Chapter Text
The heavy sound of Izuku's footsteps echoed in the stairwell, each step harder than the last. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—frantic, chaotic, and dark. He could feel the weight of his decision pressing down on him with every inch he ascended.
Maybe this is what I deserve... Maybe it’s better this way, he thought, his chest tightening. The words from his mother echoed in his mind, cruel and unrelenting. "You’re lucky to have a home, food in your stomach... a place to sleep."
But it wasn’t enough. It never had been. The suffocating silence at home, the mocking laughter at school, and the cold looks that followed him everywhere—all of it had worn him down. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back.
If only I had a quirk... if only I was like them, Izuku thought bitterly, his fingers clenching around the railing as he climbed. Maybe I wouldn't be invisible. Maybe I wouldn’t be such a burden.
But no. That was a dream—one that had been shattered time and time again. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he wanted to be something more, he remained nothing. The world doesn’t need someone like me. No one needs me.
He paused at the top landing, looking up at the door that led to the rooftop. The bitter wind that crept through the crack in the door sent a chill down his spine, but it wasn’t the cold that made him hesitate. It was the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was wrong. What if…? What if I could still be something?
But the thought was fleeting, quickly buried under the weight of all the years of pain. No. No one cares about me. I’m nothing.
And with that, he pushed the door open, stepping onto the rooftop. The cold night air greeted him, biting at his skin, but it was a welcome sensation. The ache in his chest seemed to dull, as if the weight of his decision had finally been lifted. There was no turning back now, and strangely, that thought brought a sense of peace.
He didn’t notice the way the moonlight cast a soft glow over the city or how the streetlamp flickered dimly down the block. All that mattered was the edge. The cold metal railing that seemed to promise an escape from everything he had endured. His legs moved instinctively, bringing him closer to the brink, and he stood there for a moment, letting the quiet of the night settle around him.
It was around one o'clock in the morning when a figure appeared at the edge of a rooftop. The area was near complete darkness, with only the moon’s pale light and a flickering streetlamp a half-block away providing any illumination. If anyone had looked up at that moment, the only thing visible against the darkness would have been a mass of bright green hair. A closer look would reveal a child, no older than nine, trembling with barely suppressed sobs as he gazed over the edge of the building. A note was clutched firmly in his hand—a goodbye letter to the only person left in his life who still cared about him, or rather, the only person who would be affected by his death.
(In another life, he might have fought off the depression, refusing to let the cruel words of his classmates get to him. In a different life, there would be a hero who would never let him down. But in this life, he had no such hope.)
In a different world, maybe things could have been different. In that world, the other kids wouldn’t laugh at him for being quirkless. They wouldn’t shove him into lockers or throw their lunches at him, calling him "useless" and "weak." They wouldn’t gang up on him, surrounding him in the hallways just to make him feel smaller than he already did. He remembered how they’d smirk and call him "Deku"—a name that once had potential, but was now nothing more than an insult.
Even the teachers didn’t help. They’d look the other way, pretending they didn’t see or, worse, they’d tell him he needed to try harder, that it was his fault for not having a quirk in the first place. He recalled the cold, indifferent stares of his homeroom teacher, Mrs. Kurogane, who would say, “Maybe if you had a quirk, you wouldn’t be so weak.”
But it wasn’t just the school that tore him apart. It was his mother, too. Izuku could still feel the sting of her harsh words, the way her eyes would narrow when she looked at him. She never held back her disappointment. “You’re lucky to have food to eat at all,” she’d say, “I don’t know why I even bother with you. If you weren’t my son, I wouldn’t waste my time.”
The worst part was the way she’d treat him when she got angry. He’d go days without food, just waiting for her to decide that he was "worthy" of a meal. When she did feed him, it was often just scraps, and sometimes, it was worse than that. She’d make him do all the housework—cooking, cleaning, anything to make sure her life was easier. And if he didn’t do it perfectly, she’d hit him. The sharp slap across the face. The sting of her hands.
Izuku still felt the aftermath of that pain—both physical and emotional—long after it was gone. It wasn’t the bruises that hurt the most. It was the words she’d say when she hit him: “This is what happens when you’re useless.” She always told him he was nothing. Worthless. Useless. Just like everyone said.
And he believed it.
In his darkest moments, Izuku wondered if anyone ever truly cared about him. His classmates made it clear they didn’t. His mother—who should have been his protector—was the one who made him feel like he didn’t belong in this world at all. She’d always remind him that he was lucky to have anything at all. She’d remind him of how much better off he’d be if he were never born, even if she didn’t say it directly.
This is who I am, he thought bitterly as he stood on the rooftop. Just a kid with nothing. Nobody cares about me. I don’t matter.
Izuku had known nothing but pain for as long as he could remember. The world had told him over and over again that he was useless, that he was nothing more than a burden. From the brutal beatings his mother would deliver, to the cruel laughter of his classmates, he had grown used to being invisible, to being pushed around by those who had the power to make his life a living nightmare. His classmates—his so-called friends—had turned on him, mocking him relentlessly for being quirkless. His former best friend, Katsuki, was no better, often shoving him aside as if Izuku didn’t even exist.
But it was his mother who truly shattered him. The cruelest blows weren’t the ones she delivered physically—they were the ones she whispered when she thought he wasn’t listening. “You’re lucky to even have a place to live, you ungrateful brat. I should’ve never had you.” She’d make him do all the chores—cooking, cleaning, everything—to keep the house in order. The worst part was when she’d rent him out to older men, telling him he had no choice. He wasn’t a child to her. He was just an object to use and discard.
And no one stopped her.
Izuku couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had told him he was worth something. It had been so long since he’d felt like he belonged, like he could ever have a future beyond this suffocating misery. The loneliness was suffocating, the pain unbearable, and for the first time in his young life, he couldn’t see a way out.
That’s why he’d run away. In the dead of night, with nothing but the clothes on his back and a farewell letter clutched in his hand, Izuku had made his way through the streets. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to get away. He needed to escape this life, the one that had convinced him he was nothing. The tallest building he could find called to him, offering an end to his suffering, an end to the relentless cruelty of the world.
As he climbed the stairs, each step felt like a burden. Fear gnawed at him, but so did a strange, empty relief. This would be the last time anyone would call him weak, useless, or worthless. There would be no more pain. No more rejection.
When he finally reached the rooftop, it was as if the world had grown silent. The city below seemed distant, and the cold night air was a temporary balm against the fire in his chest. He stood there for a long moment, staring into the dark void, thinking of nothing and everything. His future had ended before it ever truly began, and he accepted that.
But in the stillness of that moment, just as he was about to take the final step, he heard something—a sound that made his breath catch.
Footsteps. Someone was coming.
He didn’t turn around. He couldn’t.
“Young man, I would like to ask you to step away from the edge of the roof, please. I’m sure we can work through whatever is causing you to hurt like this.”
Without turning, Izuku whimpered, his voice cracking. "Why? All stepping back is going to do is make it hurt even more. No one wants to help a useless piece of shit like me. Everyone says so. Even my mother said I’d be better off dead. I just want the pain to stop. I just want to be happy, to be loved, to be warm, to be full and clean. I don't know what I did to make everyone hate me this much, but it would be better if I just left this world behind."
Izuku could hear the man gasp behind him and clear his throat as though the words were hard for him to say. There was a long pause before the man spoke again, his voice thicker now, as if forcing the words out.
"Oh, my boy, I am so sorry the world has treated you so cruelly that you feel like this is the only option. I’m even more sorry that your mother put you through such things—things no one, no matter their age, should ever have to endure. But I’m here. I’m here to tell you that I believe you deserve better. No matter what anyone else thinks or says, you are special. And if you're willing, I would like to show you that you can live a life full of love, a warm home, and a safe one. I may not be able to give you everything you want, but I’ll do my best to give you everything you need."
At this, Izuku finally turned around and looked at the man for the first time since their conversation had begun. What he saw wasn’t what he expected. The man was tall—though maybe it was because Izuku was still just a child, or perhaps it was simply because the man was naturally tall. He was also lanky, but Izuku could tell he had muscle beneath the thin frame. His blond hair, almost yellow, stood out more than anything. It was cropped short, almost as though the man had dyed his head the color of his hair.
Izuku sniffed and, in a quiet voice, asked, "You don’t mean that I’m quirkless and should be wiped off the face of the Earth, do you?"
The shock on the man’s face made Izuku wonder if he had said something wrong. For a brief moment, he feared he had crossed a line. But then he remembered that he had mentioned he was quirkless and closed his eyes, not wanting to see the pity or judgment he was sure the man would show.
"Oh, my boy," the man said, his voice soft. "I know exactly how you feel. I’m quirkless too, but when I was your age, it wasn’t as rare as it is now. In fact, it was the opposite. Back then, quirks were scarce, and those who had them were looked down upon. But I understand what you're going through, because as the world changed, and people with stronger quirks began to appear, people like you and I... we were looked down upon. Made to feel less than human for something we couldn’t control."
The man paused for a moment, looking at Izuku with a tender expression, as though he was about to say something that would change the boy’s perspective on life.
"I’m going to tell you something you should have been told the moment you learned you didn’t have a quirk. Something I wish I could tell every quirkless child in the world." The man’s eyes softened as he spoke. "You can be whatever you want to be—quirk or no quirk. As long as you work hard, understand your limitations, and learn to work past them, you can be just as useful as anyone with a quirk."
At these words, Izuku fell to his knees, sobbing. The paper slipped from his fingers, and he buried his face in his hands. He had needed to hear something like that his whole life. Just once, he wanted to be told that he was human, that he deserved to be loved, to exist without shame.
Slowly, the man walked over to him. Izuku half-thought about pulling away, but the warmth in the man’s words—the sense of being wanted for the first time in his life—kept him in place. He remained still as strong arms wrapped around him. Izuku leaned into the warmth of the embrace, allowing himself to cry for the first time in years.
"My boy, calm down. It will be okay now. I’m here, and I’ll make sure you’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you again." The man murmured more words, but they were lost in Izuku's sobs.
It took a while, but eventually, Izuku’s sobs began to subside. When he finally calmed enough to speak, he looked up at the man, his voice still hoarse, but quieter. “Who are you? Why did you save me?”
His tone was calm, though it lacked emotion. He was too drained to feel much of anything after everything he’d cried out on the man’s shoulder. At that moment, Izuku sat in the man’s lap, half-asleep, but still yearning for answers.
“My name is Technostrike," the man said, his voice soft and reassuring. "Or that’s my vigilante name. You can call me Yagi Toshinori. What is your name, young man?"
Technostrike—no, Yagi, as Izuku now knew him—looked down at him with a gentle gaze, the blue of his eyes shining even without any light to reflect. Now that Izuku wasn’t about to jump off a building, he could see the man was wearing a uniform. It was all black, with padding at the elbows and knees. The padding gave his slim frame a bulkier appearance, but Izuku didn’t think it would slow him down.
“Izuku Midoriya,” Izuku replied, his voice small. “But everyone calls me Deku. I don’t like that name, though... it hurts when I’m called that.” Izuku tried to force a smile, but it felt strained, as though the expression didn’t belong to him.
Yagi ran a hand gently through Izuku’s hair and gave him a soft, kind smile. "Don’t worry, Midoriya. If you want, I’ll take you away from all of this and help you become whatever it is you dream of being. I don’t believe that just because someone isn’t born with a quirk, it makes them any less than someone who has one."
Izuku nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you really mean it... I would love to go with you."
With that, Yagi stood up, cradling Izuku in his arms, and began making his way down from the rooftop. This time, they took the stairs.
Unknown to both of them, an elderly woman from the apartment complex across the street had spotted Izuku standing at the edge of the roof. Her wrinkled eyes widened in shock as she recognized the figure of the small child in the moonlight. She had seen him around before, the quiet, green-haired boy who always seemed to be alone. Her heart sank as she realized what was happening, and with trembling hands, she quickly pulled out her phone to call for help.
The woman’s voice quivered as she spoke to the operator, urging them to send someone immediately. “A child... on the roof... Please, hurry!” she begged before hanging up. She hadn’t known the boy’s name, but the desperate look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Something terrible was about to happen.
By the time the nearest hero, a pro with experience in handling delicate situations, arrived, it was already too late. Izuku and the mysterious man had vanished into the night, and the rooftop was eerily silent. The only thing left in the wake of their departure was a small, crumpled piece of paper, discarded on the cold concrete.
The pro hero, dressed in dark, tactical gear that blended seamlessly with the shadows, moved swiftly across the rooftop. His eyes scanned every inch of the area, searching for any trace of the boy or his abductor. His face remained unreadable as he crouched down, noticing the note lying by the edge of the roof. Without a word, he picked it up, unfolding the worn piece of paper.
Izuku’s Note:
To Who Ever Finds This,
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so bad. I don’t want to be bad. I don’t want to make people mad. I’m just so tired...
No one likes me. My mom says I’m a mistake. She says I’m useless. The kids at school always laugh at me cause I don’t have a quirk. They call me Deku, but that’s not my name...
I just wanna be happy. I just wanna feel like I’m good for something. I don’t wanna feel like I’m nothing anymore. Please, please, someone help me...
I can’t do this anymore. I think it’d be better if I wasn’t here. No one would care anyway...
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was born...
Goodbye,
Izuku Midoriya
The pro hero’s heart sank as he read the note. His fingers tightened around the paper, his gaze lingering on the final, desperate words. This wasn’t just a cry for help—it was a heartbreaking farewell. He folded the note with a grim expression, tucking it into his pocket. The boy was gone, and the only clue left behind was this scrap of paper.
The pro hero’s heart sank as he read the note. The shaky handwriting, the desperation in every word—it hit him harder than any villain or criminal he’d ever faced. His fingers tightened around the paper, the edges of the note creasing beneath his grip. Each sentence felt like a punch to the gut. The child was begging for help, for someone to care, for someone to show him he wasn’t worthless. But it was too late.
The weight of the moment hung in the air, thick and suffocating. The note in his pocket felt heavier than it should, like a burden he wasn’t sure how to carry. He stood motionless for a moment longer, as if hoping—no, praying—that the situation would change. That somehow, by some miracle, Izuku would still be here. But all that remained was the chilling silence of the empty rooftop.
He could feel the anger building, the frustration at his own helplessness, but it did nothing to change the fact that the child was gone. He had failed.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to stand taller, to focus. There was no time for this. Not now.
With a grim resolve, he began to move. He couldn’t let the guilt paralyze him. Izuku was still out there. He had to find him.
But just as he started walking, a faint rustle reached his ears. A sudden shift in the night’s stillness. His head snapped to the side, his heart leaping in his chest. But when his eyes scanned the rooftop, there was nothing—no sign of Izuku, no trace of the figure who had taken him. Just the cold night air and the empty rooftop stretching out in all directions.
As he read the final words—I think it’d be better if I wasn’t here—a wave of anger and regret washed over him. His eyes burned, not with tears, but with a deep, searing frustration. Why couldn’t I get here sooner? he thought. Why didn’t I make it in time?
This wasn’t just a cry for help—it was a tragic, final goodbye. The kind of farewell that no child should ever have to write. No one should ever feel this alone.
He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. His hand shook slightly as he folded the note, tucking it into his pocket as though somehow he could carry the weight of this child’s pain with him. But it didn’t make sense. How did this happen? How could anyone let a kid like this fall so far?
The questions piled up in his mind, but they didn’t bring him any answers. Only the crushing weight of helplessness.
The boy was gone. The note was all that was left, and it felt like the world had slipped through his fingers. He should have been here earlier. He should have been able to stop this. But no matter how fast he moved, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t save Izuku.
He stood there, looking out into the night, the silence surrounding him as if mocking his inability to help. The guilt gnawed at him, but there was no time to dwell on it now. The boy needed to be found, and fast.
Then, from across the street, a voice called out from a window. The elderly woman, still watching from her apartment, had seen everything. Her eyes were wide with panic as she spoke to him, her voice shaking.
“I... I saw him! I saw the man take the boy!” she called down, her hands clutching the window frame. “He was so tall, and he was dressed all in black. I couldn’t see his face, but he was carrying the boy... he just disappeared!”
The hero’s gaze shifted to the distance, but the figure was gone. He nodded grimly, his mind already calculating the next steps. He wasn’t sure who the man was, or what his intentions were, but one thing was clear—the boy was no longer on that rooftop.
“Thank you,” the pro hero replied, his voice steady, though his thoughts were racing. “Stay inside. We’ll find him.”