Chapter Text
No one was born equal in this world. One person knew this in particular. Izuku Midoriya. A boy, who had a quirk no one thought useful. A mother who was lost in her own world. Not caring enough for poor little Izuku. A father who was absent all of his life. Sure. Izuku wasn’t quirkless. But by no chance was his life any better than theirs.
His ‘friend’ Bakugou and his cronies bullied him every day. His teachers ignored the bullying. In this world? Only people with strong quirks. Strong enough to be a hero ‘deserved’ the right to a fair life. . Only the strong survived. Only the strong deserved a life. His family? The one people who were meant to be with him no matter what? When he got bullied, when he was depressed? Why, his father left many years ago, promising he’d come back. But never doing it. His mother? Why, she was an alcoholic. A person who had seen and done far too much in this world, to the point that if she was sober for more than 5 minutes in Izuku’s presence, he would have a bruise on his eye the next day at school.
Why? Why is it that even though the world had preyed on Izuku’s innocence and youth, did he still want to save the world? Even though the world had showed its back to Izuku, why did he refuse to show his back to it? Even with such a ‘weak’ quirk, Izuku still wanted to be a hero. Someone like his greatest inspiration All Might. Yet the question remains. Would he be able to become the hero he wished to be with the way society was treating him? Or would he succumb to their expectations? Only time would tell…
~~~~~~~~~
“Oh, right, Midoriya!” the teacher barked, snapping Izuku out of his daze. Of course this would happen today. It wasn’t that his teacher hated him say per say. He just “knew” Izuku wouldn’t survive in the hero world, and wasn’t afraid to remind the rest of the class.
“You wanted to go to U.A. too, didn’t you, Izuku?”
Izuku lowered his gaze, staring holes into his table.
Almost immediately, jeers filled the room.
“Deku? That bastard?”
“What’s he gonna do? Sing them away?”
“He’s basically quirkless!”
“You mean to say it wants to get in? The quirkless boy?”
Suddenly, Katsuki Bakugou, Izuku’s long-time tormentor, spat out water and started shouting.
“Are we talking about the same Izuku, teach? Because no fucking way could little bitch Deku get into U.A.! He’s so fucking useless!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” the teacher said with a smirk. From all the parent meetings his mother had attended, drunk, Izuku knew just how much the teachers enjoyed “gently discouraging him from becoming a hero.”
The ending bell rang before Bakugou could shout at the gods once more, and the teacher clapped his hands together. “Yes. Class is over Bakugou. If you want to ‘teach’ Izuku anything. Now is the perfect time.” Yes, of course the teacher was siding with Bakugou.
The final bell rang, and the classroom erupted into chatter.
Izuku stayed in his seat, waiting for everyone to leave. He was used to it. The laughter, the whispers, the pitying glances, the bullying. Even the teacher’s careless smirk still echoed in his mind.
Once the room finally emptied, Izuku packed up his notebook. The pages were worn, filled with hero analyses, sketches, and dreams that had long since stopped feeling real. Dreams that he wanted to be real, but never would in this non-idealistic society.
He slung his bag over his shoulder and slipped out the door, trying to move quietly enough to disappear.
But, of course, he didn’t.
“Oi, Deku!”
The voice hit like a slap. Bakugou’s bark echoed through the corridor. Bakugou was waiting just down the hall, surrounded by his usual two followers.
Izuku froze. He didn’t even need to turn to know that smirk, that voice, that mix of superiority and disgust.
Bakugou stomped over, explosions crackling faintly in his palms. “You really piss me off, you know that?” He said, his mouth gaped open like an idiot. “Still acting like you can be a hero with that weak-ass music quirk?”
Izuku opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Damn his selective mutism. Bakugou conditioned him like a dog.
Bakugou snorted. “You can summon a guitar. Big deal. Maybe you can play me a funeral song when I’m done being number one. Not like you’ll be alive by then you fucking whore.”
His tone turned darker, quieter. “You’ll never make it, Deku. Not with that weak-ass quirk of yours. You’d be better off jumping off a roof and hoping you’re born with a real quirk next time.”
Izuku flinched. Bakugou was suicide baiting him. And he knew no one would care about it.
Bakugou leaned closer, his grin widening. “Maybe then you’ll get a quirk even a tenth as strong as mine.”
He shoved Izuku’s shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling back into the wall. His friends laughed, following him. And then they all left.
Izuku just stood there in the empty hallway, the echoes of their laughter fading. His hand trembled. His throat felt tight.
He wanted to cry, but no tears came. Only silence
~~~~~
The streets were quiet. Izuku walked home without looking up, eyes fixed on the pavement.
His mind was loud. Thinking of everything at once. Bakugou’s voice, his teacher’s smirk, the laughter. The weight of years pressing down all at once.
‘Maybe he’s right.’ Izuku thought, his mind starting to become self-depreciating like it did every night
He stopped under a bridge, staring at his relfection in a puddle. The green of his eyes looked dull. Tired.
He went down and picked up his battered diary that Bakugou threw out the class, peeling the koi fish off it. It didn’t matter to him. Not now anyway.
He didn’t even notice the faint bubbling sound behind him until it was too late.
A sludgy hand shot out, wrapping around his body. Cold, suffocating pressure slammed into his chest.
Izuku’s lungs screamed for air. The sludge-y face formed inches from his own, grinning with malice.
“You’ll do nicely,” it hissed. “A perfect little skin suit for me. I’ll get that All Might now.”
Cold pressure crushed his ribs. The world narrowed to the shape of the villain’s grin and the feel of his heart hammering in his chest.
Izuku didn’t fight back. His hands twitched. He could have summoned a drum, a cymbal, a violin, anything. But he didn’t.
He didn’t see the point.
‘Maybe this is fine,’ he thought. ‘If I disappear here, no one would even notice. No one would even care.’
The world was fading. His vision blurred. His body felt light. Darkness closed in at the corner of his eyes as the slime pulled him under. The world tilted. Water filled his ears. Cold clung to his skin. He couldn’t think, feel, or hear anymore. Not like any of that would’ve restarted his long-dead survival instinct.”
“Good night wor-.” Izuku started muttering under his breath, welcoming the cold embrace of death.
---
Then -- a sudden blast of wind tore through the courtyard, scattering droplets and slime alike. Freeing Izuku from the slimy being. The air vibrated with power. A golden silhouette appeared, sunlight glinting off a towering figure, muscles and grin impossibly larger than life.
“Do not fear citizen, for I am here!” All Might shouted out, staring at Izuku’s pale, near-lifeless body.
“A-All Might…” Izuku gasped, eyes widening. His body shook with awe, heart pounding so fast it hurt. His lungs breathing out air he desperately needed to speak. “Yo… you’re really here…”
The hero landed with the effortless certainty of someone who belonged in the light. Someone with practised movements of rescue. He moved like a harmonic chord. Decisive, impossible to ignore. Slime burst apart, flying in black droplets as All Might sealed the villain away in an old bottle he had.
Izuku crawled forward, coughing both air and blood alike. His soaked notebook was clutched to his chest like a relic, full of analysis from a multitude of heroes, but especially his favourite one, All Might. He looked up at the hero he had read about, videos he always used to watch. The one good memory he had with his mother. Adoration flooded him. The kind of raw, breathless adoration that made knees weak.
“Y-You saved me… I-” he choked, voice trembling. He clutched the notebook harder. “All Might, sir… I’ve studied everything. I’ve been preparing. My quirk, my music. I-it’s good. I-It’s useful. I-I swear… I know I’m not the strongest, but I can help. I can be a hero. Please tell me I can be like you. Please! I need to know!”
“Please. I analyse. I’ve analysed you so much. Please. I’m smart. I-I’m not useless. Please. Just hear me out.“ He babbled tactics, sketches, training routines from memory, voice rising and falling as if the words themselves might stitch his courage back together. Like they might show All Might how desperate he was. How much he wanted to be a hero.
All Might’s face softened, a great smile managing a small, tired mercy of his true emotions. He placed a large hand gently on Izuku’s trembling shoulder.
“Young man,” he said, the voice warm but carrying a truth like weight, “You have courage and compassion and intelligence. Virtues no one can give you, nor take away. They are important.”
Izuku’s chest swelled at that, a bright flare of relief. “S-so?” he breathed, eyes shining, the notebook damp against his ribs. “So, I can be a hero? I’ll train harder. I’ll-”
All Might’s smile thinned. The warmth in his tone didn’t hide the carefulness of what he had to say next. Nor could it hide what he truly thought. It was merely a mercy for Izuku’s heart to make him feel useful. “But a heart alone will not keep you safe in battle,” he said quietly. “Your quirk is… not one that grants you defence or stopping power. It can’t attack. Heroes must be able to protect both others and themselves. You would be exposed.”
The words landed with a soft, terrible finality. Izuku blinked, hope splintering like glass. “N-no. I can adapt. I can- I can do better, I-” His voice shook; the conviction he’d just summoned began to fray, tearing at the seams from what All Might was saying.
All Might’s hand squeezed Izuku’s shoulder, not a comfort, but a truth-telling gesture. “You could do great good in other roles. You’re a very smart individual. You would do well as a doctor, or as a police officer. Those jobs are just as important and need brave hearts as well.”
Izuku’s knees gave first. He sank down, cold water seeping through his clothes, his soaked hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and tears. The world around him seemed too bright and too mellow all at once. The hero who had just saved his life spoke kindly, but he had not opened the door Izuku had been knocking at for years. Quite the opposite, he removed the door entirely and took him to another room. One emptier with nothing poor Izuku could live with.
For a moment there was only the sound of dripping water and his own ragged breath. All Might stared mourningly, but said nothing. The pond’s surface settled into glass, koi sliding beneath unaffected. The laughter he sustained, the taunts, his teacher’s smirk, everything, everything stacked up behind All Might’s words and collapsed onto Izuku like a weight, pulling him down into the deep abyss he had been climbing out of.
“I-I must leave. I have other duties to take care of. And while you can never be a hero, don’t forget you are not useless.” All Might spoke, his smile crackling for a second before returning just as he started jumping away.
All Might’s silhouette rose, shrinking into the distance. The sun caught his cape once more, a final flash of gold before it disappeared, leaving Izuku in the quiet shadow he’d always known. The abyss he had been living in. The courtyard felt enormous and hollow, just like Izuku’s dreams. Izuku curled his arms around himself, the notebook damp and useless in his grip.
A cold, flatness crept through him where hope had been. His thoughts narrowed, precise and hollow
‘If the man I worshiped can’t say yes, who can? He was the only one. He was my life-saver. If a life-saver. No. The life-saver says the path isn’t mine… maybe it truly isn’t. Maybe I’m destined to be useless. Maybe I should suicide.’ Izuku thought. His mind frazzled with thoughts that felt alien to his own.
He stumbled to his feet mechanically, each step heavier than the last. His body feeling as if it had been held down by weights. The school emptied as evening fell, lantern lights pooling on the pavement like stars. Meant to be comforting yet only caused Izuku more despair. He walked home without setting sights on the streetlights, without the little humof songs he used to play to soothe himself. No instrument, nothing. The melody inside him that made him think he had a future went strangely silent.
At home the apartment door was closed. The halls smelled of old coffee and the lemon cleaner his mother sometimes used on better days. He dragged himself up the stairs, each step hollow, as if the floor swallowed the sound. As if not even he was worth the noise. He didn’t shout for her, didn’t knock, nothing inside him demanded a reply. If she was angry, so be it; if she was gone, so be it. Nothing changed the principle settling in his chest. He had been told by his idol, gently but clearly, that the one thing he’d wanted could not be. He didn’t know where his mother was, yet it didn’t matter. What mattered was leaving.
By the time he reached the roof, the city had darkened into a scatter of lights, beautiful stars that represented everything Izuku lost, as well as a cold wind that pulled at his clothes. The ledge looked small from here, a thin line between this floor and the emptiness beyond. The sound of distant traffic thinned into a hush. He could feel the hollow space filling him like an echo chamber. Never ending, only increasing in size.
He sat quietly, notebook folded on his lap, fingers numbly tracing the soggy pages. The idea slid into him quietly, not as a sudden impulse but as a conclusion. If the dream that had sustained him no matter what. Thick and through. The thing that defined him as a person was not meant for him, then what of the rest? The questions sharpened and the answers dulled until his chest ached with the weight of them and there was no answers in his decrepit life.
He thought of Bakugou’s words again. The shove, the laughter. He thought of his mother. How her way of coping with everything was alcohol and blaming him. He thought of All Might’s soft denial and the way it had destroyed his hope away like a letter left unread. Or worse. A letter read with no response. The music in his head, once a small, stubborn rhythm, grew thin, before stopping.
For a long while he simply let the cold move through him, side to side, place to place, the city breathing around him, the night indifferent. The thought of not waking up edged into his mind and refused to leave. It was not a plan so much as a presence, a grave silence that made everything else reverberate. Izuku felt very small, and the world, suddenly, felt very loud. Afterall, like he had always thought, no one would care if he disappeared. Maybe his mother would stop drinking. Maybe she would get help. Maybe everything would go better, once he disappeared. That was all young Izuku could think.
He didn’t leap in that instant. He only sat and let the wind press against him, let the emptiness settle, let it consume his entirety. The possibility of an end from everything sat at the edge of his awareness, patient and cutting. He tasted nothing, felt little, and the notebook in his hands felt like a relic of someone else’s life. Nothing could make him feel like himself. But his legs were tensed. As in that moment, Izuku thought far too well that he could slip, and no one would notice. For the first time, the boy born with music heard nothing at all. The silence suffocating harder than Izuku when Bakugou is in an angry mood.
And so he falls.