Chapter Text
Izuku Midoriya stood at the edge of the middle school roof, tears streaming down his face. All Might's words echoed in his mind: "Without a quirk... no, I should be honest. It's not possible to become a hero." The setting sun cast long shadows across the concrete, and his notebook — the one labeled "Hero Analysis for the Future #13" — lay torn and soggy near his feet.
"I'm sorry, Mom," he whispered, closing his eyes. The wind rushed past his ears as he fell forward.
But death never came.
Instead, Izuku found himself plunging into icy waters. Salt burned his eyes and filled his lungs as he thrashed in the unfamiliar sea. Just before consciousness faded, strong arms pulled him from the depths.
"Another one falling from the sky? The Grand Line gets stranger every year," a gruff voice muttered.
When Izuku awoke, he was aboard a Marine vessel, surrounded by men in crisp white uniforms. A small tiger cat dozed on his chest, purring softly. Vice Admiral Garp stood at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and grinning.
"W-where am I?" Izuku bolted upright, his heart racing. "The last thing I remember was jumping off the roof of my school, and then I was falling into the ocean..." His eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, taking in the pristine white uniforms of the men surrounding him. "Wait, those uniforms... I've never seen military uniforms like that in Japan before. Am I in another country? Oh no, oh no, am I in trouble? Did I accidentally drift into restricted waters? But that's impossible, the school isn't near the ocean, and the trajectory of my fall wouldn't have—"
The words spilled out faster and faster, Izuku's signature muttering reaching hurricane speeds. His hands gesticulated wildly as he spiraled deeper into his analysis, causing Koby, Helmeppo, and even the battle-hardened Garp to stare in shocked silence at the sheer velocity of his verbal deluge.
tap
A tiny paw pressed against Izuku's forehead, immediately halting his muttering spiral. The small tiger cat had awakened and fixed him with an almost exasperated look, as if to say, "Calm down, human." Its amber eyes held his gaze steadily until Izuku's breathing began to normalize.
"Sorry," Izuku whispered, a blush creeping across his cheeks. "I... um... tend to do that sometimes."
Garp settled into a chair beside Izuku's bed, the wood creaking under his bulk. Behind him, two young cabin boys – Koby with his distinctive pink hair and Helmeppo with his blonde locks – stood at attention, though their curious eyes were fixed on the strange boy they'd fished from the sea.
"Japan?" Garp tilted his head, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Never heard of a place called Japan, kid."
Izuku's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? But... but that's impossible! I'm from Japan! How can you not—" He looked around at the uniforms again, his analytical mind racing. "Those uniforms... I've never seen anything like them in Japan..."
Garp and the two cabin boys behind him tilted their heads in perfect unison, mirroring Izuku's confusion. "You keep mentioning this 'Japan' place," Garp said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "but in all my years sailing the Grand Line, I've never come across it. Are you sure you're not from one of the Four Blues?"
Izuku felt like his world was tilting on its axis. His hands gripped the bedsheets tightly as he tried to process what he was hearing. "Grand Line? Four Blues?" His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "I-I don't understand. Those places don't exist! I've studied world geography extensively — I had to, to track international hero activities — and I've never heard of anything like that!"
His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. No Japan? Places he'd never heard of? Uniforms unlike anything he'd seen before? The implications made his head spin. "This can't be happening," he muttered, his face growing pale. "Either this is some elaborate prank, or..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought, but the possibility that he might have somehow ended up in another world loomed large in his mind.
The small tiger cat on his lap sensed his distress and pressed closer, its warm presence acting as an anchor amid his spiraling thoughts.
"My clothes!" Izuku suddenly remembered. "Where are my clothes?"
"Oh, the ones you were wearing when you fell out of the sky into the sea?" Garp replied casually. "They're drying right over there."
Izuku attempted to leap out of bed. "Whoa there, kid, slow down!" Garp's hand clamped down on Izuku's shoulder, gently but firmly pressing him back against the mattress. The little cat, sensing Izuku's urgency, hopped onto his chest and planted its paws firmly on his sternum, as if trying to pin him down. Its amber eyes stared intently at him, a silent plea for him to stay put. Izuku’s legs, still shaky, wobbled beneath him as he tried to push himself up. "Where is it? Where is it?" he muttered, his hands already scrabbling at the blankets, searching.
"Hey kid, what are you looking for?" Garp asked, watching the green-haired boy's desperate movements.
Without stopping his search, Izuku responded, "My phone! I need to find my phone!"
Koby spoke up for the first time, his voice tentative. "Phone? What's that?"
Izuku froze mid-search, slowly turning to face the pink-haired boy. "What do you mean, 'what's that'? It's a small rectangular device I use to make phone calls..." His voice trailed off as he saw the genuine confusion on their faces. "You... you don't have cell phones here?"
"How do you make calls to another person?" Garp asked, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out what appeared to be a small snail-like creature, setting it on the bedside table.
Izuku stared at the creature, his mouth hanging open. Then the snail's eyes turned to look directly at him, blinking lazily, and Izuku felt the room start to spin. His face went chalk-white as the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
"Oh... oh no..." he whispered, slumping back against the pillows. "This isn't just another country. This isn't even my world. I got... I actually got..." His voice cracked as the absurdity of his situation hit him full force. "I got isekai'd!"
The last thing he saw before his vision went dark was Garp's confused face and the Den Den Mushi tilting its head at him in perfect synchronization.
Four Day's after Izuku went missing,
The Midoriya apartment felt like a tomb. Inko sat alone at her kitchen table, surrounded by maps and missing person flyers that would soon be meaningless. Her trembling hands clutched the official notice that had arrived that morning: the Hero Public Safety Commission and police force were formally closing their investigation into Izuku Midoriya's disappearance.
Detective Tsukauchi stood by the window, his face tight with barely contained anger. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Midoriya. I tried to fight this decision, but..." He clenched his fists. "They're calling it a 'necessary resource allocation adjustment.' Said they can't justify continuing to dedicate manpower to..." His voice caught, unable to repeat their cruel words about a quirkless child.
"Three days," Inko whispered, her voice hollow. "They gave up after just three days." Her quirk activated involuntarily, pulling Izuku's favorite notebook across the table toward her shaking hands. "Because he's quirkless. Because they think he's not worth—" Her voice broke.
The detective moved to sit across from her. "I'm not giving up," he said firmly. "Official investigation or not, I'll keep looking. There's something wrong about this whole situation. People don't just vanish into thin air, quirk or no quirk."
But they both knew what an unofficial investigation meant: limited resources, no backup, no authority to access security footage or question witnesses. The hero agencies had already recalled their staff, the police barricades were being dismantled, and the media vans outside were packing up their equipment.
Inko's phone lay silent on the table, her desperate messages to Izuku still unread:
"Baby, please come home."
"I don't care what anyone says about you being quirkless."
"You're my everything."
"Please be safe."
"I won't stop looking for you."
"Mama loves you so much."
The school had already moved on, treating Izuku's empty desk as just another vacant seat. His classmates, who had barely acknowledged him in life, now whispered that maybe he'd run away because he was quirkless, as if that somehow justified the authorities' quick abandonment of the case.
"They didn't even try," Inko said, staring at the security footage still playing on her laptop. The image of Izuku vanishing mid-fall had become burned into her mind. "How can they just... stop? There's no body, no evidence of... of..." She couldn't bring herself to say the word 'death.'
Tsukauchi's jaw tightened. "The commission said they need to focus their resources on 'more pressing matters involving active quirk users.' Their words, not mine." His normally calm demeanor cracked slightly. "It's wrong. All of it. A missing child should be a missing child, quirk or no quirk."
Outside, workers were taking down the missing person posters. The hashtag #FindIzuku had already dropped off trending lists, replaced by news about the latest hero rankings and quirk-related incidents. The world was moving on, leaving Inko Midoriya alone with her grief and unanswered questions.
In Izuku's room, his analysis notebooks sat untouched, his dreams of heroics now seeming like cruel jokes in light of how quickly the hero society had abandoned him. His mother stood in the doorway, clutching his pillow to her chest, breathing in what remained of his scent.
"I won't stop looking," she whispered to the empty room. "I don't care what they say. I don't care if I have to search alone. You're out there somewhere, Izuku. And I'll find you, baby. I promise."
The setting sun cast long shadows through his window, darkness creeping across All Might posters that now felt like bitter reminders of a society that had deemed her quirkless son unworthy of their continued attention. But in that darkness, Inko Midoriya's determination burned bright. With or without help, she would keep searching. Because somewhere, somehow, her boy was out there.
And no one, not the Hero Public Safety Commission, not the police, not society itself, would make her give up on finding him.
As Tsukauchi was leaving the Midoriya apartment, his phone buzzed. The caller ID showed All Might's number.
"Tsukauchi speaking."
"It's me," All Might's voice came through, unusually subdued. "I... heard about the commission shutting down the Midoriya investigation. I need to meet with you. There's something you should know about that day."
Tsukauchi stepped away from the apartment door, lowering his voice. "What is it?"
"Not over the phone. This is... something I need to tell you in person."
"Understood. I'll meet you at the usual place."
As he ended the call, Tsukauchi cast one last glance at the Midoriya apartment door. Whatever All Might needed to tell him about young Midoriya, he had a feeling it would only add more questions to an already baffling case.
The top floor of Might Tower was eerily silent as Detective Tsukauchi stepped out of the elevator. All Might, in his deflated form, sat by the window, his gaunt face a stark reflection in the glass as the city lights twinkled below.
"I met him that day," All Might said, his voice heavy with guilt, not turning from the cityscape. "Young Midoriya. He asked me...if someone without a quirk could become a hero."
Tsukauchi remained silent, allowing the weight of the confession to hang in the air.
"I told him no." All Might's fists clenched in his lap. "I told a young boy, full of dreams, a boy who clearly idolized heroes… I told him it wasn't possible. Told him to be realistic, to set his sights on being a police officer." A bitter laugh escaped him. "Me, the Symbol of Peace, telling someone they couldn't be a hero. How far I've fallen."
"You couldn't have known," Tsukauchi said softly.
"Couldn't I?" All Might turned, his sunken eyes filled with remorse. "I saw the light die in his eyes when I said those words. I saw something break. And now…" He gestured helplessly. "Vanished. Into thin air. The security footage shows nothing. No body. No trace. Just…gone. And the commission…" His voice hardened. "Three days. Three days they searched before dismissing him as 'not worth the resources.' Because he's quirkless."
Tsukauchi joined All Might at the window, the sprawling city a silent witness to their shared grief. "The timing of your meeting and his disappearance..." he began, letting the implication hang unspoken.
The city lights twinkled below, reflecting in Tsukauchi's sharp eyes as he faced All Might. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken accusations.
"You were quirkless once," Tsukauchi said quietly, his words cutting through the silence. "Have you forgotten where you came from? What would Nana Shimura say if she knew you told that boy his dream was impossible?"
All Might flinched, each word a blow. The mention of his mentor, Nana Shimura, struck a particularly painful chord.
"I found something you should see." Tsukauchi produced a notebook, its edges singed and pages water-damaged. Hero Analysis for the Future #13. "Remember signing this? Did you even bother to look inside?"
All Might took the notebook with trembling hands, his sunken eyes widening with each page he turned. Detailed quirk analyses, strategic battle scenarios, support gear designs—all meticulously documented with an astonishing level of insight.
"I've never seen analysis this thorough," Tsukauchi continued, his voice unwavering. "Not even from seasoned professionals. That boy wasn't just dreaming; he was preparing. All he needed was a chance. Someone to believe in him, to guide him, to train him. With his intellect, he could have been the first quirkless hero. His mind alone...could have changed the world."
All Might's hands trembled as he turned another page. "I... I had no idea."
"No, you didn't. Because you didn't look. You saw 'quirkless' and nothing more." Tsukauchi's words were measured, yet heavy with disappointment. "We need help. More than ever. Talk to Nezu. Show him this notebook. If we find Izuku…" He paused, his next words carefully chosen. "I think Nezu would appreciate him. Someone with that analytical mind…"
"Yes," All Might said, clutching the notebook tightly. A spark of renewed purpose flickered in his eyes. "You're right. May I keep this, to show Nezu?" His voice gained strength. "Whether we find him in this world...or another, we owe him that much. To finally see his potential."
The weight of their collective failure settled heavily in the room—not just All Might's dismissive words, but an entire society that had failed to recognize the brilliance of a quirkless boy who only wanted to help.
The First Day Izuku didn't come home
Inko's knuckles were white as she gripped the doorframe of the Bakugo home, her breath coming in short gasps from running. "Please, has anyone seen Izuku? He hasn't come home, and he's not answering his phone..."
Mitsuki Bakugo's sharp eyes softened with concern at the sight of her friend's distress. "Katsuki!" she called up the stairs. "Get down here! Have you seen Izuku today?"
Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs as Katsuki emerged, his perpetual scowl deepening at the mention of Deku's name. "Why the hell would I care where that quirkless loser went?"
The words hit Inko like a physical blow, making her stumble back a step. Mitsuki's expression transformed from concern to pure rage in an instant.
"What did you just say?" Mitsuki's voice was deadly quiet as she rounded on her son. Her hand shot out, grabbing Katsuki by the ear. "That 'quirkless loser' has a name, and his mother is standing right here, you disrespectful brat! How dare you!"
"Tch." Katsuki turned away, but not before something flickered across his face – something that might have been guilt, quickly buried under his usual anger. "Whatever. I haven't seen Deku since school ended. He probably just ran off crying somewhere like he always does."
"KATSUKI!" Mitsuki's voice echoed through the house. "Get upstairs before I really lose my temper! And don't you dare come down until you learn some basic human decency!"
As Katsuki stomped back upstairs, Mitsuki turned to Inko, who stood trembling in the doorway, tears streaming down her face. "Inko, I'm so sorry. That boy... I thought I raised him better than this."
But Inko barely heard her. All she could think about was how many times Izuku must have heard words like that – not just from Katsuki, but from everyone. How many times had her sweet, brilliant boy been dismissed as nothing but a "quirkless loser"?
And now he was missing.
Katsuki slammed his door with enough force to rattle the walls, small explosions crackling from his palms. The sound of his mother comforting that crying mess Auntie Inko drifted up from downstairs, and it only made his anger burn hotter.
"Stupid fucking Deku," he snarled, pacing his room like a caged animal. "Always causing problems. Always making everyone worry about his useless ass."
He kicked his desk chair, sending it crashing into the wall. Good. Let them hear it downstairs. Let them know exactly how much he didn't care about their precious Izuku.
The homework on his desk caught his eye – specifically the empty seat next to him in class today. Not that he'd noticed. Not that it mattered. Deku was probably just hiding somewhere, writing in those creepy-ass notebooks about heroes he could never be. Analyzing quirks he'd never have.
"Bet he's just trying to get attention," Katsuki muttered, flopping onto his bed. "Probably thinks if he disappears, everyone will suddenly care about the quirkless wonder."
His eyes drifted to the ceiling, where an old poster of All Might declared "NEVER FEAR, FOR I AM HERE!" Katsuki's lip curled. That's what real heroes looked like. Not some pathetic, quirkless nobody who couldn't take a hint.
The memory of Deku's face from earlier that day flashed through his mind – that same stupid, determined look he always had, even after Katsuki had told him to take a swan dive off the roof. His hands sparked at the thought. He'd meant it as a joke, obviously. Just another way to put the nerd in his place.
"If that idiot actually..." He cut the thought off. No. Deku wasn't that stupid. He was too much of a coward to actually do anything like that.
From his shelf, that damn All Might figure Deku had given him years ago seemed to stare accusingly. Back when they were kids. Back before Katsuki got his awesome quirk and Deku turned out to be... nothing.
"What are you looking at?" he snapped at the figure. "He's the one who couldn't accept reality. Been telling him for years to give up those stupid dreams. Not my fault if he finally listened."
But Auntie Inko's face kept appearing in his mind. The way she'd stumbled back when he'd called Deku a quirkless loser. The tears in her eyes. She'd always been kind to him, always had extras of his favorite spicy snacks when he came over, always treated him like her second son.
"Whatever," he growled, rolling to face the wall. "Not my problem. He'll show up eventually, and everyone will forget this ever happened. Just like they always forget about him."
His phone buzzed. Probably his mom, telling him to come apologize. He ignored it.
Another buzz. Then another.
With a grunt of annoyance, he grabbed the phone. Messages from his classmates in their group chat:
"Anyone seen Midoriya?"
"That quirkless kid?"
"Yeah, his mom's filing a missing person report"
"LOL probably realized he had no future and ran away"
"Bakugo, you were the last one to talk to him, right?"
Katsuki's thumb hovered over the keyboard. The last one to talk to him. Yeah, he'd been the last one. Had told him to take a swan dive and maybe he'd get a quirk in his next life.
He hurled the phone across the room.
"Fuck off," he muttered to no one in particular. "Like I care what happened to that nerd."
The night grew deeper, but sleep wouldn't come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Deku's face. That determined look slowly crumbling into something else. Something he'd never seen before in all the years he'd known him.
But that wasn't his fault. None of this was his fault. Deku was the one who couldn't accept reality. The one who kept chasing impossible dreams. The one who kept following Katsuki around with those annoying notebooks and that irritating concern.
"Showing up tomorrow with that stupid smile," Katsuki muttered into his pillow. "Probably got everyone worried for nothing. Useless Deku."
But tomorrow came, and Deku's seat remained empty.
And if Katsuki's pillow got a little damp that night, if his hands shook slightly when he passed the Midoriya apartment the next morning, if he found himself checking his phone more often than usual – well, that was nobody's business but his own.
Because Bakugo Katsuki didn't care about Deku.
He didn't care at all.
And he'd keep telling himself that until he believed it.