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     Bzzt . Izuku Midoriya slammed his copy of Don Quixote shut and tossed it to his bedside pile. In a flurry, he pointed his flashlight under his bed covers; and with his hand, he fished for his phone. It’s got to be somewhere around here! I swear that I just used it not *too* long ago, he thought as his hands slithered around his mattress. He threw the covers off, but to no avail. God, I’ve waited all week for this, and now is the time the universe chooses to decide that I can’t find my damn phone!

     Bzzt . Izuku’s left ear tingled from the sensation, and an instinct within him caused Izuku to flip to his side -  revealing the device on the pillow next to him. Jesus, I am such an idiot! Turning off the flashlight, Izuku pulled the bedcover back over his body and reached for his phone.

Reminder: All Might Vid

     All Might had promised last month on public television that he would post a video, one that during its production proved to be very sentimental and thought-provoking, and one that would prove to be the start of what might be the most important project mankind has ever laid witness to. The video was promised to drop on his website this day - and Izuku, as the fan he was, had religiously rushed to mark this event on his phone’s calendar. And now that the clock moved past midnight - Izuku made sure that he would be the first to view it, or at least think of himself as such. He rushed to his desk’s seat, poked the on-button of his computer station, and turned on the monitor. The low hummm of the whirling fans permeated through his room as the familiar sight of his computer’s home screen appeared on the curved screen in front of him. Like a volley of lightning, his fingers raced to punch in his login credentials, and with a few flicks of the wrist with his mouse and a few more characters punched in - he found himself staring at the promised video at hand. Plugging in his headphones, he clicked the play button; and after waiting for a moment to load, the video began to play.

     A stage unfolded in front of him - a blue curtain stained with a red “Y” shape parted way for a man in a blue tuxedo. Grabbing the mic stand, he made eye contact with the camera and began his monologue.

     “Heroism. Why do we as a society begin to even bother with it? After all, we humans are a species of weaklings. Think about it. With no claws, no fangs, and no venom - our lack of strength, speed, and sense reduces us to meager meat sacks. Over the course of my life this idea, the idea that when we are faced with the rugged elements of nature, the idea that when stripped to our barren core; we are nothing but meat sacks, the idea that at any moment our fellow creatures, beings that we consider for some reason to be lesser, made me realize that we are a species cultivated by mercy. Look at these “lesser” creatures for example. We destroy their habitats, we breed them for their meat, we train them to carry our burdens - yet at our core, they could, at their whim, decide to maul us - and to absolutely no one’s surprise, they could do so with considerably no effort at their part. The horse we retired to the glue factory could have trampled us in fear. The rhinoceros we poached for its tusk could have in an instant sent us to our creator. But one aspect, one core essence of our species, redeems us from the horrors of our would-be demise - and that thing, that thing dear viewer, is our brain. Think of it like this: a massive sludge of densely packed, oxygen-hungry, pinkish-gray tissue grants all of humanity the power of intelligence. And from our intelligence humanity came up with tools, culture, and civilization. With our tools, we went on a barbaric campaign to drive these beasts of old to a fate of being forever under our boots or a fate of extinction. We know the tragedy of animals such as the Wooly Mammoth, and how we rewarded animals that became our cattle and our pets with the blessing of the factory farm and the breeding mill. Yet animals weren’t enough for us greedy humans. We built civilization to preserve our cultures and to better our livelihoods. And in ways it did - civilization granted us the ability to express our culture in art, and it granted us the ability to use our brains to enhance our health and reduce our work. But utopia wasn’t something we wanted - it was power. Men began to hoard resources and forced those who were late to the hoarding game to work under them, or face death from starvation and thirst. And the worst part is, mankind collectively agreed that these hoarders had a right to hoard, and let these sick-minded individuals control the world in which we held dominion over - all if it meant those in similar situations, but under a different, rival hoarder suffered. People began to bicker about who deserved the crumbs while their pockets were cleaned dry by those who issued the crumbs out. Pride, greed, envy, and sloth took over temperance, charity, kindness, and humility; and ever since people have been in a constant struggle with each other - we’ve started imitating crabs who pull their fellow mates back into the bucket they were trying to escape. It’s as if the prevailing attitude is that if I can’t escape, nobody should . But in the face of all of these horrors, I truly do think the most wicked thing to come out of our intelligence was that our brain granted us the ability to imagine.

     Sin isn’t tangible. You can’t bury your sword into the heart of sin, or throw a spear into sin’s shoulder. You can’t turn a town against sin or throw sin into jail. Our problems can’t be solved by the animalistic methods we’ve grown to use since our birth in the depths of the primordial soup. So we used our imaginations to make it so. We’ve come up with hideous villains that scheme and devise in their evil mountain-side castles; and monstrous beasts that toy with our notions of what an animal can be - all to create an enemy that our armies could rally behind, march to, and engage in combat with. Yet in our folly, we never realized that we were sending men to fight the very antagonists that raised and trained them, and thus these men fell to the might of the sword when they went to confront the sins of their people - and their names were forever lost to the sands of time.

     If man couldn’t face sin, then our imagination had to create somebody better, somebody more powerful than man. And so arose the hero. In the name of glory, honor, and the promotion of the common good; our heroes with their feats of cunningness, courageousness, and strength overcame the adversity of the most vicious beasts we could throw at them. That is to say, we came up with people raised not by the gold of evil like the rest of us pitiful mortals, but by the tenderness of virtue to fight the beasts that our imagination manifests from our deepest fears. And when the hero went to confront the villain, to confront the beast - the hero returned in victory; and with our sin slain and our stolen treasures returned, our memory took pity upon the hero and allowed us to not only remember their name but their stories.

     By the simple act of revering the hero, by telling the hero’s story, and by aspiring to be like the hero - we meat sacks gain hope, hope that one day we would no longer be crippled by our deepest, most grievous faults, and that our lives would perhaps improve and that our souls may be saved.

     This, dear viewer, is the ultimate and undying legacy of the hero. The person we create in order to aspire to, but alas can never truly be.”

     The man removed and handed his tuxedo jacket to an offscreen aide; revealing a similarly colored blue button-up shirt; with a red “Y” covering the depth of the shirt akin to the “Y on the curtain. The offscreen aide handed him a bottle of water, and after a moment spent sipping some of the water followed by a moment spent clearing his throat; he continued on:

     “Somewhere in the minuscule time we hairless meat sacks have been roaming this planet, whatever supernatural power that holds authority over this blue spec we call our home decided to turn our imaginations of the hero and the villain into a reality. And I curse and praise them for that. We’ve seen throughout the course of history a lineage of malicious villains and destructive beasts that have ravaged our peoples and our civilizations - a lineage that has resulted in the deaths of millions and the destruction of large swathes of our planet. But on the other hand, we’ve seen a lineage of heroes that have worked to make sure that this evil never culminated in our ultimate demise, and that this lineage came together to unite under one hero - an ultimate hero that could potentially be the one to bring the beginning to the end of mankind’s woes. And that person and his project is the person I have the honor to present to you, dear viewer, today. Please welcome the one and only legend himself All Might to the stage ladies and gentlemen!”

     The name All Might awoke Izuku from his spell of boredom. Finally, he thought as he rubbed the bags that were deepening under his eyes, this is what I’m here for. For God’s sake no more of that boring, empty talk; I want to see All Might! Straightening his back, Izuku’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped as he heard heavy footsteps approach the stage. A large, muscular man wearing a blue bodysuit turned to shake hands with the presenter before making his way to the mic stand. The suit, in a similar vein to the curtain and the presenter’s shirt, had a red “Y” shape symbol that covered his torso; with a white diamond on the cross point of the red shape. White lines sprouted from it, tracing his chest to his shoulder, with two patches of cloud-white lined with a red border covering both sides of his hip. The forearm sleeves on the suit were golden, and to match that he wore a golden belt with a strawberry-red buckle. The man’s short blond hair was swept back but wavy, with two long spikes with the shape of a grass blade sprouting forward from opposite facing diagonals. Bushy eyebrows cast a shadow over his signature ocean-blue eyes when he began to take a power pose, flexing his arms over his head and flashing a grin as wide as the sea. “Now this is good ol’ All Might!” Izuku spat out. Realizing that that statement had actually come out of his mouth, Izuku rushed to cover his mouth with his hands in a vain attempt to muffle the sound. What was that Deku?! I hope nobody heard that, mom would not be pleased in the slightest for me to be so wide awake at this hour. Nothing but her rambling and back-handed comments for a whole week! I really don’t want to deal with that right now. Why am I being so anxious about it I should just focus on the dang video. That’s why I’m up so late in the first place.

     “Hey guys! I am so thankful to all of my supporters and all the people who were able to make this happen for me. Without you guys, I truly don’t know where I would be today, and I’ll be the first to admit that my family and I are forever in your debt. As many of you guys know today is the day that I unveil the secret project I’ve been teasing for the past while. This has been a project that my forefathers have been working on for centuries and I am grateful to not only be a part of this ground-shaking process but to be able to continue this great, world-saving work.

     Centuries of scientific research conducted by the World Heroes Association (WHA) show that around 80% of the world’s population today has a characteristic we like to call a quirk . Now, before you start bombarding the comment section or start spamming our email; I’ll be glad to explain to all of you guys what I mean. Quirks are visible physical characteristics or instinctual talents that show an innate tendency for someone’s personality and behavior to be drawn towards either a vice or a virtue. Now before you go ask yourself whether or not you’re able to shoot lasers out of your eyes or breathe in space, Quirks manifest themselves in a variety of ways - in fact, nearly all people with quirks don’t have quote-on-quote superpowers. Our research shows that during the average person’s lifespan, there would be about one hundred people with quote-on-quote superpowers. What I guess I’m tryna point out is that you shouldn’t really get your hopes up about your days lifting trains and flying to avoid traffic.

     Now, why am I bringing this up? As I said, 80% of people have an innate tendency for their personality and behavior to be drawn towards either a vice or a virtue. When my forefathers first noted the possibility of this phenomenon centuries ago, the WHA was created not only to create a support organization for heroes around the world but to document and study this phenomenon. Not only did this mean that a good percentage of the population was inherently good; it also meant that a good percentage of the population was inherently evil. With our research complete, I felt that the WHA could no longer hide this information from the public. I could no longer let the people live in a sense of false safety, people should know whether or not the people they live with are inherently evil. We at the WHA also believe that those who are inherently good should have that goodness fostered and promoted - and that they should be directed towards manifesting their innate goodness for the benefit of all of mankind. In other words, I want to make these people heroes.

     Woah there, I know most of you guys are on the edge of your seats from hearing what I just said. ‘Me? A hero!’. Yes. You. ‘But you just said that we don’t have superpowers!’. Yes, I know I just said that you don’t have superpowers, but the main takeaway is that your innate virtue can be put to use in ways that many people think should be the norm. Imagine instead of corrupt, greedy politicians running governments; it was run by virtuous and understanding people. Instead of lazy, petty, envious people running bureaucracies you had hard-working, persevering, and content people running bureaucracies. The world needs to weed out the evil holding it back, and we at the WHA want to be the ones to help humanity usher in an age of virtue. Join us, and help start a revolution!”

    All Might put the mic back in the stand, and after a boasting bow towards the camera, he walked off stage before the video cut to black.

     Slowly removing his headphones, Izuku, still seated, began to back away from the computer screen. Meat Sacks? Quirks ? Inherit ? The words from the video paced about the edges of his mind. I’ve waited an entire month, I’ve watched countless hours of videos, podcasts, forum posts, hell even magazines for what this project could possibly have been; and here I am absolutely dumbfounded. Uggh I should’ve waited until the morning. School’s going to kill me tomorrow. God, I need a break. Setting his computer to sleep, Izuku dragged himself to the warmth of his bed and began the process of dozing off into the abyss of his dreams. But one sentence stuck out for Izuku. In other words, I want to make these people heroes… Yes. You. Could it be? Could he really become a hero - a title shared with mighty people like All Might? Perhaps he would finally find his purpose, a purpose as honorable and respected as heroism. I could be a hero! What did he say, 80%? That’s a good chance, feel bad for that 20% though. 20% of people without the ability to become heroes. That’s tough. It won’t be me though, I can feel it! You got this Deku, you’d make an amazing hero!

     Like almost everybody else who watched the video that day, Izuku Midoriya caught up in the idea that he too could be like the very people he had idolized his entire life, never made the connection that he could be a part of those All Might stated were inherently evil; that he could be the villains that heroes like All Might were sent to slay. That according to the people he looked up to, he could be the very monster they hated.

Chapter Text

     In complete defiance against the hellscape life on Earth finds itself in, it is said that life always finds a way. For Izuku, that meant operating throughout the school week on as little sleep his mind could get away with, and on as empty of a diet his body could operate on. The result: a ritual that occurred morning after morning: that is to say, a ritual that involved Izuku finding himself staring at his bloodshot eyes in the depths of his mirror, and taking note of how deep his eyebags carved into his face. Izuku never thought to consider how indifferent he became to the daily routine of washing his face with a splattering of cold faucet water and downing a trusty can of Wonda Morning Shot coffee before storming out of his apartment to another day of school. After all, it was his Morning Shot that got him through the entrance exam, and it would be the Morning Shot that would get him through his university admission exam.

     His mother didn’t agree with Izuku’s indifference at all.

     “Deku!!! Where do you think you’re marching off to young man! Have you looked at yourself in the mirror! Your eyes are red and these eye bags, my God , did you stay up again? I knew I heard something last night. Were you playing games with your friends again? How many times do I have to tell you that you should only be up past midnight if you had to study! And your haaaaair , Jesus Christ do you not use the shampoo or conditioner I bought for you? It’s dry, it’s messy, there are tufts of it sticking out - Deku if you want to grow your hair out you’re gonna need to take care of your hair. And there still are bits of green dye left in your hair! I shouldn’t have let you do that during the summer knowing how bad you take care of your hair! I can’t have my beautiful baby boy going out looking like a 2nd-rate off-brand clown! Come here let me do your hair for a bit.”

     Mommmmm! Not now! He knew his mom nagged him a lot due to him being her only child, and with his dad working abroad her maternal instincts only served to further push her to be even more protective of her son than she had ever been before. And so Izuku found himself on the receiving end of constant reminders of his past actions and his current inactions - its current manifestation appearing as his mom dragged him to the far side of the kitchen countertop, seating him on a stool while his mother attacked his scalp with a concoction of water, conditioner, and oil.

     “You know Deku, your dad was kind enough to send us this bottle of castor oil straight from the Caribbean! I had been complaining about the grievous state your hair has been in for the past couple of weeks and lo and behold your dad surprised me with this bottle along with the usual things he sends our way! Your father is a hardworking man Deku, you know that right? When your father got his assignment… it’s been hard, hasn’t it? Sometimes I wish that he could be around the house more, that the government assigned him a position here! A developing son needs the wisdom of his father or at least needs to know his father is willing to help him. How grueling it must be to work and live so far from your family… Deku, you used to be my little baby boy; now you’ve grown to be a strong, independent, man - Deku I want you to know that you carry your father’s name, the Midoriya name and that I truly believe that you’ll grow to accomplish great things in your life, just like your father.”

     Izuku’s mom opened the cupboard adjacent to her and brought out a bucket of hair care products, brushes, and combs. Putting away her bottles of Caribbean castor oil and tea-tree conditioner; she took a flat brush and began the process of styling Izuku’s now damp hair. Izuku’s eyes followed her motions throughout the process, thinking to himself, Mom! I don’t got all day I still have school! My hair will be fine!  

    “Alright Deku, just a little more tinkering and you can run off to school. Sheesh, kids these days just don’t let their mother talk to them anymore. Well at the end of the day I’m your mother and you’re going to have to put up with my blabbering in the meantime. I’m getting the job done anyways so is it really that much of a concern if I talk or not? Anyways what I’m trying to get at is that I know with a little bit of hard, but focused, work and a little bit of elbow grease; you can go places and live a more stable, joyous, and worry-free life than your mom and dad did when they were your age. We’re here for you Deku, whenever you need help with anything. Your mom was a bit of a mathematician herself when I was in my prime!”

     Great, so it turned out that I actually did do bad on that calculus exam. I knew that I shouldn’t’ve second-guessed myself so often.

     Putting the flat brush back in the bucket, Izuku’s mom finally gave her son the signal that he was free. In one swoop Izuku snatched his backpack and swished the last bits of Morning Shot left in the can before he tossed it, and moved to rush out the door.

–

     School did in fact, kill Izuku. Not only did he barely have enough time to finish his homeroom assignments, but he had also arrived at school that day having most of his energy zapped from the rush to get there on time. Izuku’s body resorted to panting, and his eyelids felt as if they were struggling against a pair of weights tied to them. Izuku spent his morning fighting against a force that pulled him to take a nap; fighting to reach nirvana from the state of samsara that was his drowsiness.

     Eyes shut. Head forced down. Jesus, I’m asleep again . Head snapped back up. Eyes re-opened. Focused. Words are blurring. Eyes shut. Head forced down. Not this again . Head snapped back up. Repeat, repeat, repeat; and repeat again. This was the cycle Izuku found himself in as he made a covenant to fight to stay awake (or at least in appearance) until lunchtime.

     “Class, for the past month we have been going through Mary Shelly’s phenomenal masterpiece, Frankenstein ; and before I continue with today’s lesson I want to say that you all have been one of my best if not the best class in the 20 years I’ve been teaching here at Murasaki Shikibu High School” Allowing his words to sink into the ears of his students, Mrs. Yoshimoto took a brief pause before adjusting her rectangular glasses to sit upright on her face before continuing with her lecture.

     “ Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus . When a student recalls their reading of the work there are two reactions I usually see come out from them. The first, and most common is one of bewilderment. The language is so archaic that Shelly’s attempts at throwing you in for a scare or for a think flew over your head - resulting in leaving you with a bitter taste in your mouth when you put the book down. I pity those who fall in the first category, they truly are missing out on one of the greats - and for the most part, all they need is a reread to experience the wonders of Shelly’s magnum opus. The second were those who remember the horror, the hideousness of the monster, the gruesome manner by which he gets rid of the people who Victor loved, the way the Creature, or the Monster, meets his end tightened their hearts, and played games with their imagination. It is this group that I am forever envious of, for they are able to extract enjoyment on repeated re-reads - and from this enjoyment, they reap nourishment from the contents Shelly is attempting to transmit. I’ve come to be able to tell, with near-perfect accuracy, which reader is which; and I just want to say that I can see in your faces that a lot of second-category readers are in my class this year. Wow. When I read this in university, I got to admit, I was a first-category reader.”

     Returning to the whiteboard, Mrs. Yoshimoto picked up a black expo marker and began to mark the board. Noticing the lack of ink flowing from the tip, she tossed the marker to the trash bin sitting under her desk before continuing with a different, red marker.  

QUIRKS

     “Quirks. From the way that half of you have been struggling to stay awake this entire period, I imagine that most of you are familiar with this term. All Might, representing the World Hero Association has announced a discovery that 80% of the population have an innate tendency to a specific attribute and that this innate tendency is physically shown or shown through a person’s talents. Could anyone summarize for me what All Might was trying to say?”

     The name All Might was all that was needed to fire up the lizard part of Izuku’s brain. As if he had downed another can of Morning Shot , Izuku’s back snapped back up to a position of straight posture and after a moment of hesitation, he shot his hand up to answer the question.

     “It seems that my ploy has worked and that some of you are starting to re-awake! I haven't heard from you in a while Izuku, would you care to explain what you thought All Might was trying to get at in the video he released today?”

    Forcing down saliva, Izuku smirked. Well, she’s right about that, it did get me to wake up. Especially after she gave the most snooze-inducing lecture about some random English novel I couldn’t care less about . After a slight nod from Mrs. Yoshimoto urging him to go on, Izuku spoke: “Well it seems like the WHA is saying that 80% of the population has innate tendencies that could be identified and directed for our benefit; in other words, the WHA might be looking at an influx of incoming member dues.”

     “Yes, Izuku; you would be right that All Might did mention a sort of recruitment of heroes - but what I’m looking for is how we can connect it to the text at hand. What do Quirks have to do with Victor and his monster? What do they have to do with our modern Prometheus? Any brave soul willing to take a shot at it?”

     Mrs. Yoshimoto scanned the room to find the brave soul, but it was in vain. After rounds of “Anybody want to answer?” and “There are no wrong answers guys it’s a discussion.” and “Remember! Class participation is part of your grade!” she gave up and went on to answer her own question.

     “The novel presents us with a question of nature vs nurture. Victor’s Creature was a wretched beast - a murderer. We are right to call the monster evil. But why was Victor’s creation evil? In the novel, the Creature was hideous - so hideous that Victor, repulsed by his own creation, abandoned him to a fate of living his developmental age alone in the wilderness. After a series of mishaps and misunderstandings, the Creature commits his first act of evil. And when he confronts his creator he mandates to him that living beings deserve the right to happiness - and gives him a fateful ultimatum - make him a mate or let his evil continue. Victor initially agrees, but then out of fear of creating a monster more evil than his original Creature, or starting a race of beings that bring evil among mankind - the question begs to ask: why was the Creature evil? Was it his experiences? Or was it innate, as in what Victor feared in his potential mate? In other words, did the Creature have a quirk towards that evil? And if so, would it have naturally brought him to where he found himself in the novel or was it accelerated by his experiences? Or perhaps he was quirkless, and by his own free will, he chose to do so.

Looking around the room again I think I can take the hint. In fact, as a treat, I’ll let you guys leave just a bit earlier than when the bell would ring. Now before I dismiss you to lunch, I want you to ask yourselves: what new implications do quirks bring to how we view ourselves and our peers. Got it?”

     Mrs. Yoshimoto glanced at the students in front of her in an attempt to check for understanding. After finally coming to grips with her class’s state of drowsiness and uninterestedness, she blew a quick stream of air out of her nose and wrapped up the class. 

     “Dismissed. Make sure to get 8 hours tonight, if you can’t - coffee’s always an option. Just stay away from that Morning Shot stuff.”

–

     Lunch. Lunch . L, u, n, c, h. Lunch. A light, midday meal that refills our energy tanks and renews our effort to continue through the day. To Izuku, the word - whether it rang in the acoustic halls of his mind or spoken from the movement of his tongue - meant liberty, it meant freedom, it meant a relieving breath of fresh air. But most of all it meant comfort - comfort sourced from the aroma that floated from the scent of grilled salmon, comfort sourced from the sensation a spoon full of white rice and pork curry brought in his mouth, comfort sourced from the refreshment his cool bottle of milk brought to his hands and tongue. Sitting in his homeroom, enjoying his meal, for a moment Izuku was able to feel the fullness of life

     To Izuku, lunch meant a subconscious stream of memories from his time at Murasaki Shikibu High School. His family had moved to Kyoto post entrance exams, and his time there was one marked with timidness. He was in a rush on his first day; and had forgotten to button his gakuran uniform completely - something the school headmaster was not too pleased to see. When the headmaster went to address the student body that day; he began with a comment on student rebelliousness, which earned Izuku a line of stares from the school faculty until he realized his error, which then resulted in laughs from his peers not only from the stiff manner by which he completed buttoning his uniform but by his seeming haste in following the demands of the headmaster. It hadn’t been 15 minutes and he had already shown to a completely new and unknown set of teachers that he was rebellious, and to a potential group of future friends and acquaintances that he was too cowardly to hold his own ground.

     Homeroom wasn’t too kind to Izuku either. On certain occasions Murasaki Shikibu had male students wear student caps in addition to their uniform, and the first day of school happened to be one of those days. Entering homeroom, Izuku immediately noticed his short stature in comparison to his male classmates - as if while everyone else continued to grow and mature, he was stuck with the lackluster form he got in junior high. Izuku checked the seating chart and found his name and a fellow student’s name crossed out in pencil, with their names swapping seats; landing Izuku in the chair right in front of his teacher.

     Izuku’s teacher had asked the class to rise, and when the student body went to follow his instruction; Izuku fumbled, bumping into the underside of his desk before fully getting up, dropping his cap in the process. It was his teacher that noted the lack of hattage on Izuku’s messy head. 

     “It seems I was right to place you there Mr. Midoriya. Remember son, respect is a major tenet we practice at Murasaki Shikibu High School. I hope you come to learn that.”

     If Izuku could remember only one thing from his first day at Murasaki Shikibu, it was the seeming instantaneousness that all his classmates took in twirling around to face him in order to witness him trip out of his seat in a vain attempt to retrieve his school cap. He tried to stay dignified after putting the cap on and apologizing to his teacher, but in a cruel twist as he got up, the trembling from his hands caused him to drop the cap again; resulting in Izuku once more earning the laughter of his classmates (including the smirk of his teacher) as he made an effort to regain his hat, and his composure, as quickly as possible.

     It took the entire school year to shake off his reputation among the school staff as a rebellious one. No such progress was made to shake off his reputation as a coward among his peers, and his habit of avoiding eye contact, and his tics of trembling his hands and bouncing his knees never served to help his cause. Although his teachers knew what to do to draw him out of his state of timidness and into ongoing class discussion, his peers only saw it as a barrier to their relationship with him.

     Yet in face of this, Izuku tried his hardest to keep a straight face - to bring a sense of positivity into an environment that seemed to want to push him out. This meant meeting hostility with politeness, failure with learnedness, and now as he sat in lunch it meant showing gratitude as he ate.

     Katsuki Bakugou was the one that began the conversation during that lunch period.

     “Y’all hear about what All Might said last night? About making folk like us heroes? About putting us in positions where we can make true change in the world?”

     A sea of murmurs and yeahs swallowed the homeroom whole. It seems like everyone is trying to get a bit of that hero action. I don’t blame them I guess, I’m participating in the same rabbit race as they are , Izuku thought as he gulped down a serving of milk. His classmates proceeded to discuss their quirks, making guesses as to who had what quirk, friends poking fun at friends in an attempt to weed out the worst possibilities for their own quirks.

     In the mayhem, Katsuki stopped chuckling, and with the nod of his head, he signaled the classroom towards Izuku’s direction.

     Suppressing a sneer, Katsuki laughed out: “OMG, y’all! What quirk do y’all think Izuku has?”

     A flurry of answers traveled into Izuku’s ears - none friendly. “A uselessness quirk”, “A cowardice quirk”, “An insecure quirk”, “A sloth quirk”, “A quitting quirk” - it was as if his classmates took Katsuki’s remark as a method to vent out their opinion on him.

     “Guys, guys. Y’all are being too nice. To be honest with y’all; I think he’s quirkless. Think about it. Izuku got a tendency towards what? He tried being a rebel grade 10 and look what that got him. Grade 11, he tried to be an athlete - the man ends up dropping out of judo club after he got whooped in his first sparring match. This year he tries being an intellectual - he couldn’t place on any of the academic teams he tried out for. Izuku, you seemed quite interested in this hero stuff during our class on world literature, what say do you have on heroism? You’re literally the guy the introducer talked about - the weak meat sack. Why Izuku? Why?”

     And to think we were friends back when we went to elementary school together in Osaka. I move to Tokyo and when we meet again he becomes my enemy. What gives?

     With a polite smile on his face, Izuku responded to him as an old friend, “Kacchan-”

     Izuku was caught off before he could even begin. Katsuki was like a shadow that enveloped him - the angel of death bolted to where Izuku sat before he could process what was evening happening and barked in a whispering tone into his ear, “ Don’t call me by that name ”

     Lunch came and went, and the school day followed. With no extracurriculars to go to, and no plans had or made; he went to his room, and crouching on his bed, he buried his face into his lap and began to weep.