Work Text:
Izuku returns home after a particularly uneventful school day- well uneventful after discounting the little bullying stint with the seniors that went down during lunch time anyway.
He knocks on the door and waits to see if his mother is already home and would open the door. Inko's job timings are erratic and barely systematic. So when she's home or not is completely unpredictable.
After a minute or so, there's no indication of footsteps from the other side so Izuku pulls out a key from his backpack and unlocks the door. Shuffling inside, he drops his bag on the couch before directly going to the shower.
The dirt on his clothes and skin from being pushed onto the ground isn't something Izuku wants to have on himself any longer.
A hot shower leaves Izuku refreshed enough to make himself a small snack- something he doesn't usually do, because of lack of energy or motivation. So, today, against all odds, is one of the better days Izuku has seen.
He sits on the small dining table in comfortable shorts and a loose T-Shirt munching on some salad and orange juice he'd pulled out of the refrigerator on a whim.
He's halfway through his small meal when someone knocks on his door. Confused as to who would be there, he makes his way towards the entrance, looking through the peephole, he sees two unfamiliar people dressed in formal attire. A man holding a few files and a woman clutching a briefacse in her hand.
They look decent enough. Atleast not outright threatening or scary.
Izuku ponders whether they could be serial killers, the lady having a gun or a knife inside her briefcase which she would kill her with. Or the man would choke him the moment he opened the door.
He sighs. No use trying to come up with possible reasons for why these strangers are here.
He knows he is being reckless but he doesn't care. He opens the door, wholly unarmed and vulnerable but the two people make no move to attack him.
"Izuku Midoriya?" The man asks instead, in a civil tone.
"Oh, erm, yeah that's me," caught off-guard Izuku replies.
The woman smiles warmly at him, "Hello, we're from The Department of Civil Rights, specifically the representatives of the quirkless people."
Izuku's eyes widen.
Oh, they're here for me? My rights?
"I see, uh, what can I do for you?"
The man looks at the woman and extends his hand towards Izuku,
"We're Mr and Mrs Takahashi. If we could please be let in, then we could explain why we're here?" He says, gesturing towards the inside of the house.
Izuku immediately side-steps, a little embarrassed at not inviting them inside already, "Absolutely, come in uh.."
Mr. Takahashi goes inside and directly sits on the couch, completely at ease on the unfamiliar seat. His wife lingers near Izuku for a bit but follows suit soon after.
Izuku closes the door and awkwardly shifts on his feet, deciding whether he should offer them a drink or just go and sit on the other couch.
"Come sit," luckily for Izuku, the lady says, "we've a lot to discuss."
Izuku nods and sits on the bouncy couch, laying one hand on the side, the other fiddling with the fabric of his shorts.
"So....what's this about?" He asks and Mr. Takahashi passes him the files he's carrying.
"Go on, read." He tells Izuku and the greenhead immediately opens then up and and glances on what's written.
His eyebrows rise slightly, "These- oh my god- these are accounts of quirk discrimination and abuse against quirkless people."
Mrs. Takahashi nods, "Yes, we've been trying to collect similar data for years now, only this time, we've urged the citizens, most are older than you, to tell us their stories. These are still very less though, most of them shut us out. Already put down so much that they're afraid to speak up. The remaining who did agree only gave us vague snippets of their struggle, most involve around workplace mistreatment. Only a handful have been forthcoming and given us an in-depth retelling of their lives basically."
Izuku frowns and looks at the two, "So why are y'all doing this?"
The man sighs, "To fight for the quirkless people ofcourse, for people like the two of us-"
Ah, these two were quirkless too. Makes sense.
"-we've tried mostly everything. Awareness campaigns, solidarity showing events, wakes for the quirkless who were forced into committing suicide and then refused to be given a peaceful closure. We've appealed to schools and companies to be more accepting of us, we've petitioned to the government to cater to our needs instead of shaping the policies around quirked people only, entirely forgetting about the 20% of us who still exist."
Izuku chews his bottom lip, clutching the file hard.
Bullied.
Low wages.
Name-calling.
Blood.
Injuries.
Discrimination.
Mockery.
Pain.
His eyes scan such words that resonate with him deeply, having atleast one bad memory attached to each of them. His eyes water and he forces out another question, "So what now? Nothing really changed. What are y'all doing with these?"
The woman stands up and sits beside him now, rubbing his back gently, she knows how difficult it must be for Izuku. To relive those awful parts of his past if only through empathising with the stories on those papers.
"Kid, we've finally had a breakthrough. Some impact on people. But it's not enough. We need more help, your help."
Bewildered, Izuku asks, "My help? How come? Uh do y'all want me to share stuff with y'all too?"
Mrs. Takahashi tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and shakes her head, "No, we don't need you to tell us your story, rather, we need you show it."
Izuku tugs at his hair idly, "Show? What do you mean?"
Mr. Takahashi speaks up this time, "Izuku, have you heard of the TV show 'Rising against Oppression?' It's recently gained a lot of traction."
Izuku thinks for a bit, recalling about something similar, "Yeah, I think I have. But only in passing."
The woman smiles at him, "Great then, you know the basic concept already. We're the show's producers actually. So far, we've only been narrating these stories of quirkless people, only last month, a particularly heartbreaking narration earned us a lot of viewers. And now, now that we know people are willing to listen, we want to show them, put the struggles of the life of quirkless person on display. I know it's a violation of your privacy and it's too much to ask of you, but Izuku, this will change people, I can promise you that much. They need to open their eyes to how much pain we all go through just because we don't have something they do."
"And dear, you have it even worse. The current generation rarely has quirkless people and you're unfortunately, one of them. You probably suffer much more than we do."
Izuku let the tears fall.
He'd never received such acknowledgement of the atrocities committed against him.
Mr. Takahashi continues this time, "Please. Izuku, just let the world see one day of your life. That's it. I'm sure it'll finally cause the change we have always hoped for. Most disregard or downplay their prejudice against us when directly confronted, so this should give them the perspective of a quirkless person instead of their own privileged viewpoint."
Izuku inhales deeply, hands shaking with light but noticeable tremors. He knows his life isn't all sunshine and rainbows. No, his life is positively awful and he hides it all anyway. He doesn't want to let his mom know how he suffers, but this, this seems too important to be selfish about and let go of this opportunity just because he won't like upsetting his mom.
If they do manage to show his life, it'll be a form of long awaited representation, however sad it might be to project his pitiful life before an audience.
Mrs. Takahashi returns to her seat beside her husband and says softly, firmly,
"Izuku. If you do this, you'll be a hero, our hero, a hero for the quirkless."
Izuku stills.
He will be a hero.
They think he will be a hero.
And so with a watery smile and steely determination in his eyes, he accepts.
He accepts his role in this little movement that will shock the very core of this world.
But as Izuku signs the detailed but safe contract, he doesn't know how far reaching an effect his ordinary day's publicising will have on people.
(Oh and isn't such a bittersweet feeling that he realises. He realises that being pushed around and bullied and letting it happen will be how he'll be a hero for the quirkless. How baring himself naked and raw before people, vulnerable to the very core will strike a chord with them, will make them see the damage they're causing?)
The two grown ups leave him with two small devices, one is a camera and another a microphone. Both are concealed within cases and are actually very small. Izuku is instructed on how to wear them and hide them in plain sight.
There won't be cameramen following him around, this is a real-life documentary.
They tell him to record himself to school and back three days consecutively. They don't tell him which day will they actually telecast and he doesn't ask, they're all the same for him.
Mrs. Takahashi gives him a small yet affectionate hug before leaving, reminding him to speak to his mother. Without her final consent, this deal he made with them would be null and void since he's still a minor.
He waves them a goodbye, feeling both drained and motivated all at once.
~~~
When Inko Midoriya returns that night, tired and exhausted from her 10 hour shift at work, the last thing she expects is for her son, her lovely, amazing son to ask her for permission to do something unimaginable.
To show his life to the world.
He refuses to back down, stubbornly looking into her eyes, one hand keeping the official piece of paper in front of her.
"Please mom. I have to do this." He says, and the sheer certainty in his voice catches her unawares.
She'd forgotten how Izuku sounded like when he wasn't timid or tired.
And so she signs on the paper and hugs him so tight that she's sure she's broken his ribs.
This is her baby, her son, her life, her everything. And now he is going to be a hero too.
He'll show his pain- that he's hidden even from her- to anyone who is willing to watch.
She doesn't sleep that night. Instead, she sits beside Izuku's bed, fingers carding through his soft hair with a proud smile on her face.