Chapter Text
Midoriya Izuku was always good at pretending.
A simple lie here, a forced smile there—just enough to make people believe he was fine, that the whispers and bruises didn’t bother him. That he wasn’t drowning under the weight of every cruel word, every stomped-on dream.
But today, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pretend anymore.
The bullying was getting worse. His mother was starting to catch on that something was wrong. He hated how she worried. Hated how he had to smile and reassure her when he was barely holding himself together. He felt trapped—like there were only two ways out: keep quiet and disappear, or show them his reality and let them call him a villain.
And he didn’t want to be a villain.
He loved helping people too much. Not in a simple way—not just admiration for heroes or a desire for praise. It was instinctive. When he saw someone in trouble, his body moved before his mind could catch up. And yet, no one ever noticed. His kindness was ignored, his efforts ridiculed, his dreams stomped into the dirt.
Lost in thought, he didn’t even notice the looming shadow until—
BOOM.
A sharp, burning pain exploded through his shoulder, sending him stumbling forward. His ears rang from the blast, his skin stinging from the heat of the explosion.
Laughter followed.
“What are you staring at, you fucking loser?” Bakugo sneered, his hand still crackling with leftover sparks. “Bet you’re imagining the way you’ll be flying towards the ground after taking a swan dive. Hoping for a quirk in your next life.” He scoffed, tilting his head mockingly. “Take this as advice—just go and do it. The world would be better off without a useless, quirkless freak like you.”
The classroom filled with snickers. His lackeys stood beside him, grinning, entertained. The teacher at the front of the room hesitated, eyes darting toward the scene—but did nothing.
Izuku clenched his fists. His shoulder throbbed, but he refused to react.
Bakugo clicked his tongue. “Tch. Not even gonna cry about it?” He leaned in, setting off another explosion—this time on Izuku’s desk. The loud bang made Izuku flinch, his body reacting before he could stop it. Satisfaction flashed in Bakugo’s eyes before he turned away, losing interest.
The lesson continued.
But Izuku wasn’t listening.
He was thinking.
His fingers drummed absentmindedly against his desk, his mind spinning with possibilities. A plan was forming—a way to finally show Bakugo the weight of his words.
By the time class ended, he had made up his mind.
“I think Deku finally lost it,” one of the lackeys muttered, watching him with suspicion.
“Hey, fucker.” Bakugo grabbed his notebook, yanking it roughly from his hands. “You still think you’ll be a hero? That UA will actually accept a useless extra like you? Just look at yourself—always scribbling stupid shit in this ugly book.” He flipped through the pages, scoffing at Izuku’s notes. “Seriously, you’re a joke.”
Snap.
“Give it back.”
Izuku’s voice was sharp—too sharp. It wasn’t the usual nervous, trembling tone.
Bakugo raised a brow. “Oh? What, the quirkless freak finally grew a spine?”
Laughter erupted again.
But Izuku wasn’t shaking.
Instead, he smiled. A small, unsettling curve of his lips. The expression didn’t reach his eyes—they remained eerily blank.
“Alright.” His voice was calm, measured. “Follow me.”
Something about him was… off.
Bakugo hesitated. He didn’t know why, but something in his gut told him that something wasn’t right.
And yet, when Izuku turned and ran toward the rooftop, he followed.
The wind was sharp up here. Cold.
Izuku stood at the edge, arms loose at his sides, staring at the sky as if it held all the answers.
“It’s just like you wanted, isn’t it, Kacchan?”
Bakugo froze.
Something was very, very wrong.
Before he could move, before he could process what was happening—
Izuku fell.
The world seemed to slow.
The air was sucked from Bakugo’s lungs as he watched, horror slamming into him like a freight train. His breath hitched, chest tightening with a panic he couldn’t name.
And then—
Thud.
The sound was deafening. Sickening. A sharp, visceral crunch echoed through the air as Izuku’s body hit the pavement below. Blood pooled around him, dark and spreading fast.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then—
“Holy shit—”
“Hey, bro…you don’t think he—”
Bakugo barely heard them.
His mind was white noise, static, a whirlwind of fragmented thoughts that made no sense.
No.
No, this—this wasn’t real.
Izuku was just—
He was just standing here.
He—
His stomach twisted violently. His breath came too fast, too shallow, like he couldn’t get enough air. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms hard enough to hurt.
It was his fault.
The words played on repeat in his head, clawing at his skull. It’s my fault. My fault. My fault.
Bakugo swallowed, forcing himself to look down again—
And froze.
The body was gone.
The blood. The shattered bones. The broken, twisted form—
Gone.
“What the—”
“Hope you all liked the show!”
A voice—Izuku’s voice—echoed behind them.
Bakugo’s breath hitched.
Slowly, stiffly, he turned—
And there he was. Standing at the entrance of the rooftop, whole, unharmed. Smirking.
“See you around, Kacchan.”
And then—
He was gone.
Bakugo woke up screaming.
His chest heaved, lungs struggling for air. His skin was clammy with cold sweat, his body trembling violently.
A nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.
But—
His room. He was in his room. When had he gotten here? He didn’t remember walking home. Didn’t remember anything past—
The rooftop. The blood. The body.
Izuku’s voice.
His stomach churned.
The door slammed open.
“Katsuki!”
His mother’s voice was sharp with worry. She stormed inside, his father following closely behind. Both of them looked… panicked.
“What the hell happened? The school called and said you fainted—then you were running a fever for a week—”
A week?
Bakugo’s breath stilled.
His head pounded. His thoughts felt sluggish, tangled.
“Deku…” His voice came out hoarse. He swallowed thickly, trying to ground himself. “He’s gone?”
Mitsuki hesitated, exchanging a glance with Masaru.
“They… said he committed…” She exhaled, rubbing her temple. “But then his body disappeared. No one knows what happened.”
Bakugo stared at her.
And suddenly, like a cold slap to the face, he realized—
Deku’s eyes.
When he had stood there, smirking, alive but dead at the same time—his eyes were dull. Empty.
He had never seen them like that before.
Not when he cried. Not when he was bullied. Not even when he smiled through the pain.
That wasn’t the face of someone who had survived.
That was the face of someone who had already died.
His throat was dry. His fingers curled into the sheets.
“…What the hell did you do, Deku?”