Chapter Text
Midoriya was more than excited. He was already four years old, which meant his quirk would manifest soon—just like Kacchan’s had. Izuku couldn’t wait to find out what kind of power he would have. His mom had weak telekinesis, and his dad had fire breath, so he was sure his quirk would be a mix of both… or just fire breath. He preferred that option: it would make his quirk similar to Kacchan’s, and his future hero agency would look much cooler.
But that excitement slowly began to fade. As the weeks went by, Izuku noticed that nothing was happening. No matter how hard he tried, absolutely nothing developed. He tried not to get discouraged; after all, he had always been a bit strange. People always said his eyes were weird, though Midoriya never understood why. According to his mom, his paternal grandfather had eyes like that too. Still, he couldn’t help feeling worse and worse. He didn’t want to be quirkless. Kacchan hated that—and really… everyone did. And if people already avoided him because of how he looked, he knew that if he ended up quirkless, things would be much worse.
Desperation began to grow, so he decided to ask his only friend for advice.
“Kacchan,” the boy said, looking at him. “How do I get my quirk faster? What did you do?”
Katsuki looked at him and answered without thinking.
“It’s easy. My mom always said I had to eat my vegetables to get it faster. So I did that for a few weeks and that was it.”
To prove his point, Bakugo produced small explosions from his hands. Izuku watched and nodded, then ran back home. So that was the problem—he never ate vegetables. If he started doing that, his quirk would definitely show up.
From that day on, Izuku ate all his vegetables. Every single day. He didn’t leave a single trace on his plate. But for some reason, nothing worked. Little by little, he started to lose hope.
It reached a point where Mitsuba, one of his classmates, pointed at him when he joined the heroes-and-villains game he played with Bakugo.
“Izuku doesn’t have a quirk. He’s probably quirkless. He should be the villain—you know, he’s useless… and kind of scary.”
That made Kacchan angry instantly. Without thinking, he fired explosions at Mitsuba.
“What are you saying?! Izuku isn’t quirkless! He’s going to be a hero like me! Obviously I’ll be better—but he’ll be a hero too!”
Still, Midoriya couldn’t stop thinking that it was getting closer to becoming reality, not just an insult. Later, when he was alone with Kacchan again, he worked up the courage to ask:
“If I don’t have a quirk… will we still be friends?”
Bakugo looked at him and immediately smiled.
“Of course we’ll still be friends. You’d just be less awesome than me.”
That managed to cheer Midoriya up a little.
That same night, Izuku was helping his mom cook. As he watched her use her quirk, he felt something strange. At first it was the usual curiosity—the one he always felt when he saw Inko’s power in action. But then something different came.
Desire.
The desire to have that quirk. Not just want it—he needed it. He wanted to know what the limits of his mom’s power were, how far it could go, what it was capable of. He needed to know.
And almost instinctively, Midoriya reached out toward her.
Suddenly, small tube-like protrusions emerged from his arm, and all the objects his mom had been levitating dropped to the floor.
“Oh… this is strange,” Inko said, trying to regain control of her quirk.
But she couldn’t. When she turned around and looked at Izuku, she noticed the tubes coming out of his hands.
“Oh no…” she whispered.
Izuku looked at her, confused.
“Did something happen?” he asked.
Inko was already holding his hands, examining him closely.
“Oh God… we have to leave,” she said suddenly. “Izu, we’re moving.”
“What? I don’t want that!” Izuku complained instantly. “I won’t be able to see Kacchan! And why would we move?”
“I can’t explain it right now,” Inko replied, clearly alarmed. “But we have to. I’ll talk to Mitsuki and explain the situation… you’ll probably be able to make calls with Bakugo.”
From that day on, everything became strange.
Izuku learned that his quirk was called All For One, and that he could steal and give quirks at will—just like his grandfather. But he also learned that he couldn’t tell anyone. His grandfather, apparently, was a very evil person, and they had to hide from him. That was why they kept moving: if he found out where they were, things would get bad very quickly.
Little by little, Midoriya began to notice that he couldn’t make calls with Kacchan anymore. That he probably wouldn’t go back to kindergarten. That everything was going to change… and not for the better.
His mom, who used to be calm, was now busy all the time—looking for places to hide, thinking about what she would do if something happened. Inko told him he could keep his quirk and that she would try to help him learn how to use it to defend himself, though it was difficult, since she had never used her power to fight.
Everything felt unpleasant. Heavy.
Even more so knowing that his mom didn’t even really know where his grandfather was.
---
Eventually, they ended up moving next to a small bar. It was an old place, with dim lights and windows that were always fogged up. Inko didn’t know who owned the bar, but the rent was cheap, and for the first time in weeks, the place felt calm.
Too calm.
That night, Izuku was in his room, sitting on the floor, playing with a broken figurine. He could hear his mom moving around the kitchen. The familiar sound. Safe.
Then he heard the door.
It wasn’t a loud knock. It was the quiet sound of someone entering as if they already had permission.
“Inko Midoriya?” a deep, calm male voice said.
Izuku immediately felt a chill run down his spine.
“Yes?” his mom replied, confused. “Who are you?”
There was no immediate response. Just footsteps. Calm, steady footsteps, like those of someone who wasn’t in a hurry.
“Finding you was easier than you thought,” the voice said. “You were always bad at hiding.”
Inko understood instantly. Her body tensed.
“Izuku,” she said quickly, her voice trembling. “Go to your room. Close the door.”
Izuku didn’t move. Fear rooted him in place.
The figure appeared in the kitchen doorway. Tall. Elegant. With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Inko stepped back, still holding the kitchen knife, and although she tried to attack the man, the disadvantage was obvious.
Nothing worked.
Everything fell to the floor before it could touch him.
“You shouldn’t have awakened his quirk,” the man said, almost disappointed, though the mockery behind his tone was unmistakable. “Now I can’t ignore him.”
“Please,” Inko whispered. “He’s just a child.”
For the first time, the man truly looked at her.
“I know. That’s why I’m here.”
Inko turned her head for just a second, looking at Izuku. She smiled—a desperate, broken smile.
“Izuku… run.”
Those were her last words.
Izuku screamed for his mom, but the sound was swallowed by the dull impact that followed. He didn’t see blood. He didn’t see anything explicit. He only saw his mom fall to the ground, unmoving, as if she had suddenly fallen asleep.
The silence was absolute.
The man slowly turned toward him.
“Hello, Izuku,” he said calmly. “I’m your grandfather.”
Izuku didn’t respond. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream.
His body simply stopped reacting.
From that moment on, Midoriya began living with his grandfather. To the world, Inko Midoriya and her son had died in a gas leak.
---
Living with his grandfather was, without a doubt, the worst thing that could have happened to Midoriya. Being with that man was horrible. His routine was no longer waking up to prepare for a new day of games and laughter; now all he did was train and sleep. Nothing else.
Midoriya quickly learned that no hero was coming to save him—and that no one would hear him.
He was alone.
His grandfather always showed up to train him for at least a few hours. Every day, he arrived saying the same thing:
“I have a gift.”
And he would give him a different quirk.
Izuku hated knowing that those quirks had been stolen. He hated feeling how his body reacted—like it was hungry for more. Like it would never be enough. Months turned into years.
Those years destroyed him. At first, his grandfather was kinder, but over time, he let his curiosity take over, and each day became worse. The training was brutal. From learning how to steal quirks, he moved on to fighting without any—against adults. He fought Nomu. He spent entire days running without stopping. He learned never to show pain.
There were moments when he simply wondered why the hell he didn’t just die already.
Everything was terrible.
Every time he showed even the slightest sign of rebellion, his grandfather punished him by taking away a quirk.
Izuku hated admitting how he felt. Ever since his power awakened, Midoriya felt like something inside him had grown more savage. Everything that was his had to be only his. No one else was allowed to touch it. And even though he knew those quirks didn’t belong to him, they felt like they did.
He clearly remembered one time, during a strangely civilized meal, when his grandfather commented:
“I have to admit, I like it when you rebel. You remind me a lot of my little brother. Sometimes I see his hair in you. Too bad you inherited my eyes.”
There was something in that tone that Midoriya didn’t like.
The next day, he secretly cut his hair.
That earned him punishment.
After that, he never let it grow long again.
There was another kind of training they practiced often: self-control. It was the worst of all. It consisted of his grandfather provoking and beating him for hours. If Midoriya showed even the slightest sign of displeasure, he was punished.
Everything was horrible.
As the years passed, Midoriya stopped feeling. He no longer thought, no longer reacted—he simply obeyed orders. It was at that point that his grandfather introduced him to Shigaraki Tomura, practically his uncle. They began training together, and although Midoriya didn’t like him, he said nothing.
Midoriya was no longer Izuku Midoriya.
Now he was just Midoriya.
The grandson who had to obey everything he was told.
And for some reason, he felt like he was no one.
---
Midoriya was fifteen when he was allowed to go outside again.
One single mission. One single order.
Obey Tomura.
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was his grandfather’s voice, embedded in his head like an unbreakable law. Tomura Shigaraki had to stand out on this mission—it was his debut, the definitive proof that he was a real threat. That was why they had given him a Nomu. That was why Midoriya was there.
He had to make sure Shigaraki didn’t mess up.
The attack began without warning.
The forest, which minutes earlier had been full of laughter and campfires, shattered with the sound of exploding branches and screams. The Nomu dropped from above like a mass of flesh and strength, crushing the ground and shaking the earth. Villains emerged from different points—coordinated, fast. Nothing was improvised.
Midoriya moved behind Tomura, acting as he had been taught: without hesitation, without looking back. He stopped several students who had the bad luck of being nearby, removing their quirks with precise movements. He didn’t think about their faces.
He wasn’t supposed to think.
“Faster!” Tomura shouted. “Make them panic!”
The Nomu obeyed.
Midoriya turned when he felt a strong presence approaching. A red impact forced him back. Someone tough, resistant, straightforward. A red-haired boy hardened his arm and attacked without fear.
“Villain!” Kirishima shouted. “You’re not getting past me!”
Midoriya dodged the first hit and blocked the second. Kirishima was strong, but predictable. His movements were honest. Midoriya shoved him against a tree, aiming the tubes, ready to steal his quirk if necessary.
But something was wrong.
That was when he realized it was a trap—the unconscious students were mysteriously gone. Great. The redhead had been a distraction.
“HEY! YOU, GREY-HAIR!” a familiar voice roared. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”
The explosion that followed shook the air.
Midoriya stopped.
Not because of strategy.
Not because of orders.
His mind—normally clouded during missions—felt different. Something old, buried deep, yanked at him violently. And even as he dodged Kirishima’s next attack, a word escaped his mouth—one he didn’t know still existed.
“…Kacchan?”
Bakugo froze.
His eyes widened, scanning the boy’s face. Taller. Thinner. With an empty look that shouldn’t have been there.
“…How do you know that name?” he said, his voice low, dangerous.
Then he swallowed.
“…Izuku?”
That name hit harder than any attack.
Izuku.
The world slowed. The sounds of battle faded away. Midoriya felt his chest tighten, as if something was trying to break free after years of being locked away.
“I…” he tried to say.
That was the mistake.
Kirishima took advantage of the distraction and slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Midoriya rolled and stood up immediately—but it was too late. Eyes were on him. A couple of students restrained him, and when he looked up, Kurogiri had already warped Tomura out.
Great. Because of his stupidity, he was trapped there—and would probably receive the punishment of a lifetime from his grandfather.
The last thing he knew was darkness.
---
Gran Torino was used to life surprising him. He had lived a long time, and over the years he had come to believe he’d seen everything, endured everything. But, as always, life found a way to hit him with something unexpected. He felt like he’d aged ten years all at once when he received the news. Yagi had called him about a case—which was already strange, since Gran Torino had retired long ago. Sure, he had helped Yagi train his successor, but he had no plans to return to patrol or active hero work.
It turned out the “case” wasn’t a simple robbery or a common villain attack. No. The case was that All For One had a grandson. That meant he had also had a child, and given how well Sorahiko knew the Symbol of Evil, they called him in to supervise the boy’s interrogation. They believed he, better than anyone, could detect manipulation patterns the kid might have inherited.
That was why he now found himself in the underground levels of Police Headquarters, in a maximum-security room, alongside Aizawa and Naomasa. The three of them were about to enter to interrogate the boy. The plan was simple: Aizawa would keep his quirk active to nullify any surprise attack, Naomasa would watch closely for every lie, and he… he would analyze whether the boy tried to manipulate them with every word he spoke.
Torino had to admit—if only to himself—that he never thought seeing a face so similar to All For One’s again would affect him this much. Because damn it, even though the boy was only his grandson, he could easily pass as his clone—or even his son. The physical resemblance was unsettling.
They entered the room under a heavy tension you could cut with a knife. The original idea was clear: treat him like a villain, pressure him, use intimidation—the kind that usually breaks young criminals. But the moment they sat across from him, the plan began to fall apart.
Aizawa never took his eyes off the boy, his eyes red and his quirk active. Naomasa had his notebook ready. And Gran Torino simply observed, searching for that trace of malice he knew so well.
“Full name?” Naomasa asked firmly, breaking the silence.
Nothing. The boy didn’t move a muscle. He sat straight-backed, hands on his legs, but his eyes were completely empty. No defiance. No hatred. Not even fear. It was like interrogating a marble statue.
Naomasa tried again, this time asking directly about All For One—but the result was the same. Minutes passed, frustration building in the room. The boy didn’t even blink like a normal person; he didn’t react to loud noises, lights, or mentions of his lineage.
“It’s useless,” Aizawa muttered, relaxing his posture slightly but keeping his quirk active. “He’s not staying silent out of loyalty. He’s just… not there.”
Gran Torino let out a long, heavy sigh, leaning on his cane. He had seen many men break in that chair—but this was different. The boy wasn’t resisting the interrogation; it was as if nothing happening in that room meant anything to him at all. The “villain” tactic didn’t work, because for someone to be a villain, they had to want something—and this boy didn’t even seem to want to keep breathing.
“We’re not dealing with a manipulator, Naomasa,” Torino said quietly, never taking his eyes off the boy. “This kid isn’t playing with us. He’s broken. He was practically dissociated the entire interrogation.”
---
It took a few days before the boy finally spoke. Since he was clearly dissociated and likely deeply distrustful, they had to try a different approach: gaining his trust. They quickly noticed the boy barely spoke at all—honestly, if he hadn’t talked during the U.S.J. incident, they might have thought he was mute. He only seemed to respond to very direct orders, and even then, his expression stayed blank, as if emotions didn’t exist.
There wasn’t much they could do. It was decided that Aizawa, with the perfect quirk for the job, would be the one to build trust. That was why Shota now had to go to the underground prison every day just to talk to a kid who wouldn’t even look at him—and bring him food. From what little he noticed, the boy liked katsudon, and he also seemed interested in quirks—something Shota only realized when he explained his own power. It was the first time the boy looked up at him.
They soon discovered, thanks to Bakugo, that the boy’s name was Izuku, and that they had been friends as children—before Izuku disappeared a few months after turning four.
Once a small routine formed, Aizawa brought him food again. It was there, while they ate in silence and Shota ran out of things to say, that the boy finally spoke.
“My name is Izuku,” he said. Aizawa already knew, of course—but Izuku didn’t know that they knew.
“I’m Shota,” he replied. He’d said it before, but damn it, he needed to keep the conversation going.
Knowing Izuku was the same age as Katsuki, he finally asked, “Why are you in the League?”
They already suspected he was there by force—but they needed to hear his answer.
“Grandfather is there,” Izuku replied simply.
That confirmed their worst fears. Even if everyone already assumed he was All For One’s grandson, hearing it from Izuku himself made it far worse.
“Do you like being there?” Shota asked.
“It’s fine. Grandfather is there. I have to obey Grandfather,” Izuku answered.
“Can you tell me where the hideout is?”
Izuku shook his head.
Yes. They definitely weren’t going to get the answers they wanted easily.
---
Shortly after the interrogation, it was decided to hold a meeting at U.A. to determine what would be done with Izuku. While the boy was dangerous, he was still a boy—broken, yes, but still a child who had only been following the orders of his only family.
“We can’t keep him in a maximum-security cell indefinitely,” Principal Nezu broke the silence, folding his paws as he looked at the screen showing Izuku sitting inside his cell. “He is a child who was shaped by the most dangerous man in history. If we leave him in prison, we’ll only confirm what All For One has likely told him his entire life: that the hero world will reject him.”
“He’s All For One’s grandson, Nezu!” Endeavor exclaimed, lightly slamming his fist against the table. “I understand that he’s a victim, but he’s a catastrophic-level security risk. If the League comes for him, or if he suddenly decides that ‘grandfather’ left him a dormant order, U.A. will turn into a battlefield.”
Aizawa sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked more exhausted than usual.
“The boy doesn’t have free will,” Shota intervened, his voice flat but firm. “If we send him to Tartarus, we’ll lose him forever. Right now, his only connection to reality is our conversations—and the katsudon I bring him. If we want information about All For One’s whereabouts, we need him to trust us, not fear us.”
“And what are you suggesting, Eraser?” Midnight asked, concern lacing her tone. “Let him walk the halls with the other students?”
“Under absolute surveillance,” Gran Torino replied, having remained silent in the corner until now. “I’ve seen how All For One destroys families. He’s doing it to this kid. If we leave him locked up, the villain wins. If we bring him here, under Aizawa’s watch and U.A.’s security, at least we have a chance to save what’s left of him.”
Naomasa, representing the police force, nodded slightly.
“The police don’t have the resources to contain someone with a potentially unstable quirk lineage and rehabilitate him. Legally, it’s a gray area, but if U.A. accepts him under a ‘witness protection’ program, we can keep him out of the prison system for now.”
“There’s one more problem,” All Might added, his voice strained. “If word gets out that All For One’s grandson is here, the students’ parents will panic.”
“Which is why he won’t be a student,” Nezu declared, his eyes sharp. “He’ll be housed in a private section of the staff dormitories, or a high-security area within the campus. He’ll be under Aizawa’s direct supervision. If he shows any hostile behavior, Shota can erase his quirk instantly.”
Aizawa looked back at the screen. Izuku was still staring at the wall of his cell, waiting for an order that never came.
“It won’t be easy,” Aizawa warned. “He’s broken in a way that doesn’t heal with kind words. But it’s better than leaving him in the dark.”
Nezu nodded, signaling the end of the discussion.
“It’s decided. Bring Izuku to U.A. We’ll begin his deprogramming here. Let’s hope this is the first step toward taking the final piece off All For One’s board.”