Chapter Text
Superpowers officially called “Quirks” first appeared in China, with the birth of a glowing baby in Qing Qing City. From that day forward, the world changed forever.
Now, nearly 80% of the world’s population possesses some superhuman ability. Heroes soar through the sky, villains plot in the shadows, and society itself is shaped by the quirks people are born with.
But not everyone is lucky enough to have a Quirk. Around 20% remain quirkless looked down upon, bullied, and often forgotten by a society obsessed with power. For many, it’s a hard and lonely existence.
But this isn’t a story about the cruelty of that world. This is the story of a little green-haired boy named Izuku Midoriya, who was born without a Quirk...but with a heart and mind that might change everything.
When Izuku was born, Inko and her husband, Hisashi, looked at their son and saw promise. Something special shone in his eyes.
As he grew, Inko and Hisashi noticed the way Izuku’s gaze lingered always inspecting, always analyzing.
He’d take apart his toys, study every gear, every spring, then put them back together, sometimes improving them. There was a spark of pure curiosity in everything he did, a hunger to understand, not just to play.
At four, Izuku Midoriya sat beside his mom, Inko, in Dr. Handa’s office. Fluorescent lights hummed above as the doctor held up the X-ray.
He pointed to the space where a Quirk gene should have been, then highlighted a small, extra joint in Izuku's pinky toe. He explained gently that the joint indicated Izuku was Quirkless, without any sign of a developing superpower.
Izuku blinked, taking in the words. He looked up at the doctor, his eyes shining with determination. "Can I still be a hero?"
The doctor hesitated, then replied with a dismissive shake of his head, "No, you can't be one without a Quirk." Inko gasped, holding Izuku’s hand tight, expecting tears or heartbreak.
But Izuku just hopped off the chair, his chin up and a big, bright smile on his face. "Thank you for telling me, Doctor," he said politely. "But you don't get to decide what I can and can't do."
As Inko led him to the door, Izuku turned back and said, with even more conviction, "I'm going to be a hero one day. You'll see. Quirk or no Quirk."
He stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry, making Inko stifle a laugh despite the tension. The doctor could only stare, stunned by the little boy's spirit.
Out in the hallway, Izuku squeezed his mom's hand. "Don't worry, Mom. I'm still going to save people with a smile. I believe in myself."
Inko felt tears prick her eyes not out of sadness, but pride. The world didn't break her son. Not even close.
The next day, on the playground, Katsuki Bakugo cornered Izuku with a glare. "So it's true, huh? You don't have a Quirk," Bakugo sneered, his voice loud enough for the other kids to hear. "Guess that means you're just gonna be
useless forever."
Izuku clenched his fists but didn't look away. "Just because I don't have a Quirk doesn't mean I'm useless, Kacchan. I'll find my own way to help people, even if you don't believe in me."
Bakugo scoffed, shoving Izuku's shoulder. "Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, Deku."
Izuku steadied himself and met Bakugo's eyes, refusing to back down. "I will. And one day, I'll prove you wrong."
That night, Inko watched from the doorway as Izuku pulled apart his broken All Might toy—the one Katsuki had broken. It seemed the two had gotten into a fight after Katsuki found out Izuku was Quirkless.
Earlier, Inko was shocked when Izuku came home, not crying but huffing, calling Katsuki "stupid Kacchan." She watched as his tiny hands, unnaturally steady, separated gears and wires, laying each aside with the kind of care a
surgeon reserved for heart valves.
He muttered about torque and circuit redundancy, words she barely understood. When he glanced up, he was grinning not crying, but huffing and said,
“Mom, I don’t care what that stupid doctor or stupid Kacchan said! I’m going to be a hero one way or another and save everyone with a smile, just like All Might! I’ll use my brain and be a smart hero!”
All Inko could do was run up to her baby boy, hug him, and nod, saying, “Yes, baby.”
While all this unfolded in Musutafu, halfway across the world, Hisashi Midoriya sat hunched over a late-night phone in a cramped American apartment. He listened as Inko relayed everything: the diagnosis, Izuku’s unflinching smile,
and the scuffle with Bakugo.
For a moment, Hisashi’s heart sank no father wanted his child to face a world stacked against him.
But when Inko described how Izuku declared he’d be a hero anyway, something warm and fierce bloomed in Hisashi’s chest. He let out a startled laugh, wiping at his eyes. “That’s my boy,” he said, pride thick in his voice.
But Inko wasn’t done. She explained how Izuku, even at such a young age, started asking for books dense, technical ones about engineering and physics, topics most adults struggled with. “He’s not just smart, Hisashi,” she
whispered, almost afraid. “He’s… different. Scary smart. Like a little mad scientist.”
Hisashi listened, then grinned so wide his face hurt. “Get him the books, Inko. All of them. If that’s what our little green bean wants, we’ll give him every chance to become something amazing. I don’t care if the world calls him
quirkless. He’s still our son and we’re going to support him, every step of the way.”
As the call ended, Hisashi leaned back and stared at the ceiling, voice soft but certain. “Izuku, I might be far away, but I’m going to be one of your biggest supporters. Go show them what a Midoriya can do.”
Years have passed, and Izuku started filling notebooks up with diagrams, battle analyses, and blueprints for gadgets he could never afford to build.
But what was most noticeable was Izuku's ability to learn and adapt very quickly on the second or third try after watching or reading something he saw.
He was bullied for being Quirkless, especially by his ex-best friend Bakugo.
At first, Izuku took it with a strange calm. He'd analyze Bakugo's explosion, his fighting style, and then scribble and calculate his move, the power output, the kinetic force; every defeat was data, every scrape, a lesson.
Then things started to change, and Izuku was starting to get the upper hand on some of the fights, to the shock of teachers and Bakugo and his lackeys.
By the time he was ten, Izuku had gotten used to Bakugo’s voice barking at his back.
One afternoon after school, Izuku was walking home, nose buried in a book on thermodynamics, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He heard the thud of running footsteps and Bakugo’s familiar sneer behind him.
“Oh hey, Deku, what are you doing, nerd?” Bakugo called, his usual entourage trailing close behind.
Izuku didn’t even look up. “Just reading about thermodynamics, Kacchan. Not like you’d understand.” He turned a page, a small, smug smile on his face.
Bakugo’s eye twitched. This attitude Deku’s calm, sharp confidence had been driving him nuts. “Listen here, nerd! You think you’re better than me just because you read a few books?”
Izuku met Bakugo’s glare. “Yes.”
Bakugo’s palms sparked with anger. “Why you!” He lunged, but Izuku was quick, pulling a round, metal cylinder from his bag and tossing it to Bakugo mid charge.
Bakugo caught it, scowling. “What the Deku, what’s this supposed to be?”
Izuku grinned slyly. “I thought you were supposed to be smart, Kacchan. Figure it out.”
The old nickname hit a nerve. Bakugo snarled, “Screw you!” He squeezed the cylinder, and suddenly, a pale liquid burst out, coating his hands.
Bakugo recoiled. “Oi, Deku! What the hell did you put in this?” He sniffed at his hands no odor, and it was already drying. He tried to laugh it off. “Whatever this was, I broke it. Just like you, Deku.”
Izuku didn’t bother to reply. He just started walking away.
“Hey! Don’t you walk away from me, you damn quirkless bastard! Finish what you started!”
Izuku turned, flashing a wide, innocent smile. “I already did.”
Bakugo and his lackeys blinked, confused. Bakugo tried to blast at Izuku’s back but nothing happened. No sparks, not even a sizzle. He tried again; his palms just turned white, the skin tight and dry.
Realization hit. “That liquid damn you, Deku! What did you do?!”
Bakugo charged, swinging a right hook. Izuku caught his wrist and flipped him hard onto the pavement, standing over him.
“What’s wrong, Kacchan? Didn’t you like your gift?” Izuku said, his voice light. “Well, you are the second-smartest in the class, after all.”
Bakugo’s face turned red with rage. “Screw you!”
Izuku just smiled and said “Sorry, I’m into girls,” Izuku replied with a shrug. “That liquid? It absorbs the sweat your explosions need. Keeps your hands nice and dry, so… no boom boom. It should last around four days. And nope,
you can’t wash it off.
It only triggers if you try to use your quirk.” He waved as he walked away. “Later, Kacchan. Enjoy being quirkless for a while.” Bakugo and his lackeys sat frozen, dumbfounded, as Izuku strolled off
down the street, leaving a new legend in his wake.
As the time passed, Izuku’s curiosity led him beyond books and blueprints. One day, he stumbled onto the edge of Dagoba Beach a dumping ground for broken electronics, rusted servers, and discarded computers.
Most kids would have turned up their noses and left, but not Izuku.
He saw treasure in the trash. Every weekend, he’d haul home whatever he could carry, spending hours in his cramped room fixing, rewiring, and repurposing every circuit and gear he could salvage.
By eight, Izuku was devouring books on coding and programming, their dense language unfolding in his mind like second nature. It wasn’t just that he was smart; it was almost uncanny.
Everything he read or watched seemed to stick. He could pick up a new skill after seeing it once or twice, whether it was a line of code or the way a hero threw a punch.
One afternoon, Izuku asked Inko if she could take him to watch a martial arts tournament. She was baffled Izuku had never shown much interest in sports before but she remembered Hisashi’s words about supporting their son,
no matter what.
So, every time a tournament came to town, Inko and Izuku would find seats in the back and watch. Karate, judo, ninjutsu, even wing chun Izuku devoured it all, eyes shining with focus.
To Inko’s shock, Izuku didn’t just watch; he learned. By the next day, he was practicing the moves in their tiny living room.
At first, his attempts were clumsy and awkward, but he kept at it, improving day by day. Soon, he was copying forms and techniques with a precision that seemed impossible for a child with no formal training.
It was as if he could download what he saw and play it back with his own body, step by step, mistake by mistake, until he got it perfectly right.
One day, while tinkering in the cramped garage, Izuku realized he was running out of space for his growing projects. A new idea lit up his face. He raced inside, calling for his mom with such urgency that Inko dropped what she was
doing and dashed in, heart pounding. “Izuku, baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked, frantically checking him over.
Izuku laughed, squirming away. “No, Mom! I just… I want to talk to Dad about something I’ve been researching.”
Seeing that spark in his eyes, Inko nodded. She dialed Hisashi as soon as she could. Hisashi was just getting home from work when his phone rang, exhaustion heavy in his bones. But when he saw the call from Inko, he dropped
everything and picked up. “How’s my honey bunny doing?”
To his surprise, he heard a little snort on the other end of the phone it was his "little green bean," which made Hisashi blush while Inko's face turned red at the pet name he had used.
“Dad, I’ve been looking into the stock market,” Izuku began, passion bubbling out of him.
He rattled off stats, patterns, and investment strategies he’d pieced together from books and online forums stuff a grown investor would envy, let alone a child. As Izuku spoke, Hisashi scrambled for a pen and paper, scribbling
down every detail, eyes wide with disbelief and pride.
When Izuku finished, Inko was speechless. Hisashi, on the other hand, was grinning like a fool. “Wow, Izuku, this is… incredible.
With hope in his eyes Izuku asked his dad in a soft voice " D- Dad, do you think this will work?”
Hisashi nodded, his voice small but certain. “If these tips are as good as they sound, kiddo, you might just make us a fortune.”
For a long moment, there was only the sound of Inko quietly crying, tears of hope and happiness. Hisashi’s voice was thick with emotion. “if this truly works. I won’t have to be away from you and your mom anymore.”
Izuku beamed. Inko hugged him tight, heart full. For the first time in years, the future didn’t feel so far away.
The next few weeks slipped by in a blur of late-night calls and frantic note-taking.
Hisashi followed every detail of Izuku’s plan to the letter watching the market, buying and selling exactly as his son suggested, bouncing between American and Japanese stocks with a precision that made his coworkers’ heads
spin.
Each prediction, each pattern Izuku spotted, came true, and Hisashi’s small savings grew faster than he’d ever dreamed possible.
By the end of the third month, Hisashi had handed in his resignation, leaving his old job behind.
Full-time investing was risky, but with Izuku’s uncanny instincts guiding him, it felt less like a gamble and more like destiny. He called home with the news, voice trembling with excitement. “I’m coming home, Inko. I’m coming
home for good.”
For the first time in years, the Midoriyas would be together again not just a family across the ocean, but a team, building something extraordinary, side by side.
The day finally came when Hisashi’s flight touched down in Japan. Izuku and Inko stood at the airport, hand in hand, hearts pounding with anxious joy. Izuku fidgeted with excitement, clutching a little “Welcome Home” sign, his
writing messy but bold.
When Hisashi appeared, suitcase in hand and eyes searching the crowd, Inko’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment, time seemed to freeze the years apart, the missed birthdays and video calls, all of it hung in the air between
them.
Then Izuku’s voice cut through the din. “Dad!”
Hisashi’s eyes found them. He dropped his bag and ran. Inko and Izuku rushed forward.
The three collided in the middle of the arrivals hall, arms wrapping tight, laughter dissolving into tears. Hisashi scooped Izuku up, spinning him around as Inko held them both, sobs shaking her shoulders.
For the first time in years, they were a family whole a wife, a son, and a husband, clinging to each other as if nothing else in the world mattered.
“I missed you both so much,” Hisashi choked out, voice thick.
“We missed you too, Dad!” Izuku squeaked, tears streaming down his cheeks but grinning ear to ear.
Inko just squeezed them tighter, her heart so full it hurt, and whispered, “Welcome home.”
All around them, people bustled past, but for the Midoriyas, the airport faded away. In that moment, all that mattered was that they were together again.