Chapter Text
“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’” - Mary Anne Radmacher
If you, or anyone you are close with are dealing with harmful and/or suicidal thoughts, never be afraid to reach out to someone for help. Seek the support you need and stay safe, you are loved.
2 YEARS AGO
Musutafu, Aldera Middle School
“You know, if you really wanna be a hero that badly there actually might be another way,” said the gruff voice of Izuku’s childhood best friend. He continued, “Just pray that you’ll be born with a quirk in your next life, and take a swan dive off the roof of a building.”
With that, Katsuki Bakugou and his stupid minions cackled as they strutted out of the classroom, leaving behind nothing but the echo of their laughter—and the shattered pieces of Izuku’s heart.
His chest felt hollow, a gaping void where something vital had once been. His ears rang, muffling the world around him, while his normally racing mind—always buzzing with thoughts, questions, and dreams—fell into an unsettling, suffocating silence.
Izuku stood frozen in the middle of the empty classroom, silence pressing in around him like a weight he couldn’t shake. Kacchan’s words rippled in his mind, each syllable carving deep into his chest. Did he really mean that? Did he truly believe Izuku was worthless—so much so that the world would be better off without him?
The Kacchan Izuku had known as a child would never have said something like that. That boy—the one who once dreamed of being a hero, who burned brighter than anyone Izuku had ever known—felt like a distant memory, lost to time. Where did he go? What had happened to him?
The person standing in his place now was a stranger—one who spat cruel words and struck with both fists and detonations.
Izuku had always known that Kacchan wanted to be a hero, someone who saved people and made them feel safe—it’s all they ever talked about as kids. But the way he acted now, the venom in his words, the malice in his eyes—it didn’t reflect those aspirations at all. Not in the slightest.
Kacchan’s anger had always seared hot, but over the years, it had twisted into something far uglier.
This, however—this was a new low. And despite all the blasts, Izuku never expected Kacchan’s words to hurt more than his fists.
But they did.
And this time, Izuku wasn’t sure he could shake them off.
Finally, Izuku forced himself to move, his legs heavy as if weighed down by the reverberation of Kacchan’s recommendation.
He dragged himself out of the classroom, his steps sluggish as he trudged down the hallway and down the stairs, each movement taking more effort than it should.
Stepping outside, Izuku made his way around the back of the school, eyes scanning the ground. His chest tightened as he searched for his notebook—the one Kacchan had so carelessly tossed out the window as if it meant nothing at all.
Izuku found his notebook-turned-fish food sitting in a pond next to Aldera Middle School, a ways down from where it was thoughtlessly thrown away.
The notebook was marred with burn marks, its pages warped and waterlogged, but Izuku picked it up anyway, cradling it with careful hands. No matter how damaged it was, the countless thoughts and analysis he had poured into it still mattered. Izuku couldn’t just let it go to waste.
Flipping through the damp pages, he checked the state of his costume sketches and gear upgrade ideas for some of Japan’s top pro heroes. The ink had smudged in places, his frantically scribbled penmanship was blurred by water, but most of it remained legible—at least to him.
Izuku let out a weary sigh, his grip tightening around the practically ruined notebook. With nothing left to do, he turned and began the long walk home.
“That jerk,” Izuku muttered under his breath, voice barely above a whisper, each of his steps toward home deliberate and careful. “You can’t just tell people to kill themselves… what if I really jumped? What would he do then?”
A single tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. Gritting his teeth, Izuku hastily wiped it away with the sleeve of his uniform, as if erasing it could make the pain disappear. Don’t cry dammit.
The walk home felt endless, every step dragging heavier than the last. Izuku focused on keeping his breathing steady, on holding himself together. Because if he let the dam break now—if he let himself really feel it—then it would all become real. And he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
Izuku held tightly to these last fleeting moments of fragile peace, knowing that nothing would be the same again after what had just happened. He knew what he had to do, and the decision weighed heavily.
_______________
The moment Izuku stepped inside his house, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it in any longer. The front door clicked shut behind him, enclosing him in the familiar warmth of home, but it did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside his chest.
His fingers clutched the edges of his tattered notebook, knuckles white from how tightly he gripped it.
Inko was in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared dinner. The scent of katsudon filled the air, warm and comforting, but it only made the knot in Izuku’s throat tighten.
“Mom? I’m home,” Izuku called out, voice weaker than he intended.
The moment his mother turned around, smiling at him, that fragile thread of composure he’d been clinging to snapped.
“Izuku?” Inko’s smile faded the instant she took in his appearance—his soaked and burned notebook, the hunched set of his shoulders, the way his lower lip trembled despite his best efforts to keep it still. “Sweetheart, what happened?”
Izuku opened his mouth, but the words refused to come out. His breath hitched, his vision blurred, and suddenly he was falling—not physically, but emotionally unraveling.
The notebook slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a wet plop, but he didn’t care. His legs felt weak. His chest heaved, and the air in his lungs wasn’t enough.
And then, before he could stop himself, he broke.
Tears spilled down his cheeks in hot, stinging trails. A choked sob tore from his throat, one he couldn’t swallow back.
His shoulders trembled violently as he struggled to speak, to explain, but all that came out were broken fragments of thought. “K-Kacchan—he—he told me to—” Izuku sucked in a sharp breath between sobs, shaking his head. “He told me to kill myself, to jump off the roof of a building.”
Somewhere in between his heartbroken tears, Izuku let out a choked self-deprecating laugh at the irony of it all. Kacchan and him used to dream of being heroes together, coming up with ideas for the agency they would someday share. What a shock that this is what things had come to between them. And what a shock that Kacchan was no longer as heroic as Izuku viewed him throughout their lives, but the epitome of evil.
At his confession, silence filled the room. For a moment, the only sound was the ragged hitch of Izuku’s breathing. Then, just as suddenly, his mother was there—arms wrapping around him, pulling him into the kind of hug only a mother could give.
Her hands ran through his hair, her warmth enveloping him, but it didn’t stop the sobs from wracking his small, weak frame. He clutched onto her shirt desperately, fists trembling.
“He—he threw my notebook out the window, he burned it, and then he—” Izuku gasped, his throat raw. “He told me I should just jump. That I’d be better off d-dead.”
Inko stiffened. Her grip on Izuku tightened. For a moment, she didn’t say anything—just held him, letting him cry into her shoulder, her own body trembling with barely contained emotion.
Then, finally, her voice came—gentle but firm.
“We’re leaving,” she whispered.
Izuku tensed. “W-what?”
Even though Izuku knew the possibility of this happening when he made the decision to tell his mom what happened, he was stricken by her words.
Inko pulled back just enough to cup his tear-streaked face in her hands, her own green eyes wet with unshed tears.
“Izuku, we’re moving. We’re leaving this place, this school, this city—” Her voice cracked. “We’re getting away from those horrible people. You don’t deserve this, baby.”
Izuku’s breath hitched. The thought had never even crossed his mind. Leave? Leave Musutafu?
He should have been terrified by the idea. But instead, all he felt was relief. A sad, depressing kind of relief.
It may not seem like it, but Izuku was self-aware. He knew there was no chance he and Kacchan could ever get along again—that was just a childish dream of his. One he couldn’t bear to let go.
A fresh wave of tears welled in his eyes, but this time, they weren’t only from his despair. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe.
By getting away from Musutafu, Izuku was also getting away from Kacchan.
He could finally pry Kacchan’s hands that punched and burned and caused him to hurt away from his mind. He was free, free from all of it. Izuku would at last be out of Kacchan’s firm and burning grasp.
Izuku would get a clean slate. No childhood bullies, no cruel teachers, and no citizens who gave him judgemental looks as he did nothing but innocently walk down the street. All this shitty treatment over something he had no capability of changing. Honestly, it made Izuku angry.
Inko pressed a kiss to his forehead, smoothing back his messy hair. “I should’ve done this sooner,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “I should’ve taken you away from here the moment I realized how cruel that boy had become.”
Izuku swallowed hard, his throat aching. He knew that. Izuku knew Kacchan had crossed the line with his tormenting long ago, he was just too stubborn to give up on him so soon.
Although, Izuku knew now that he had to, in order to move forward with his life.
“We’ll go live overseas with your father,” she promised, hugging him tightly once more. “A new school. A new start. I’ll call him right away.”
A second chance. A place where he wouldn’t have to wake up every day dreading school, where he wouldn’t have to face Kacchan’s cruel words and fiery explosions.
As a rare occurrence, Izuku let himself believe in the possibility of something better.
And as his mother held him close, whispering reassurances, he allowed himself to hope.
For the first time ever, Izuku had a way out, and he saw a future for himself that wasn’t filled only with darkness.
_______________
PRESENT
I-Island
“Izuku!” His mother’s voice traveled to his room from the kitchen, ringing throughout the house. “Are you up? You need to leave for school!”
Izuku jolted awake, his heart hammering against his ribs as a surge of panic shot through him. He had only meant to close his eyes for five more minutes, but somehow, time had slipped through his fingers like sand. “Great. Just great,” Izuku muttered groggily under his breath.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Izuku scrambled out of bed, his movements rushed and frantic. He snatched up the outfit he had laid out the night before—a pair of loose black cargo shorts that skimmed his knees, a plain white t-shirt, and a dusty blue short-sleeved button-up, which he hastily shrugged on but left unbuttoned.
The fabric was cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth lingering from sleep, but Izuku hardly noticed. His mind was already racing ahead, dreading just how much time he had lost. This day was way too important for Izuku to make such careless mistakes.
As Izuku hurriedly bent down to pull on his white crew-length socks and signature red high-tops, a sharp twinge shot through his muscles, making him wince. A deep, lingering soreness clung to his body—a reminder of yesterday’s intense gym session. It ached, but there was something reassuring about the pain. It meant he was pushing himself, growing stronger with every step.
Grabbing his open notebook from his desk and his worn yellow backpack from where it rested beside the door, Izuku bolted out of his room. His walls, adorned with limited-edition All Might posters, blurred past him as he hurried downstairs in hopes of somehow still making it to school on time.
Izuku was nearing the end of his first year at I-Island Academy, the prestigious school that he attended as a support course student. So far, Izuku was really enjoying his time there–it felt nice to go to school without constantly having his guard up, doom looming in the corner of his mind.
Izuku didn’t let his mind wander any further than that, making a conscious effort to leave the past in the past. He had a future to look to and goals to achieve, there was no point in dwelling on things–and people– that held no significance now.
Speaking of goals, if Izuku didn’t get to school on time today, he was pretty much screwed. Like, so beyond screwed. All his hard work this year would go to waste if he didn’t make it in time for his presentation.
Students in the support course at I-Island Academy used the whole year to work towards their final project, which was a presentation of all the gear they had developed. They presented these ideas–whether they be costume ideas, or nifty gadgets to help out pros–in front of all the professors in the school. Sometimes, even special guests like pro heroes or support agency CEOs would be in attendance.
Izuku had so many awesome ideas he needed to share, and he was sure he would quite literally pass away if he missed this opportunity. It was everything, his whole future. Technically, it was only his first year, and therefore he had more presentation opportunities, but nobody cared about second or third years.
Everyone important scouted the first-year presentations, searching for students that showed the most raw talent. If Izuku wanted to be someone big, he needed those people to see him–to see his ideas. Missing this presentation was not an option.
In his rush out the door, Izuku swiftly snatched the piece of toast waiting for him on the counter and said his brisk farewells to his mother, not slowing his pace.
Izuku navigated the futuristic streets of I-Island with practiced ease, his black headphones blasting music into his ears in hopes of easing some of his anxiety.
Most days, this walk was a calming ritual for Izuku. He always made a point to leave early—not just to arrive at school on time, but to enjoy the peaceful ten-minute walk to his 7 o’clock bus.
Today, that ten-minute journey had to be cut in half, Izuku actually sprinting at some points to ensure he wouldn’t miss his bus. God, his body was screaming at him right now. His muscles were on fire, already overexerted and begging Izuku for a break. Just another minute he told them, and continued his frantic pace.
Just as he arrived at the station, the bus took off, leaving Izuku behind.
This was officially the worst day ever, and Izuku was royally fucked. As he watched the bus make its slow descent down the street, he considered running after it, in hopes of catching up and making the driver stop to open the doors for him.
Izuku stood there, chest heaving, as he stared at the bus shrinking in the distance. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else. Logically thinking, he knew there was no way he could reach the bus now, considering the speed it was traveling at.
This—this was actually happening.
For a moment, he just… watched–watched as his ticket to success drove off, having no clue who he was or how this jeopardized his future. His mind went blank, as if refusing to process what had just happened. His whole body burned from the exertion, and yet, despite how hard he had pushed himself to get here, it still hadn’t been enough.
No. No. Izuku wasn’t about to let all his hard work go to waste—not after everything he had been through to get here.
Izuku forced himself to straighten, inhaling sharply through his nose. Think .
The buses here ran on a tight schedule, meaning the next one wouldn’t arrive for another twenty minutes. By then, he would already be late.
Izuku considered his options. Could he call a cab? No, traffic this time of day would slow him down. A bike? No time to rent one. Running? His legs were already screaming at him—there was no way he’d make it across the city in time on foot.
Then, an idea struck him. The monorail.
It was faster than the buses, cutting straight through the city rather than winding along the streets. If he sprinted, he could make it to the nearest station in under five minutes. From there, it would only take eight minutes to get to school.
That was it. That was his best chance.
Without another thought, Izuku took off running.
The world around him blurred as he pushed himself forward, legs burning, lungs tightening. His backpack jostled wildly with each stride, his notebooks bouncing against his back, but he ignored the discomfort. He had to make it.
His mind whirred in tandem with his frantic steps. This school—this opportunity—it was everything to him. He wouldn’t let something as simple as a missed bus ruin everything.
Just as his lungs threatened to give out, the station came into view. The sleek, white structure stood tall against the skyline, its futuristic design gleaming in the morning sun.
Izuku pushed harder, his muscles screaming in protest as he dashed up the steps two at a time, ignoring the startled looks from passersby.
The monorail’s arrival was announced over the intercom, a smooth automated voice echoing through the station. Izuku barely had time to process the words before the doors whooshed open, the train welcoming passengers inside.
He threw himself through the doors just as they slid shut behind him.
For a moment, Izuku just stood there, hands on his knees, gasping for air. His pulse pounded in his skull, his entire body slick with sweat. He made it. His music was still playing through his headphones at an unhealthy volume.
As the train pulled away from the station, Izuku slumped into an open seat, pressing his forehead against the cool glass of the window. The city zipped past him, the towering skyscrapers and advanced technology a stark contrast to the simple streets of Musutafu.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, catching his breath.
The monorail sped forward, and with it, so did he.
_______________
By the time Izuku arrived at school, he was five minutes early. Bless the freaking monorail, who knew it was that much faster than the bus? Izuku was beyond grateful.
He practically collapsed into his seat in the support course lecture hall, his breath still uneven but his mind sharp. Around him, his classmates were buzzing with nervous energy, flipping through notes and fine-tuning last-minute details. The first presenter was set to start in ten minutes to give all guests coming to observe time to get situated in their seats. Izuku heard that this year there were even some “wonder” students coming to watch. Interesting.
That thought quickly passed though when a few familiar faces glanced his way, some offering encouraging nods. Others, like Mei Hatsume—one of the most eccentric students in the support course—were too busy obsessing over their own creations to notice his dramatic entrance.
“Izuku!”
The voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Melissa Shield, his closest friend, approached him with a concerned expression, clutching a tablet in one hand. Her blonde hair was pulled into a neat ponytail, her bright blue eyes scanning him in obvious concern. Her dad, David Shield, was a living legend among people in the support field of work.
Despite being friends for over a year now and having many encounters with Dave, Izuku still fought the urge to fanboy whenever he was in the literal genius’s presence. One time–to Melissa’s amusement, and Izuku’s mortification–Izuku got himself into a fifteen minute ramble about all of David’s inventions and why they were so amazing.
Tough to live that one down. Izuku mentally chided himself.
“Are you okay?” Melissa asked, lowering her voice. “You look like you just ran a marathon.”
Izuku let out a weak laugh, rubbing the back of his head, ruffling his already messy curls–he needed a haircut, didn’t he?
“I—I kind of did,” Izuku responded breathlessly.
Melissa frowned, about to press further, but their professor’s voice cut through the chatter.
“Alright, everyone! Settle down—it’s time to begin.”
A hush fell over the room. Izuku straightened, his heart thudding as the weight of the moment settled over him.
This was it. This was his chance.
His hands curled into fists, determination surging through him like electricity. No matter what, he would make them see. He wasn’t some worthless, quirkless kid from Musutafu.
He was Izuku Midoriya.
And he was about to prove that he belonged here.