Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE: Before the Sky Opened
The air smelled like antiseptic and old plastic. Izuku Midoriya sat swinging his legs at the edge of the examination chair, a bright-eyed four-year-old wearing a slightly oversized All Might hoodie. His feet didn’t reach the floor, but that didn’t stop him from kicking at the air in excitement.
He looked up at the monitor on the wall, even though he didn’t understand the numbers. His whole world was about to change. He just knew it.
Today was the day he’d find out what kind of Quirk he had.
The door creaked open, and Dr. Garaki entered with a forced smile behind his thin glasses. Inko followed close behind, her polite smile strained at the corners. She’d been gripping her purse tightly the whole time.
“Well,” Dr. Garaki said, flipping through a digital chart, “thank you for your patience, Midoriya-san. Izuku-kun, we’ve completed your scans.”
Izuku’s eyes sparkled. “So? What is it? Is it super strength? Laser eyes? Can I fly?”
Dr. Garaki’s smile faltered. “…Actually, Izuku-kun, I’m very sorry. But it appears… you don’t have a Quirk.”
Silence.
Izuku blinked. “Huh?”
Dr. Garaki tapped a finger against the X-ray displayed behind him. “You see here? Most children develop a second joint in the pinky toe when their Quirk manifests. You… haven’t. And you’re already four. In almost every case we’ve studied, this means no Quirk will develop. I’m afraid the results are conclusive.”
Inko’s heart clenched. “There… There has to be a mistake. His father—he could breathe fire, and I can move small objects with my mind.”
“I know,” Dr. Garaki replied softly. “But genetic inheritance is complex. Sometimes it just… doesn’t pass on.”
Izuku sat still. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have anything to say.
He didn’t cry. Not at first.
But his tiny fists clenched in his lap as something inside him shattered.
---
That night, the tears finally came.
Inko found him curled up in bed, still wearing his All Might hoodie, soaked through with tears and silent sobs. She wrapped her arms around him, trying to find the right words.
“Zuku,” she whispered, brushing his hair back, “do you want to know a secret? About my mother?”
He hiccupped, blinking at her. “Y-Your mom?”
“She… she was a Hero. A great one. Her name was Nana Shimura.”
Izuku’s eyes widened, stunned into silence.
“She was strong. Brave. She could fly,” Inko said softly, almost in awe — like she was remembering something half-dreamt. "People called her Tempest because she moved like a storm through the battlefield. But…” Inko swallowed. “She had to give me up. A villain was after her—someone dangerous. So she put me into hiding. She wanted me to live a normal life.”
From the nightstand, Inko retrieved a worn photo — creased at the corners, faded with time. A woman in a billowing cape smiled into the camera, dark hair dancing in the wind, holding a small blanket in her arms. A little hand peeked from the bundle, reaching up toward her chin.
“This is all I have left of her.”
Izuku stared at it. “She… she could fly?”
“Yes.”
He pressed the photo to his chest. “Then I’ll fly too. Somehow.”
Inko’s voice cracked. “Even if you’re Quirkless… that doesn’t mean you can’t help people.”
He nodded.
And that’s when it started.
---
By age six, Izuku had become something of an inventor.
He wasn’t building Iron Man suits or rocket launchers—just paper prototypes and crude cardboard gadgets. Things he thought could help people. Support gear.
He started analyzing Quirks—his classmates, heroes on TV, even fictional ones. He noticed patterns. Similar body types. Shared weaknesses. “Kacchan’s Quirk is like a combustion engine,” he once muttered. “But so is Anzu’s. She sweats flammable gel, too. So maybe…”
Kids still picked on him. Bullied him. But he never fought back.
Inko noticed how the teachers rarely intervened. How the other parents looked down on her son like he was defective. And so, when his seventh birthday rolled around, she filled out the paperwork to transfer him to a different school.
She never got the chance to submit it before everything changed.
---
It was a sunny spring morning.
Izuku was walking home alone from the park, notebook in hand, scribbling down ideas for a support item that could absorb kinetic energy. “Maybe some kind of retractable shield? If I layer the foam and—”
CRACK!
A car backfired somewhere behind him.
Izuku instinctively ducked—then stumbled.
Pain flared along his back like lightning, and he dropped his notebook, clutching at his shoulders. Something tore under his shirt. He fell to his knees, gasping.
Then everything shifted.
Feathers. Wind. Sight.
The world opened.
He looked up, blinking through watering eyes… and could see everything.
Every ant crawling on the sidewalk ten meters ahead. Every petal on the cherry blossom trees in the next park over. Every micro-shift in air pressure and sunlight.
And his back ached—no, moved.
He turned his head.
Wings.
Beautiful, broad, forest green wings folded awkwardly behind his back.
He stood shakily, heart pounding, tears brimming—not from pain, but from joy.
“I—” His voice cracked. “I have a Quirk.”
---
Inko stared at him in the hospital room, hands over her mouth, trying to hold in her sobs.
“They said it’s called Raptor, or maybe Skyborne—it’s too early to classify it completely. He has the eyesight of a bird of prey, and wings with complex articulation—like a falcon.”
Izuku sat on the bed, wings twitching nervously behind him.
“I’m not Quirkless,” he whispered, almost not believing it.
“No,” Inko said, rushing over to hug him. “You’re not.”
She held him tightly, but in the back of her mind, a seed had taken root.
If this school hadn’t protected him when they thought he was Quirkless… they wouldn’t protect him now, either.
Not someone with wings.
Not someone different.
“I’m transferring you,” she said quietly. “To a better school.”
Izuku looked up. “Okay. But… I still want to keep building stuff. For other people.” Inko smiled, but something in her eyes darkened. “Then we’ll make sure you can fly — on your own terms.”