Chapter Text
Izuku Midoriya never had a chance; his life had already collapsed into inevitability.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The ground is hard.
Rain runs down his cheeks and into his mouth.
He’s tired.
And god, he just wants to go home.
“You’re trapped, kid.”
Izuku sighs like someone just assigned him weekend homework.
“I’ve got places to be. You’re gonna make me late.”
He finally looks up. Rain sticks to his lashes. Across two rooftops, Kamui Woods stares him down like some soggy tree statue. Mt. Lady stands beside him, huge and annoyed. And Izuku can feel the third hero lurking nearby. Great.
Kamui’s voice cuts through the storm, clipped and irritated.
“You think you’re the only one with places to be?”
Izuku snorts softly, dragging his backpack into his lap, pretending this is the dullest conversation he’s had all week.
“So I’m wasting your time? Aww, that makes me sad. Number six hero doesn’t have time to waste on little ol’ me?”
Mt. Lady groans. Kamui’s jaw ticks. Izuku doesn’t stop smiling.
“Don’t move,” Kamui warns.
Izuku moves.
He pushes off the air itself, launching forward. The wind slaps him across the face as his quirk thrusts him past them. Kamui’s branches snap toward him—Izuku steps on one, walks backwards across it like he’s on a balance beam in gym class.
“It’s raining, y’know!” he shouts. “Wouldn’t want your wood to rot!”
He jumps again—
And immediately regrets it.
A shadow blocks the sky.
Mt. Lady’s hand closes around him.
Predictable.
Embarrassingly predictable.
He checks his watch. Tch. Yep. Definitely late.
His muscles ache—Boost never treats him gently. He wedges his fingers between Mt. Lady’s fingers and forces her grip apart with a burst of strength. His forearms scream, but he doesn’t have time to care.
“I don’t got time for this. Can you guys not chase me today?”
“Maybe if you weren’t illegally using your quirk—and many more things,” Mt. Lady fires back. “The list could go on.”
“A guy’s gotta make money one way or another,” Izuku mutters, already backing up.
“We can help you,” Kamui says, voice softer now. “You’re young. You can still change.”
“Yeah, yeah. I really don’t have time for a bedtime story.”
He rockets upward again, barely dodging a bullet that whistles past his cheek.
Ah.
There’s the third hero.
Snipe.
Knew it.
Izuku waves mockingly and tosses a smoke bomb. Thick gray clouds swallow the alley as he vanishes into the rain.
⸻
“You’re late.”
Izuku flinches at the voice as soon as he steps into the dim bar. He forces a smile, pushing dripping hair from his face and heading toward the booth.
“Sorryyy,” he drawls. “Got stuck with some heroes. Was kinda hard to get here.”
“Mm.”
The man reaches out and grabs his wrist, tugging him closer—closer than necessary. Izuku practically ends up in his lap. Of course. Old men and their grabby habits.
“You look fine to me,” the client says, eyes scanning him like he’s checking for damage… or lies.
Izuku pouts, lifting a finger to the man’s chin, tapping lightly.
“Don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to be late.”
A rough hand cups his jaw, tilting his face up. Izuku gives him the best soft, wide, innocent eyes he can manage. They usually work.
They work now.
The man exhales slowly, irritation melting into something heavier.
“Show me you’re sorry,” he murmurs, guiding Izuku down into the booth, flipping him onto his back with practiced ease.
He’ll deal with the bruises later.
He’s done way sooner than expected, even with heroes chasing him for half the afternoon.
By the time he finally slips home, his body is buzzing from overusing Boost and his head aches from the rain. He changes out of his vigilante gear and into a plain hoodie and sweats. Old, soft, familiar. They’re actually in good condition today.
He earned five hundred.
Enough to last him the month, he hopes.
Maybe. If nothing goes wrong. If he doesn’t have to run. If he doesn’t have to buy gear again.
Don’t think too hard.
Izuku makes his way to the library, hands in his pockets, hood pulled low over his face. It’s quiet inside. Safe in the way places full of books usually are. He grabs a couple quirk analysis manuals, a hero encyclopedia, and a thick volume on combat adaptability.
He checks them out with barely a word exchanged and heads toward the little café he always goes to.
The owner is nice.
Her daughter is nice.
They treat him like a human being instead of a delinquent in a hoodie. That’s more than most people in this city do.
He slips into his usual booth, sets down the books, and pulls out his notebook and pens. This part is easy. This part is what he’s good at. If someone asked him what his strongest skill was, he’d probably say this:
Finding weaknesses.
Predicting quirks.
Figuring out how to get past people stronger than him.
He flips through a hero book, jotting notes in the margins of his own. Eraserhead. He’s never really studied him before. Might as well. It’s not like heroes are getting easier to dodge.
“The usual?”
Izuku looks up.
Granny Choi stands beside him, her smile softening all the sharp edges inside his chest.
“Yeah, Granny Choi.”
She insisted he call her that after he showed up often enough to be considered a regular. After he helped stack crates once when her daughter hurt her wrist.
“You are just the cutest thing,” she says, reaching out to pinch his cheek. “I’ll have it right out for you.”
Izuku smiles before he can stop himself. She shuffles back behind the counter, and he returns to his notebook, underlining something about reaction speed limits.
He’s halfway through a section on quirk fatigue when a plate and drink appear beside him.
“I didn’t order food,” he says.
“It’s on the house,” Granny Choi replies, waving him off. “You’re way too skinny.”
Izuku frowns into a smile. “Thank you.”
She ruffles his hair like she’s known him his whole life. “Always. You’re always welcome here, if you need a place to sit.”
“Okay, Granny,” he says softly.
It’s always nice here.
Warm.
Safe in a way he doesn’t think he deserves, but accepts anyway.
She leaves him to his studying.
Izuku takes a sip of the drink, flips to the next page.