited Hisashi's mumbling, Inko's tendency to cry at the drop of a hat, and neither of their quirks, but she had wisdom, heart and strength of character all her own. Masuyoshi-sensei was right – Inko was so proud of her Isu-chan.
Despite her Quirklessness, neither her neighbours, teachers, nor schoolmates would ever deny that 6-year-old Midoriya Uguisu had intelligence, conviction and innate self-confidence in spades. Her neighbours might have pitied her; her teachers might've turned a blind eye to her accomplishments; her schoolmates would try to pick on the quirkless kid; but somehow most of them came away feeling stupider from every attempt. But even the strongest foundation can be worn down, over time. Self-esteem was fragile at any age, and systematic prejudice against Quirkless people a greater threat than even Inko's mother-bear tendencies could combat.
So when Isu-chan started coming home from school looking more and more conflicted each day, Inko stressed over how to protect her daughter. When asked, Isu-chan handwaved the bullying attempts and her teachers' pitying condescension alike, but Inko knew with a mother's intuition that something was bothering her daughter just the same. The more Isu-chan started shutting herself in after school, and obsessing over hero fights online instead of enjoying the mild fall weather, the more Inko pushed aside worry and started getting angry. She was to the point of throwing down with the administration of Orudera Elementary when Isu-chan approached her with a strange, alarming request.
"Kaa-chan, how do you make an appointment with the police?"