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Einstein's theory of special relativity states that time slows down or speeds up depending on how fast you move relative to something else. It mentions about how traveling via spaceship would cause a twin sibling in outer space to age much slower than his other twin down on earth would. As a theory, it dictates that time is relative to gravity and space and as such, these things are not as constant as every day life would suggest.
It would appear to be the perfect explanation how when there are, under life-threatening circumstances, some people who would say that everything happened all too fast that they didn’t see the incoming car, or the knife, or how they can get flipped into their asses during a sparring session. Some people would say that despite being in a car that can travel at 90mph, being stuck in traffic for thirty minutes feels like an hour or two for those used to such speeds.
This is why Izu learned to count the seconds by how he breathes, when he blinks, how fast he can move his fingers, how people shift in their stances, how the air changes, and how his mind speeds. When you find yourself running away from bullies, hiding inside bathroom stalls, and calculating distances and stoplights to know when a car can and will potentially hit you if you cross it a wrong time, you learn to tell how time moves by even the smallest of things that could clue you in. It doesn’t matter if time is relative. It doesn’t matter if space isn’t constant. What Einstein’s theory of relativity failed to state, or at least what he thinks it failed to state in the way his mind was able to understand, is that the theory of relativity is only relative to which you compare it with. Which means that there is a constant somewhere out there and that no matter what people state, it stays. So it doesn’t matter if someone ages far longer than another person does, or that time slows or stops for others. All that matters is that somewhere out there it is 3am and in another place, it’s 7pm. And even if time is relative, it is never relative enough to change the fact that it has been three hours, twenty-four minutes, and fifty-five seconds since his teachers pulled him in for an interrogation.
He hears the clicking of a clock somewhere, loud enough to know that it’s near but soft enough to know that it’s not in the same room that he’s in. Or maybe it is, and maybe it’s the wristwatch on the detective in front of him, but when his hearing is jarred by the shouting detective or the slamming of hands on the table, or how his wrists hurt from the cuffs that tie him to the chair he’s sitting on, Izu latches on to his own breathing, his whirring mind, the chaffed skin where the cuffs lie on his wrists, on the ever growing sweat that builds in his back despite the room being as cold as ice, and at his teacher’s tired and angry gaze. Izu has been subjected to so many things that at this point in time, he can even tell that the sun is near setting even when he can’t see the sky nor feel the warmth of the sun on him. He loathes to admit it but the first time he learned to count the time, to rely on the fact of constants, was when his classmates left him in the janitor’s closet only to be scolded by his teacher for skipping all classes after lunch and that they would call his mother on him.
Izu pays attention again when he hears a crashing in front of him and he finds himself tuning in to the detective that looked like he would flip Izu at any moment now.
The detective was saying something his mind can’t fully comprehend but still have the ability to magically get through his skull, only because it’s been the question he’s been hearing the last three hours, thirty-two minutes, and twelve seconds.
“Are you, or are you not, working with the League of Villains? Are you selling information of your school and of your classmates to the enemy? Are you the traitor?” And even if Izu says that he isn’t, he has nothing to prove it for. He’s in a hero school, THE national hero school, that has been attacked more times than their history could ever predict. More times than any of them could ever be prepared for. And Izu loves analyzing people. It happens when you need to know what to watch out for when you have to do anything in your power to make sure you can get home alive, especially when your classmates have the capacity to blow shit up and throw you ten feet off the ground. So Izu does it to protect himself, and to protect those he loves.
They found his notes and they decided that protecting himself was a selfish act, not even accepting the explanation that he offered when asked why he had an extensive list of his classmates weaknesses, strengths, schedules, habits, and hobbies.
They think it’s all a lie.
They think he’s a villain in disguise.
It doesn’t matter how many bones he’s broken or how many lives he’s saved.
It doesn’t matter it this is his desperate attempt to save those he wants to hold near and dear.
It doesn’t matter if he’s just a child who’d been bullied night and day for things he can’t control.
It’s not his fault he had to learn how to protect himself because no one else would.
But Izu still answers no and continues to count the minutes until he is let out six hours, seven minutes, and five seconds after.
They tell him that seeing his notes and accusing him was the only logical thing to do, that as a hero in the making, he must understand the risks and the challenges that each hero must face in his career. As a hero, he must know that anything and everything must be done to keep the public safe, even if it meant accusing children. It was a calculated risk, but boy Izu wanted to tell them how they were bad at math.
Still, Izu accepts it and leaves.
And with Einstein’s theory of relativity still fresh in his mind, he knows that there is one more thing that is constant.
No matter what he does, nothing will change the fact that Izuku will never be a hero that saves.