Chapter Text
People frequently preach equality. It is an honorable thing to strive for, and many would say that everyone is already born equal.
But that's absolute bullshit. Men are not created equal; they never were and never will be. The existence and treatment of one Midoriya Izumi is a testament to that statement.
The sun shone brightly, illuminating the building of Aldera Junior High and painting little rainbows on the surface of a lone koi pond situated beneath a window of one of the classrooms.
There, in the corner of said room, sat a girl. She watched her classmates and teacher leaning on her elbows, cheek pressed into her fist, eyes glazed over with boredom. Her name was Midoriya Izumi or, as she wanted her friends (it's such a shame she doesn't have any) to call her - Izu.
Whatever god might be up there, she mused, pushing away loose strands of green hair falling into her eyes with the other hand, let this torture end quickly.
It was not her fault she had already read through the yearly curriculum and reviewed it twice. Going at the speed of the rest of her classmates left her bored to death. Izumi would have happily asked for a few additional extracurricular topics to research, just like Bakugou did, to combat the boredom, but she knew well enough to never, ever ask anything of the staff at her junior high. At best, it would end with being laughed at and reprimanded for disturbing the lesson and, at worst, with week-long detention and a beating after school, courtesy of her dear, dear classmates.
Izumi contemplated pulling out her Hero Analysis Notebook Vol.13 and finishing the rough sketch of Gang Orca's special attack she had prepared and maybe polishing off the drawing of his costume but decided otherwise. Better be safe than sorry; she didn't want a repeat of what happened to Hero Analysis Notebook Vol.8. She might not have been as good at drawing back then as she was now, but she liked that illustration of Hound Dog. His hero costume took her ages to get right; after getting covered in scorch marks, it was completely unsalvagable. No one had any qualms about using their quirks when it came to her possessions…
A great roar interrupted her train of thought. She whipped her head around, wanting to see what happened, but seeing her classmates cheering and showing off their quirks, seemingly very excited about something the teacher said and she did not pay attention to, she got back to staring blankly at the wall. What? It would have been a rather nice wall if not for the crass doodles and names of graduated students scribbled on it. There was also a half-finished sketch of Eraserhead among them. She never got the chance to finish it after being spotted and scolded by the teacher for destroying school property. A shame; it was the only decent drawing on the boring, smooth beige surface of the wall.
"From what I see, Midoriya is trying for U.A. too." Having her name spoken out loud drew Izumi’s attention immediately. Hearing the name of the alma mater of some of the greatest heroes in Japan helped with that as well. What the teacher said was true; she was planning to attempt the entrance exam to U.A., but it didn’t have to be announced to the entire class full of students who hated her guts.
When the unashamed giggles and laughter rang out all around her, Izumi realized the teacher said it on purpose. It wasn’t much of a secret that the teachers didn’t like her too much either. Not that she cared about them; they could go to hell for all that she cared, but their treatment of her sometimes put her plans to attend U.A. in jeopardy. She needed a perfect record to even be able to try for the entrance exam, which forced her to endure all the bullying and contempt in silence without putting up a fight. All for the sake of her dream…
Little did Izumi know that not everyone was laughing…
Sitting slumped in his chair, scowl adorning his face and feet propped on the desk, the boy stood up abruptly, knocking down his seat in the process.
He whipped his head around, angry crimson eyes staring straight into Izumi's wide viridian ones. If looks could kill, Bakugou would probably have had a pretty solid body count at age four.
She didn’t even have time to react before Bakugou was standing in front of her desk, slamming his open palms on the smooth wooden surface (already marred with countless other scorch marks, not that the teachers cared about this type of property damage). Izumi could see a few stray sparks dancing around his fingers, tempted to let loose a loud explosion full of light and heat right in her face.
Izumi knew perfectly well that Bakugou wouldn’t try to use his quirk on her. She’d get a punch to the face or maybe a kick or two if it came to blows. Nobody she knew used their quirks on her. It wasn’t that they feared the consequences; the teachers would be on their side anyway. Izumi preferred it this way though. Thanks to the fact that everyone was too scared to hurt her with their quirks, Izumi didn’t have to deal with anything worse than bruises and hairline fractures on a bad day. She was especially happy she didn’t get frequent burns because those were a literal pain to deal with.
“Come on, Deku! Forget their weak-ass quirks; you are a little villain in the making.” Bakugou leaned closer to Izumi’s face, staring her straight in the eye. She maintained eye contact, not wanting to show weakness in a class filled with sharks in human skin, even though her heart was hammering in her chest like it wanted to jump out. Izumi also didn’t want to provoke Bakugou since he could interpret her looking away as being ignored and her thinking she is better than him. “I know you’re a filthy thief, but I won’t let you steal my chance to be the only person from this shitty backwater school to attend U.A. Remember your place, villain.”
Izumi remained silent and impassive, not deigning his tirade with a response. She had a sarcastic retort at the tip of her tongue, ready to spit venom at her childhood friend turned tormentor, but held herself back. Bakugou and his lackeys were gonna try to catch her after school and gift her a few new bruises to teach her a lesson anyway. She didn’t want to make it any worse for herself. She was no masochist.
~~~~~
Everyone was packing after a finished day of school. Izumi could hear her classmates chattering in the background, planning to go to karaoke together or hang out at the mall. She stopped fantasizing about one of them inviting her to tag along a long time ago. Who in their right mind would want to hang out with a future villain able to steal their quirk? Or, rather, permanently copy it, which for them was as bad as having stolen it.
“We’re not done here, Deku. You-” Izumi hoped she’d be able to pack quickly enough to get out before Bakugou cornered her. Unfortunately, the universe was not on her side, and neither was luck, just like always. “I thought that you were smarter than that, Kacchan. Lessons have ended for today, and you’d know that if you learned to read a clock in preschool.” Izumi cut him off and started hastily stuffing notebooks into her big yellow backpack, feeling an incoming explosive outburst from the blonde. Damn my lack of filter. She thought.
She was about to swing her bag onto her shoulder and make a run for it, but Bakugou got over the shock of someone talking back to him and predicted that she might try to get away. He knocked her things out of her hand and ordered his lackeys to hold her down. Izumi, no matter how much she wanted to bite the asshole who was able to extend his fingers, could not fight back. Even if she was the victim in this situation, she’d be the one to get blamed, and she needed a clean record to get into U.A.
“Keep your mouth shut, villain! Let’s see what you have stashed in that fucking bag of yours…” Bakugou said, rifling through her belongings, while Izumi could only watch with growing trepidation. Finally, the explosive boy pulled his hand out of her backpack, holding her Hero Analysis Notebook Vol.13.
Izumi’s breath hitched slightly; those notes were her most prized possession, something she was really proud of. She would hardly care if Bakugou destroyed anything else he found in her bag, but that notebook… She couldn’t let him destroy it!
“This is more pathetic than I thought. You really are nothing but a future villain, making creepy notes about heroes. Probably writing schemes on how to steal their quirks for yourself.” Bakugou sneered as he flipped through her notebook. He looked up at her. “Don’t even try to get into U.A., Deku. That’s the place where I belong, a stepping stone on my way to being the Number One Hero. Worthless villainous trash like you should rot in jail, or even better, six feet under.”
Izumi only half listened to Bakugou’s little monologue, instead focusing on the peculiar feeling of something like a thick rope being attached to her sternum, eyes trained on the notebook, fully focused.
Izumi knew that analysis skills alone would not help her become a hero, and she couldn’t do any physical training because of her mother’s overprotective nature, so the only thing left was strengthening her quirk. That wasn’t easy either, since to copy a quirk she had to have it used on her, and no one wanted theirs stolen.
Although, there was one ace hidden up her sleeve…
~~~~~~
The quiet sound of little bare feet trying to tip-toe quietly could be heard in the silent apartment if anyone strained their ears. There were no creaking floorboards to be stepped on; the little girl knew them all by heart. It was important for an underground hero to do reconnaissance before a stealth mission after all.
Today's objective was to get access to a jar full of delicious cookies without alerting their guardian, her mother.
It was a risky mission, but Izumi was fully prepared to face the consequences; the prize was too good to pass up. Surely, she was stealthy enough to get the sweet treat hidden in the cabinet hanging above the sink without waking up her mommy.
Izumi quietly picked up one of the kitchen stools a few inches above the floor; her 6-year-old body was too short to hold it much higher and it would be easier to put it down silently where she wanted. She also prepared it beforehand; when mommy wasn't looking she glued pieces of soft material under the stool's legs to make putting back down on the floor as quiet as possible.
Izumi's plan was going off without a hitch; all that was left was to climb on the stool and snatch the jar of cookies from the cabinet.
The little girl put one foot on the stool and then, helping herself with her hands on the counter hoisted herself up. Then she stepped a little higher, onto the counter itself. The cabinet was right in front of her face.
Izumi opened its door quietly while ducking her head slightly so as not to get hit by them. Her little hand reached for the jar, feeling the cold glass against her fingers … And then the lights turned on.
"Izumi? What are you doing?!" Her mommy's voice startled her so much that she lost balance and started falling backward, the cookie jar slipping out of her hand.
Izumi closed her eyes tightly, ready for the inevitable contact with the kitchen floor and the pain that would follow, but instead, she felt her body moving through the air in a straight line. Towards her mother.
While pulled to her mommy's body, Izumi heard the crash of breaking glass and of a stool hitting the floor, toppled over by the falling jar. She felt tears flooding her eyes. Her mission failed and she didn't even get to eat one cookie. To top it off, her mommy would be disappointed and angry…
Sniffing, Izumi turned her head slightly to take in the damage done; the stool was lying on the floor amongst shards of the broken jar and cookies, some crumbled and some whole.
After the unsuccessful end of her venture and already feeling the palpable displeasure radiating from her mommy, Izumi wanted to at least taste one of those sweet cookies. She stuck out her hand in their direction and felt the most peculiar sensation originating from her sternum; like a thin string was tied between it and one of the sweets and she could tug at it.
So she did exactly that. One of the cookies flew rather slowly right into her outstretched hand.
Her mommy didn't even remember to punish her for what Izumi did; she was too excited at the prospect of her daughter having inherited her quirk. The woman was slowly losing faith that Izumi was just a late bloomer and would have a quirk at all.
It wasn't until a few days later that they both learned the true nature of Izumi's abilities when one of the neighbors temporarily changed the girl's hair color and she did the same thing to her mother that same day.
~~~~~~
When Bakugou was still busy talking, Izumi drove her elbow into Fingers’ stomach and reached out with Object Attraction. The notebook dutifully flew out of Bakugou’s hand and landed in hers. Taking advantage of her tormentors’ surprise, Izumi grabbed her bag from where it lay at Bakugou’s feet and dashed out of the classroom, her red sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor of the hallway.
She expected the sounds of being chased. Rapid steps of three boys on the smooth floor, yelling, and maybe the sound of explosions. But there was nothing. Maybe her fighting back instead of folding like a wet tissue surprised them enough to kill them. Probably not. What a shame.Izumi thought.
Izumi reached the exit without additional trouble. Thankfully, all the teachers had either already left the school or were holed up in the staff room. Izumi didn't need to be reprimanded for running in the hallways on top of everything. She pushed the double doors open with her hip; she had her bag clutched in one hand and her notes in the other. After the whole notebook fiasco, Izumi was too tired to deal with her mother and the woman’s overprotectiveness. Being humiliated in front of her entire class and almost losing her analysis was enough for one day; she didn’t fancy being smothered and chastised by Inko.
She decided to let herself take some me time and, instead of walking back to her apartment, Izumi took a train into the center of Musutafu. She found a seat near the door and dug for her phone in the bag. After a moment, she pulled out a blocky smartphone with a cracked screen. Izumi found it at a thrift store and bought it for a fair price after a little bit of haggling. Most people wouldn’t appreciate an old, brick-looking device like this one, but for Izumi, it might as well have been a gold bar. Inko would have preferred she had a flip phone or no phone at all. To protect her, she’d claim. Izumi saw it as a means to control her, but what did a little girl like her know…
To pass the time, Izumi scrolled through a few news articles concerning Mt. Lady’s debut this morning. The media mainly praised her for defeating the rampaging villain, and only a few stations mentioned her snatching the win from under Kamui Woods’ nose or the property damage she caused.
Izumi frowned; it was rather easy to realize that Mt. Lady was not suited to working in heavily urban environments like Musutafu. Her quirk, no matter how strong, caused more damage than it helped really. The number of buildings and people probably impaired her performance a lot when it came to catching villains and helping out civilians. It was rather obvious why she chose a place that handicapped her though; the exposure to media and the popularity that came with it.
Izumi hated when some "heroes" cared more about their placing in popularity charts than doing their actual jobs. She understood the need for limelight heroes to be seen on the streets, fighting; it gave people hope and the feeling of being protected. The thing was, it shouldn't come at the expense of the innocents they were meant to shield. Villains did enough damage themselves. Nobody in higher places cared though it seemed; they applauded what Mt. Lady and many others like her did. But that was the thing with modern society; people rarely saw the flaws in their heroes.
After a ten-minute ride, Izumi got off the train and started walking the familiar route to her favorite cat café. When things became too much to deal with, the little homely establishment became Izumi’s asylum, a place to wind down and relax surrounded by fluffy cats and the wonderful smell of coffee.
It was still too early for it to be busy, so Izumi wasn’t surprised when she entered a mostly empty café, save the staff, a few cats, and a man sitting in one of the booths near the back. He was a regular. He was always there, a steady constant every time Izumi came. She never got a good look at his face though, because his long, scraggly black hair blocked her from seeing it. She remembered the first time she saw him; he was sleeping, his head on his arms, hair obscuring his facial features and a cat dozing off on his bent back.
Izumi ignored the urge to stare at him and sat at the booth next to the shop window so she could have a good view of the street. She put her backpack under the table and pulled her sketchbook out of it. Usually, Izumi would write in her Hero Analysis notebooks and then draw the described hero, but she just wanted to relax, and mindless doodling was the best cure for stress in her opinion.
Before she could even put pencil to paper, she felt two sets of tiny, razor-sharp claws digging into her shin through her stockings.
She looked down and found herself staring into the large golden orbs of a fluffy black kitten, which was digging its needle-like claws into her lower leg. She picked the ball of fluff up and placed it in her lap right before the owner, an elderly lady named Kohitaka, approached her with a notepad in hand.
“What can I get for you, darling?” She asked, staring kindly at Izumi above her round wire glasses.
“I’ll get a cafe latte and a muffin, please,” Izumi responded. Mrs. Kohitaka wrote the order down and walked away, presumably to prepare it, petting a few of the cats on her way.
Five minutes later, with a cup of hot coffee, a purring cat in her lap, and a pencil in hand, Izumi sat, happy and relaxed. Her earlier troubles were pushed into the recesses of her mind, hidden beneath the warm, blanket-like feeling of a leisurely doodling session. What could possibly ruin this day now?
And then the explosions started.