Chapter Text
Dreary. A word he’d describe as bleak. Despairing. Everybody knew that once things were bleak, there was little to do, if anything at all. Void and null were also words he’d use to call dreary. Once things were dreary, they were dark and empty, tiring and pulling. Gray was dreary, drearier than black. Of course it was drearier than white, but white was the absence of color, so perhaps white was bleak, but not quite dreary. Why would he say that? Gray was the color he was surrounded by when he woke, when he trained, when he fell asleep. It weighed him down.
The Hero Commission wasn’t a kind agency. Not in the slightest. Its buildings were drab. Dreary . He lived inside one, of course he knew what the gray was, where it was all around him. The storm clouds always rolled in, and he watched them shake yet never burst. Silently stalking him wherever he went, never erupting. He didn’t know what to do, so he decided to bear the burden and shut down. He didn’t say a word. Madam didn’t like him anyways. Being silent was better for both of them.
He was sure, once he was done being useful, they’d either kill him off or throw him out on the streets to die. Surely then, a hero would save him. Just like the Commission saved him. The heroes would use him and then beat him when he disobeyed. Being saved was the worst possible thing a person could do for another person. Saving didn’t have a good connotation, and for good reason. Saving was bad. Heroes were horrible people, because the Commission made heroes.
Like Hawks.
Hawks acted like a pet to them, of course he had to be horrible. He had to be, because Madam enjoyed having someone as useful as him to keep in the top ranks. Izuku, however, wouldn't let the woman see usefulness beyond his Quirk. He’d do his studies, he’d stay quiet, but he wouldn’t show her a damn thing. His analysis could be useful. That was why he ripped it up each time he was finished. He wouldn’t help the officials even if his innards were threatened to be strewn like party banners around the halls.
…Maybe he wanted his innards out for everyone to see. The red inside was prettier than the green in his hair and eyes.
Staring at the door locked tightly at the front of his room, Izuku wondered how much force would be needed to kick it down. He wanted out of the facility, of course, but he didn’t know how to escape. Nor was he keen on the Commission killing his mother.
Izuku was a murderer, but even murderers could love their mothers.
His hand ached. It hadn’t been clean, of course it ached. The break splintered.
Sat comfortably on an uncomfortable chair, leaning into his hands and elbows leaned into his knees, his eyes began to unfocus. What did he see? He didn’t remember. Zoning out brought thoughts far too forgettable for a mind like his. If he wanted to think about something and recall it later, he had to write it down.
His hands shook. He furrowed his brows and looked down at them. The hands of a murderer, he reminded himself. Unforgivable, unforgettable, unsalvageable. Maybe a part of him could be saved, because he hated the blood on his hands that never met his fingertips, even when he killed and they fell right in his face. Their face had been frozen, and he was glad it killed quickly. Or was he? They had grabbed him. They wanted to rip him apart, examine his blood, and drug him. Should he be glad they died quickly? No, maybe not. They tried to take a kid. Even if he was that kid.
They deserved to die as much as I do, he elected to think, shutting down the leftover thoughts that swirled and pulsed with a resounding no .
The door clicked. It swung open, and a feminine figure stood in the doorway. Madam President.
What are you? the child in him wanted to ask. He could feel the kid staring up at her as she knelt and pressed a cuff onto his wrist, locked with a quiet beep. The kid blinked his wide eyes at the cuff, and looked back to the woman, hoping to see his mother.
And he only saw the monster in his closet.
You could have been beautiful.
“Izuku.”
What was his mother’s name? What was her last name that she handed him so graciously? Why was he just Izuku?
“The timetable has been moved forward.”
Ah. So he was to serve his purpose soon. The only reason he was even alive. He was going to be a hero. He was going to be a wild animal, tearing everything around him apart. He was going to be vile.
“You’ll be attending Yuuei,” Madam sighed, reaching into her blazer’s pocket and unfolding a pamphlet. Monster fingers clutched it tightly as she held it out. For him. From one monster to another.
“...The top hero school in Japan?” Izuku reiterated, to make sure the monster wasn’t mistaken. Wasn’t stupid. He stood from his seat, his pace slow as he approached the… woman. He held out his irreparable hand, and felt smooth waxy paper against his slanted fingers. Bringing into his vision, he found a colorful rectangle of information in his hands. Advertising a school for heroes and hero sidekicks.
“Yes. You’ll be going into the hero course,” she confirmed. He decided to look back up, meeting her icy gaze.
“Hero schools aren’t meant for ‘Quirkless’ people.”
“No, you’ll be registered with a minor intelligence-based Quirk.”
“Why am I attending a hero school?”
Madam wasn’t ruthless, despite everything. She didn’t lash out like his instructors when he asked questions. She at least took a moment to mull over his question and then give an answer, even if it turned out to be guarded. She stayed quiet sometimes, but she didn’t punish him cruelly.
Not like everybody else.
“All Might will work at Yuuei. All For One will likely target the hero courses for this reason, in order to defeat him. If you are in the hero course, you will have a better chance of getting to All For One.”
It was reasonable. It was, really. He understood, and while he didn’t want to be anything associated with the Commission, they knew getting him close to the action would get him a better chance of getting rid of the supervillain. Not exactly ingenious, but considering there were no public records on Izuku’s Quirk, deleted or not, they couldn’t be traced to him. They’d assume it was a late-blooming situation. Unless he was being given an entirely new identity?
“I won’t be Izuku while I’m there, will I?” he stared up at her. She was taller than him, yes, although he didn’t care much for that fact. What did height matter in the grand scheme of things?
“No. You’ll be Akatani Mikumo. You’ll also be changing your appearance. We’ll supply you with black hair dye and contacts for your eyes.”
He looked back to the pamphlet in his hands and flipped it open, taking in as much as he could while skimming the pages. Hero, support, general education, and management courses. All of it looked appealing, but that was the charm of a hero. They’d draw people in with bright promises of fame, and end up bringing the world to its knees. The world was different for every person, and for a mother, it was most likely her child or children. Some heroes took away a mother’s world. Madam did. His mother loved him more than anything, he was sure.
Everyone hurts , he thought, tired eyes pulling away from the pamphlet as he closed it.
“...We will do our best to make sure you aren’t expelled on the way,” Madam told him. “This could take up to the entirety of your time at Yuuei, and you may become a pro hero. If everything goes as planned… we can find a quiet way to send you back to your mother, so long as you continue to do work for us as a professional.”
Izuku stared up at her, lips parting, a conflicted expression on his face. “I thought I would no longer be of use to you. That you would kill me.”
There wasn’t a discernible look in her gaze, but she did thin her lips into a line. “Your mind is sharp.”
…That was it? Surely not. She must want his Quirk to deal with the criminals in Tartarus.
Monsters seek darkness in others, don’t they?
“Yuuei is less intense than your instructors. Keep this in mind.”
“Wouldn’t they be more intense?” Izuku couldn’t stop himself from asking, eyes wide. “To make everyone into good heroes?”
“They’re stricter on the upperclassmen since they’re closer to becoming heroes.”
That made sense. Still, why would they be less intense than his instructors? Wouldn’t it be better to break the first years down to build them back up and slowly reinforce them over the years? Weren’t they supposed to show students what it meant to be in a real fight? To beat them to pieces and watch them struggle to stand?
“If that is all you have to ask, I will leave you to learn more about Yuuei. You have a training session in less than an hour.”
Izuku could feel the kid grabbing onto his pant leg, silently pleading him not to go. It was training. Even if he was a kid, he was still going to be a monster. Future monsters deserved what they got.
He nodded to Madam, and she left without another word. Turning, he walked back to his chair. His eyes caught on the table next to his cot. If he behaved, he was going to get a vase on his nightstand. It would have flowers. He hoped they’d look like sunflowers. That was the only flower he knew, outside of dandelions. Dandelions were nice too. Although he thought that Madam wouldn’t like the mess they made, so he never asked for them.
He set the pamphlet aside, rubbing his face as he thought about–well–everything. He was going to a hero school. He was going to become corrupt and horrible. He was going to tear people apart and take away their worlds. How… dare he? He was going to make lives dreary and bleak. His hands would kill again, and he could do nothing about it.
“What do I do?” he heard himself whisper, but there wasn’t anything he could do. He… should follow through with this. To see his mother.
Unless she’s lying and using this as a way to comply… which is completely possible.
Izuku was never good at knowing when someone was lying. Which was why he got paranoid around people like his instructors. He swore that he would take everything the Yuuei staff said with a grain of salt and especially do so with the other students.
What if I don’t make it into the hero course?
No. Madam wouldn’t let that happen. She’d likely pull some strings to get him in, although he would automatically be on the bad side of every teacher there. Maybe even the principal, and although Madam said he was a sadistic being, he had to see in person for that. And yet, that also meant that Principal Nezu could lie to him too. It didn’t take much to deceive Izuku, something he found would be fatal if he didn’t get his shit together. So… he would just be paranoid and not trust anybody. That was better than putting his trust in everybody.
Staring at his feet, he wondered what he did wrong. Maybe he did nothing at all. Good people always had their shit hit the fan, right? His mom lost him, after all.
What if… she’s dead? his heart dropped, chest growing taut. What if she killed herself out of grief?
He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. His lip wobbled as he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The way the blood was so overwhelming and poured out of her wrists. How paramedics would rush to an empty vessel of a lovely, sensitive woman. They would find the lack of pulse, shake their heads, and escort a screaming blonde woman-
Wait. Who? His brows furrowed.
Who the hell? K-
What names started with a K? He didn’t know. He didn’t know Madam’s name, he didn’t know any of his instructors’ names. Where would he even start? The names in his textbooks were always pseudonyms. Where would he even begin?
Come on, you played with someone in your childhood, he thought to himself, taking deep breaths as the thoughts distracted him from the concern for his mother. And he began to bully you-
Oh. He was bullied by him.
That meant Izuku no longer mattered to whoever he was. It didn’t matter, then, finding out who that blond-haired boy was with a piercing gaze he can’t remember the color of.
Wouldn’t it be nice? It’s been ten years, don’t you want to see someone familiar? a piece of him whispered. He shut his eyes and leaned into his knees, pressing his forehead into his thumbs.
The Commission is familiar, try a different kind of reasoning, he told himself and stood, opening an almost-bare drawer and tossing the pamphlet inside, slamming it shut. He wanted to snap. He wanted to show someone– anyone –what he thought about all of that bullshit. But… he was complacent, wasn’t he? At least, he had to be.
Izuku shed the ‘sweater’ t-shirt that Madam had gotten him, putting on a more athletic shirt. It covered his elbows, which worked well when he didn’t want rashes from being dragged across the training mats. He slipped some tight-fitting pants on, a bit of padding by his knees. Even if they were training on mats, it helped to have a bit more absorption there. The time he’d dislocated his knee hadn’t been fun.
He faintly remembered lying on his back, seizing up with pain and trying to curl around his knee. Short breaths, and then a large hand grasping his hair and yanking him away from his knee. The same hands roughly grabbed the injury and set it back in place, not hesitating despite the sharp scream. And then he’d been roughhoused back to his feet where he took a kick to the stomach and ended up on the ground again.
There was still time to kill before his training session. He wasn’t in the mood to do any of the science notes, so he decided to sit down. He didn’t sleep much anyways, what did it matter? He didn’t want to be late to his session, but it wasn’t like he could leave his room and dictate what time he got there.
Stretching and grabbing a manual timer from off his table, he twisted it to twenty minutes and leaned against his cot. Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes and curled up, ready to see how long he could sleep through the twenty minutes.
***
Training got rough again. He sat on his cot, a nurse handing him some ice for his black eye as she pressed bandaids over his smaller cuts. A few blossoming bruises painted his arms, and he stared at the gradually darkening spots. He wondered if his trainer would ever get tired of seeing him get injured.
“I’m not a good fighter,” he remembered telling Madam as a boy.
She had looked him dead in the eye and replied, “You’ll have to be to survive.”
That was that. No further advice, so he took what he got and toughened up. Sometimes he couldn’t stop himself from getting a broken bone, but that didn’t excuse a single thing, did it? No. Not at all. In the end, it was still his fault.
The nurse left without another word. As far as anyone else knew, he was Quirkless slop, so they didn’t waste their time on him. Even with the Quirk suppressant, they still ignored him. The lack of talk of his Quirk didn’t help either.
Madam told him that his Quirk was bad and only she and him could know what it was, so he took it to heart. He didn’t tell a soul. Although his instructor was made aware of the fact that he was… cursed. Madam had thought she may as well tell him for more serious training. The light, small, but cutting cuff around his wrist certainly prevented him from any insubordination. He didn’t think he had the heart to kill them, no matter everything that had happened.
That being said, it didn’t help that Izuku was so much smaller and didn’t have as much experience fighting. Sometimes Quirked individuals were brought in to fight him, and he sometimes managed to win. Most of the people he fought were untrained in fighting styles like martial arts, simulating some heroes and villains that relied solely on their Quirks and nothing else. That didn’t help when one individual had a Quirk that caused pain the moment someone touched them and he wasn’t able to keep up with stamina enough to keep dodging the entire time. Nor did he know how to use any kind of long range weapon at that point.
He spent some time laid on his back, ice placed carefully over his eye, staring at the ceiling and wondering how long it would take for someone like him to get better. To be free. Reality was a harsh thing for him, and he knew that freedom likely wasn’t possible. Not for him. Not unless he painted his hands red again for Madam. At this point, he was willing to. Anything to see his mother again. Anything to bury his face in her darker green hair and feel his remaining innocence cradled in careful, loving arms.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He wouldn’t see her again. It wasn’t that easy. He wouldn’t be allowed to work for the Commission and see her. That wasn’t possible. Madam wanted him pliable. Wanted him to fold like wet paper to her shaping. Even though she wasn’t as harsh in her punishment of him, he knew she could make some heavy threats. She knew he didn’t care about himself. She knew he didn’t want to die, but cared much more if his mother died.
Even if they use my mother as a bargaining chip, they could be lying. She could be dead, and I’m doing this all for nothing.
He covered his eyes, trying to shut out the resounding gray. The falling in of walls in monotone-esque colors. He could feel his lips wavering and wobbling, but his eyes never came close to dripping with a fluid he knew too well and yet too little of. He sniffed and forced the pain back before the door clicked, creaking the slightest bit. He slowly sat up, placing his ice on the cot, greeted with Madam who held… a pot of flowers?
His eyes widened and he sat up without a second thought, stepping towards her before freezing in place. He glanced up at her face, met with the same steely eyes.
“Um…,” his voice rasped so cleared his throat, straightening his back and trying to sound professional. “What kind of flowers are those…?”
They were a vibrant indigo, with a gradient into a paler shade when reaching the tips of the petals. From the distance he was at, it looked like a mound of ruffled petals in a few huge flowers, although when Madam drew closer, he could see they were big groups of miniature blossoms.
“These are called hydrangeas.”
Izuku gaped at it–at how beautiful it was. He hesitantly reached for the pot, and Madam didn’t waste a second in handing it over.
“You expressed an interest in flowers,” she commented in a bland manner, not backing down, despite how awkward she must’ve felt. He only nodded, lifting the pot a bit more and pressing his cheek into the soft petals. His eyes fluttered shut, the unfamiliar feeling of tears threatening to leak down his face. Was this relief? Happiness? No, if those were present, his insides wouldn’t feel so empty.
“Th-thank you,” Izuku whispered, opening his eyes and staring back at the flower.
“We’ll… get you the supplies needed to care for it.”
“Won’t it require sunlight?”
“A lamp will work,” Madam waved her hand dismissively as she said this. He was a bit skeptical, but he decided to go with it, looking back at the bright color in his drab room. If this was what he’d get for behaving, he’d behave way more often and do the best he could. “You’ll have an immersive training session tomorrow focusing on weapon usage so that you’ll perform perfectly for the entrance exam.”
“That way you don’t have to work behind the scenes?” he asked, voice reserved as he looked up at her. He felt like a child, which was stupid. He wasn’t a child. Not anymore.
“Yes, we’d prefer to not have to manipulate any situations and put you under suspicion from the staff themselves. Although, it’s likely that the principal and a select few teachers will quickly figure out that you are associated with the HPSC.”
He nodded, beginning to space out, although he shook his head to snap himself out of it. “Thank you, um, again, for the… hy-drange-as,” he spoke slowly, making sure he got the name correct. He glanced back up at the woman. She felt more real right now, instead of like a monster. Maybe it was a facade, to hide the emptiness beneath it all. Maybe it was all to make him feel less like a monster in front of the monster that made him one.
Madam gave him a firm nod in return and promptly left without another word. He watched the door shut, hearing the telltale click of the lock.
Alone again.
…Less alone, actually. This was the first time he ever had a living thing to spend the night with. He couldn’t hold its hand necessarily, but he could always hug the pot! It was wide enough that he could imagine it was a kid. And kids could be sweet, so why not?
He sat back down on his cot, finding himself lost in the sea of petals that was this… hydrangea. The smell was different in comparison to the stale air of the building, and it brought relief to his senses. He only hoped he could take care of it well enough.
He doubted he’d be instructed on how to handle the flowers, but he could figure it out, right? It needed water, not enough that it would drown, however. Maybe he could start with four days a week with a generous amount? Yeah, he’d see how that would go. And if he cooperated, maybe he’d ask for a book on flowers in general! A big book too. He’d read it a bunch and flip through all of the flowers and maybe he’ll see if there are carnivorous ones! Those would be interesting to read about…
Setting his new flowers aside, he curled up on his cot and stared at nothing. He didn’t feel like eating. He was just tired and needed some time to recover from everything. That made sense, didn’t it? Needing a break?
Yawning widely, he snuggled into his tough pillow and gradually willed himself to sleep.
***
The new school year starts in a few months.
Shota couldn’t say he was looking forward to it. He wasn’t hopeful for whichever batch of hero hopefuls were approaching this year. With each passing school year, the students became less and less motivated to succeed. He already expelled his former class because they lacked the very thing Shota knew couldn’t be built reliably in a field like heroics.
Potential.
Potential was the one thing he had to see in a student before he could consider any of the other factors. He could give less of a shit about their Quirk if the kid was quite inept in everything else. Heroics, surprisingly enough, required professionals to have thoughts behind their eyes.
Something each one of those kids lacked, his thoughts pulsed, a growl of irritation lacing it. Even their personalities were drier than their lack of independent thought.
Perhaps Shota shouldn’t be insulting the foundation of the teenagers’ entire brain, but there was a layer of honesty he couldn’t help but present. The complaining sacks of shit– no, Shota, they are still children! –didn’t know how to do anything without being instructed every step of the way. It pissed him off to no end that their parents hadn’t raised an independent bone in their bodies. So what if he’d expelled half of them during the Quirk Assessment? It was the right move.
Even then, Vlad held onto even worse students, Shota cringed, tempted to expel a few of the kids before they could start their second year. Nezu would approve of their expulsion.
A ding on his phone. At this hour? Only one being was daring enough to do that on his night off.
“Speak of the devil and he shall answer,” he muttered dryly.
Checking his phone, he was met with mounds of new information on the Hero Public Safety Commission as well as theories from Nezu on a recent project of theirs. No, not recent… but with a soon-to-be enacting of a plan. The Yuuei entrance exam was referenced, if the presence of that very date had anything to say about it. Several of the HPSC’s plans had revolved around the hero school before.
“Sick bastards,” Shota ground out, glaring at the information now at his fingertips.
Nezu even said the project had likely been going on for around ten years, although the entirety of their references to earlier years were vague to the point that not even the damned rat could decipher what exactly they meant. For the Commission to spend so much time on one project and not even have enough to reference what it was? Something big was going on. Something Shota dreaded having to investigate.
The screen moved. His eyes darted back to the texts, a new one at the bottom.
‘I suspect due to the distinct lack of information, the very thing they’re working on doesn’t need complicated creation and upkeep. The last time information was withheld this strongly and in this manner was with the hero Hawks. Take that as you will.’
The dread Shota felt only grew. Hawks had been taken as a child by the Commission. He was made into their perfect hero and soldier. But that meant, for a project of that same nature…
Another kid being forced to play hero.
Hizashi was going to freak. If Shota was even allowed to relay that information to him. And someone as emotional and empathetic as the voice hero? No. The best thing he could do for the man was to stay quiet. Let him believe it would be another normal year with an unnaturally quiet kid with eyes too empty to speak of. That was likely what the kid was, anyways. Vacant and despairing.
But then… Kami, this will be difficult to keep from him.
Hizashi would likely try to talk with him about it. He would ask if he noticed anything wrong with the kid. He would tell if Shota tried to lie in a heartbeat.
And by extension, he would know that I’m keeping information from him. What a mess.
His thumbs danced over the screen, sending a message to Nezu. ‘ I’ll have to tell Hizashi.’
What he got in response?
‘Wise.’
Shota shook his head and slumped into a chair at his island. As he had many times before, he found himself cussing out the HPSC and their bullshit. They couldn’t keep their hands off of unsuspecting kids, could they? They just had to manipulate them into doing their dirty work, rather than letting them have a childhood.
Light footsteps found their way down the hall, making Shota shut his eyes, reluctance filling his heart. Hizashi could’ve gone a night without knowing, but he had to wake up and realize he wasn’t in bed, huh? Unless he-
No, he’ll pester me until he finds out what’s wrong. And he always knows when something is bothering me, he thought irritably, hating how correct his subconscious was. There’s no point in withholding information from him.
“Sho, what are you doing up right now?” a tired voice murmured, gentle arms wrapping around him from behind and lightly squeezing his chest. Shota leaned his head back to stare into captivating green eyes, blond hair brushing his cheeks as he did. How he wished he could ignore the way they softened with knowing, compassion filling the verdant pools. “What happened?”
A question he often dreaded. They both dreaded hearing it, but it was a necessary question to ask. Wording it any other way was dancing around the issue. Trying to make it feel less daunting. It never worked, it rather dragged out any semblance of normalcy, replacing the dying hope with a disheartening, disgruntled acknowledgement. And now it was a question he had to answer.
Sighing, he tore the words from his mouth. “The Commission has a new project. Do you remember how guarded and vague Hawks’s files were?”
Hizashi nodded, brows furrowing and understanding shining into his gaze. “Another file, just like his?” It was less of a question, more of a sodden mess of sympathy.
Shota’s mouth pressed into a thin, a bare nod given and nothing more.
“Nezu found it?”
“Yes. He abused his access to get into the mainframe. Again. No doubt the Commission doesn’t even know yet.”
“...Sounds like Nezu,” Hizashi sighed, pulling his hands away and sitting at his side. Any humor that would’ve been held in such a statement was void, replaced by an eerie sense of calm. Shota could tell that whoever the kid was, Hizashi was going to put his heart on the line for them. That calm turned to unease in the man’s heart, pushing him to grab the blond’s hand and squeeze.
“Don’t lose sight of your common sense when you help them, okay?” Shota whispered, his gaze wary as it settled on Hizashi’s unguarded eyes.
“I never have,” he squeezed back, meaning to reassure him.
The lie did anything but.