Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Mom! We’re going to be late!” adorable six-year-old Izuku called out to his mother as he tried to pull her to the front door – away from her car keys. “We can’t be late for my quirk!”

She hummed in response. That wasn’t quite how quirks worked, but try explaining that to a six-year-old. Where did she put those keys again? It had to have been on this counter, but which pile could it be hiding under? Izuku, standing behind Inko and pulling on her arm, leaned back with all his weight. “Mo~om!” he drawled out the vowel with each yank.

His efforts did more to wrench her heart than her body, but it was delightful nonetheless. “One second Izu, I have to get my keys first.”

He stopped pulling, but swung his shoulders side to side in a childish manner – never letting go of her hand. “Mom! I put your keys by the door so we could le~ave already!”

She laughed behind her free hand. “Sweetie, it doesn’t work like that unless you tell me that you moved them.” She scooped the keys off the shelf, opened the door, and Izuku sprinted off to get as many seconds as possible of waiting at the car door before she could unlock it.

By the time she approached the vehicle and finally unlocked the door, the handle had probably been yanked two dozen times. Before she could even open her own door, her son was sitting in the passenger seat, bouncing both fists up and down in sync with his bobbing head. “I’m gonna get a quirk! I’m gonna get a quirk!” he kept chanting.

“Not until you buckle your seatbelt you won’t,” she chided him.

Throughout the whole drive, Izuku spoke of his future career in heroics, how he’ll finally get to be as cool as Kacchan, and all the people he’ll save. He spoke of power after power that he believed he might wield, not caring for any congruency with his parents’ genetics. Inko paid enough vague interest to respond with noncommittal agreements in all the right places, but otherwise, her mind was occupied.

She knew the visit to the doctor’s wasn’t going to magically make his quirk appear. And she knew that barring a freak mutation, her son would never fly through the sky, or lift buildings with one arm as he was doing in the stories he currently spoke to her. The only reason they need to make this visit at all is because his quirk didn’t manifest yet. Everyone else’s in his class had already shown up, and her sweet Izuku was already one of the older children of his grade.

She didn’t know whether she should hope that he had a quirk mundane enough that he’d simply never noticed it, or that he would be a late bloomer. At least if he were a late bloomer there was a chance at a fantastical quirk.

“Mom! Mom! Do you think that they’ll tell me my quirk is stronger than All Might’s?” He reached over, shaking both her arm and heart strings alike.

“Not while I’m driving Izu.” She pulled her arm just enough to release his grip. “And you never know, but just understand, that even if you didn’t have a quirk at all, I would still love you Izuku.” She allowed herself a quick glance from the road to let Izuku see the sincerity in her eyes.

“Of course I have a quirk, Mom! Everyone gets a quirk to make them special.” He stabbed a finger up towards the heavens. “Kacchan said so!”

She turned on her blinker to enter the parking lot. “You know, young Katsuki doesn’t know everything.”

“Not yet.” He rubbed two fingers on his chin as though pondering life itself. “But he almost does!”

She couldn’t hold back her laughter at his childish wisdom. “You’ll have to let me know when he does know everything, I’ll have a few questions for him!” She let her laughter ring through the jubilant mood a moment longer as she parked the car. “But in this case, I know things that even Katsuki doesn’t know; just three-hundred years ago, no one had quirks. And even now, it’s not quite guaranteed.” She punctuated her point by booping his nose.

“Three-hundred years? That’s forever ago!” Without explanation, he was overcome with a fit of laughter once more. “Could you imagine if the dinosaurs did have quirks? We would have never stood a chance! Except for All Might, or Hero Kacchan.” He nodded solemnly.

“Hero Kacchan?” She had been about to open her door and leave the car, but this was more important…

“Hero Kacchan!” Izuku helpfully exclaimed. “Of course he’ll be a hero! But since he’s not one yet, we have to call him Hero Kacchan when we play heroes, or else it would be confusing.”

With her query satisfied, they both made their way into the building.

Izuku held onto his mother’s hand as they crossed the parking lot. He was having fun skipping as far as their combined reach would let him, before waiting until he was just as far behind her, which allowed him to do it all over again.

The doors opened letting a cool breeze from the air conditioned space relieve him from the early-August heat. Which made the long wait in the chair-room much more bearable. Why did they even have a special time just for Izuku if they were going to be late?

When the doctor people finally remembered that Izuku was waiting for them, they brought him to several different rooms, and used a bunch of machines that were only mostly scary. Especially the ones that Mom had to be away for. With each additional test performed without any sign of his quirk manifesting his heart sank lower and lower – and at his height it wasn’t even a meter off the ground to start with!

So far it was going completely different to his dream last night. He had been so excited to finally get his quirk that he could hardly fall asleep! But then when he did, he had a dream where he was at the appointment, and All Might showed up!

“You need a quirk huh?” All Might spoke in English – or at least Izuku thought it was English – regardless, Izuku could understand him, unlike the other people who talk in English on TV. “Wa-Bam!” A laser shot out of All Might’s extended pointer finger shining a bright light all across Izuku’s body. “You’ve got Super Strength and Flight!”

He spent the rest of the night flying and beating bad guys with a single punch. And every time he picked up a hurt person, they got better.

Finally, they brought him and Mom to a different room without any scary machines, and sat them down the way grownups do when they have bad news. Instead of taking a chair by himself, he stood behind Mom’s chair holding tight to the rim of its backing.

“While the tests were unable to bring out the quirk's effects, we can be reasonably sure that he does have one.” The doctor pulled a picture of Izuku’s bones from a yellow manilla folder. “This is the structure of his foot, where we can see the absence of the third joint in his pinky toe. This has been correlated to the existence of a quirk.”

The man used a lot of words that Izuku wasn’t sure he understood, but he was pretty sure he heard something about having a quirk. Mom then asked the question Izuku didn’t want to ask himself. “So why hasn’t it manifested yet?”

The doctor sighed. “While it’s true most quirks manifest by the fifth birthday, it’s really more of a bell-graph centered around the age of four. This means that while some quirks – notably mutation-type quirks – present themselves at birth, there are others that don’t reveal themselves until much later.”

Izuku found his hands turning white from gripping tightly to the chair in front of him. The chair that acted as his shield from difficult things. He wasn’t sure how Mom would protect him, but she always did. “How late are we talking?” she asked.

“How special’s your kid?” The doctor chuckled sardonically – Izuku didn’t like the doctor very much; it was like he didn’t even care about Izuku’s future as a hero. “It could be this year or the next. It’s also entirely possible to remain inactive through his middle school years.”

Neither he nor his mother responded, and a moment later the doctor seemed to realize that it wasn’t the right thing to say. “Well, honestly with how rare the chances are, if it doesn’t show itself by seven years old, I’d be more inclined to say it’s a ‘Dormant quirk’ – a quirk that has such a small effect, or such specific requirements to activate, that it’s next to impossible to identify.”

“Next to impossible? That means it is possible, right?” Both adults lightly startled as Izuku voiced his thoughts for the first time. Under the attention, he poked his head back behind Mom’s chair.

“Sure, it’s possible, but finding it is more up to you than us. We could check your quirk Factor – the numerical quantifier for a quirk’s development. But it's quite an invasive procedure, with the appropriate cost attributed.” The doctor didn’t even look at either of them as he spoke, more interested in polishing his glasses with his shirt. “And even if we did go through with this, it would only be another indicator of if you had a quirk – not what your quirk is.”

Silence fell onto the room. It fell and settled, creating a somber tone. He wasn’t sure if anyone else felt it, but to Izuku the dread in his body permeated the room, forming almost tangible barriers that didn’t allow him to loose his grip on his mother’s chair.

No one else broke the silence, so the duty fell to him. “That’s okay. . .” He put on the best smile he could manage, though it wasn’t good enough to restrain the liquid welling at the corners of his eyes. “. . . no point in checking if it will just say what we already know, right?”

He couldn’t pay attention anymore to the conversation that followed. The platitudes were forced and every party knew it. He felt nothing but his mother’s hand pulling him to the safety that he hoped would be found outside the building’s walls. But as the walls receded behind him with each step, the emptiness of the hot air around him only brought to mind the fact that the world around him was real. Uncomfortably real. And he could only hold onto a small piece for himself.

Having a quirk had never felt so terrible.

Something was wrong with Izuku.

Inko first noticed it on the way home from the appointment at the clinic. She tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t respond. She offered assurances, and was met with a solemn hum. She had failed in getting even a single word out of him by the time they arrived back at their apartment .

That’s when she saw it. Without the distraction of driving, she got a closer look at his face.

Her boy’s eyes had always shined as though reflecting a lush jungle, bringing in light from all places, and sharing its life in endless abundance to all who cared to be in the vicinity. But as she caught a glance now, all she found was a dark-green, lifeless moss that snuffed the light from trees and weighed down their branches. They were jaded as though they’d been betrayed.

Where he used to learn in joyful tunes as he asked his endless questions, he now watched in silence – ambivalent to any action. She regretted her occasional annoyance at his pestering – as seldom though it was.

He still watched everything around him with rapt attention, but their apartment could no longer hear his ramblings; he had always spoken his thoughts, whether he had a listener or not. She remembered back to the first time she caught him reading alone in his room. Every few sentences, or sometimes pages, he would verbalize his thoughts on what he’d read – questions, remarks, jokes that sprung to life in his head. He didn’t simply read; he brought the stories to life.

She hated the silence between them, but every seed of conversation she shared with him died. It grew harder and harder to sow anymore. That is, until midway through dinner, when a spark returned to his demeanor.

“Can I have an empty notebook from the study?” And just like that the silence was broken.

She wanted to ask what for, but she was just happy to hear his voice again. And even happier when he asked her to help write the title of his new item: ‘Quirk Analysis for the Future’. She had worried he would shut off from the world of quirks for good; that she would lose the son she knew before. He’d been vacant for less than a day, but that was already too long.

For days, Izuku couldn’t be found without his notebook. She watched him write through page after page. It was funny, writing was the one thing he seemed to do without vocalizing his actions. Silence no longer meant a rift separating her family; it was his ever-growing knowledge being catalogued for safe keeping.

He started requesting for her to read him more complex books for his nightly bedtime stories. If he didn’t learn a new word or kanji, he wouldn't be satisfied. After one of these such readings, instead of reaching for his night light and sliding down from the headboard, he pulled the blanket up to his chin, and his cheeks tinged red on either side of his smile.

“You know how you can pull things towards you?” At her gentle nod, he let the blanket fall back down freeing his arms, and she could see his feet wiggle side to side underneath.

“And you know how you showed me how to use the computer so I can get into that All Might video?” His eyes darted around the room, before settling on his hands which he kept unlatching and lacing back together.

His nervous smile was contagious. “Yeah?”

“Well I had a thought earlier today, and decided to do some research!” He reached under the blanket, and revealed his notebook – which was supposed to be in his drawer right now – and stuck a finger to hold one of the pages.

She supposed she could ignore the rule bending for now; instead she sat down next to his legs. “Oh? And what did you find?”

“Well, to me, when you use your quirk, it looks like an invisible, not-touchable string pulling it to you. And after I had the computer teach me some things, I think your quirk does a. . .” He flipped the book open, revealing a messy scrawl of hiragana. “. . . sup-er-con-duct-ive quan-tum lock-ing, which it said makes a thing float, and keeps it stuck to moving only one way, by trapping the gravity power inside!”

“Wow, you learned a lot! I don’t even know all those words!” She exaggeratedly pulled a finger to point at her own cheek, humming as though thinking about something. “I bet you’ll learn everything before Kacchan does!”

Stars beamed in his eyes at the praise. “Really!? I’ll have to let him know!”

She watched joyfully as his feet now moved as though he was making a snow angel in the bedsheets. “Did you already write your theory in your notebook?”

His movement stopped momentarily. “Theory?”

“Oh. A theory is an idea of how something works.” Sometimes she forgot that he was still learning simple words, especially when he used words like ‘superconductive quantum locking’ – which, just as Izuku did, she had to look at his notes to remember what it was called.

“No! I didn’t! Will you help me write it?” He requested as he spawned a pencil from somewhere.

“Of course!”

And so for almost the next hour – when Izuku was supposed to be sleeping – they wrote theories about Inko’s quirk. Izuku wanted to be the one to do the actual writing, but she helped with the phrasing, and her phone remembered which kanji to use, and how to write them.

She already knew it wouldn’t be long before he asked for another book.

Years passed, and despite his knowledge of quirks expanding to fill nearly three notebooks, he still felt hollow where his own quirk was supposed to be. Shouldn’t it have appeared by now? At eight years old, it substantiated the idea that he’d been blessed with one of the so-called ‘Dormant quirks’: something so weak, or circumstantial, he could never be a hero – at least not like Kacchan or All Might.

He used to tell people he was still waiting on his quirk, that he just hadn’t found it yet. But it became cumbersome to explain his situation over and over again, and as he grew older it became less acceptable to still be ‘waiting on a quirk’.

Bakugou had smirked at him the first time he’d told someone he was quirkless instead of going through his usual spiel; the meaning of that smirk wasn’t something he’d be able to find in his notebooks. Though that didn’t mean he would stop writing them, even if some people claimed it was useless for a quirkless. Understanding the quirks around him, identifying strengths and weaknesses– these were skills that could help him become a hero in his own way, even if he never got to call a quirk his own.

After all, who said that he had to be a hero like Kacchan. There were many other heroes with strengths that lay beyond physical force. Nighteye, for example, used his intellect and decision-making prowess to make him worthy of being All Might’s sidekick! And he wasn’t just ‘the man in the chair’ either; he would go out and solve problems on his own, all while essentially fighting quirkless – no one even knew what the man’s quirk was; for all Izuku knew, the man might actually be quirkless.

But even omniscience wouldn’t be enough if utilizing it was impossible. He needed a way to use his knowledge. Something that would allow someone to control a situation without the large amounts of force a quirk provided. Something which called to him as he was walking home from school.

He had been passing through one of the busier parts of town when a woman beckoned him over to her stall. Normally he’d ignore such situations, but behind her stood a wide banner with the large text, “Martial Arts for Everyone!” at the top, with cinematic pictures of various martial forms underneath.

“Hello, dearie!” She handed him a pamphlet. “Are you interested in becoming a hero!”

How did she know? “Um. . . yes?” he weakly replied, still confused.

“Wonderful, I have just the thing! It doesn’t matter your quirk, age, or gender, at the Miyoto Dojo anyone can learn karate to better help them for future hero work, or just to benefit your life!” She started pointing out different benefits listed on a laminated sheet as she continued talking about how it had already helped so many people.

He didn’t try to tune her out, really! but he was halfway through reading one of the paragraphs on the pamphlet when he realized he’d completely lost the conversation (if her sales pitch could be considered a conversation). And now that he was focusing on focusing he couldn’t pay attention to what she was actually saying.

An unremarkable bird flew down and landed on the sidewalk behind her stall; his lazy focus was enamored. He watched as it walked in that strange bobbing way that birds do, occasionally pecking at something he couldn’t see. Eventually it flew off, leaving his thoughts momentarily disengaged as he stared at the space it used to be.

“. . . what do you think?” His mind grabbed onto the terminating phrase, and decided that would be a good time to zone back in. She probably didn’t want to hear about that dumb bird that pecked the ground a few times, but he really wasn’t thinking about anything else. And he didn’t know enough about what she was telling him for him to make something up.

After waiting only slightly too long, he finally responded. “I’ll have to let my mom know!” He put as much excitement into that phrase as he thought wouldn’t be strange, then ran off before he could hear her response. He wasn’t lying really; He did feel the need to share this idea with Mom.

He ran home as fast as he could, both to avoid the awkward interaction he’d not shared with the woman earlier, and in excitement for the conversation he’d have with his mom. It was made harder by his backpack bouncing up and smacking his back with each step. He didn’t even notice how hard his breathing had become until his apartment was in sight; the stairwell loomed above him in a way it hadn’t before.

When he finally scaled up to the third floor where his apartment resided and entered the dwelling, he closed the door with more force than he intended. The sound brought Mom running over from the living room where she was watching TV, concern etched into her features. “Izuku, is everything alright?”

He leaned against the wall, and used his other arm to hold up a finger; he wanted to respond, but heaved a breath of air first. “I’m fine. . . anyways! I have the best idea!”

She glanced him up and down. Her worry wasn’t as prominent, but she still seemed unconvinced of his claim. “Would you like me to get you some water? Go and sit on the couch.” She left for the kitchen before he could even respond.

He took off his shoes and his backpack, relishing in the burden off his shoulders, as he stepped into the living room, and trust-fell over the arm of the couch onto its cushions. He stretched his arms and legs away from his body such that his legs stung from exertion in a pleasant way.

Mom came back from the kitchen holding a glass of water, with one hand hovering beneath the other to catch all the water droplets that didn’t fall. “Here, drink! And tell me about this idea of yours.”

He took the cup and was about to drink from it, when he realized it wouldn’t be a good idea to try it while laying down. After satisfying his thirst, he presented the pamphlet from earlier. “I know I don’t have a quirk. . .” Her eyes turned soft. “. . . but maybe I don’t need one.” After all, a quirk was just a tool, and so were skills. But one of those was learnable.

He watched with heavy anticipation as she read through the information.

“You want to learn. . . karate?” she finally said.

“It doesn’t have to be karate, I could learn kendo instead!” He mimed holding a sword, swinging it around at strange angles. He could be the Samurai Hero, that would be awesome!

“You never gave up did you?” A pensive look came across her face. “You kept holding on to your dream of becoming a hero.”

He didn’t know what it meant when tears started welling up in her eyes, or when they were reciprocated in his own. Was she disappointed? Was she going to tell him to give up?

“I’m so proud of you Izuku! Of course we can do something like this. I know you’ll be able to figure it out.” She wiped away a tear and pulled him close to her body.

What followed was a long, long discussion in which they both researched many different forms of self defense. Izuku kept picking awesome ones with weapons, like kendo and archery, but Mom vetoed them saying she didn’t want weapons in the house or for Izuku to spar with other kids using weapons, who may or may not be skilled enough to avoid accidents.

She also pointed out that while archery was cool, it probably wouldn’t have the best results in a close-range villain fight. He reluctantly agreed with that point. He suggested Okinawa martial arts, since it used the tonfa as a weapon, which didn’t have any blades or sharp edges he could accidentally hurt himself with. This unfortunately made her realize that karate also used tonfas as a weapon occasionally, so he managed to get another two vetoed.

As he looked through other options, he decided to not mention weapons of any sort, since basically all of them use some kind of weapon – as rare though it may be. At their current rate, he’d have to go back to his previous plan of ‘get a quirk’.

Which is when she suggested Chinese Wing Chun due to its preference for defense of self and reducing the opponent’s movements; Izuku agreed before either of them could look into it enough to see what weapons would bar that sport from him as well.

The dojo wasn’t what Izuku was expecting when he got out of the car. Where he had been assuming there would be a traditional chinese-style roof with fancy pagodas and lanterns, or maybe even a dragon, he instead found himself stepping down onto a parking lot the same gray as any other, with as many cracks to match. In place of a grandiose building there stood a stretch of strip mall, lining just one side of the parking lot, with normal traffic on the other.

From the outside, he wouldn’t have even known it was a dojo if it didn’t have a large sign with the dojo’s name in traditional-looking font; the building itself was made of the same gray concrete as the buildings it was attached to on either side.

Upon entering, he saw a room with depth that belied its outside appearance; thin wood strips covered the ground, reminiscent of a tatami mat. In the center of the room, the floor was inset a few inches, and to one side of the room was a raised platform. On the other side, beside a hall he couldn’t see down, various supplies rested against the wall, from punching bags, to wooden polearms – everything one might need could be found there.

The teacher greeted them at the door, and accepted paperwork from his mom. He was tall, and relatively young compared to all the old geezers who teach martial arts on TV; his bronze eyes held a light beyond the gold flecks that could be seen in them. His dark brown hair was held in a neat half-ponytail, allowing the sides to gracefully flow behind his ears and frame his face, and his beard was similarly kempt, with it growing longer towards his chin – if it were longer it would almost remind Izuku of a wizard beard.

There were a few other students talking amongst each other while his mom spoke with the teacher. Most of them were around Izuku’s age, with only a single person who was definitely in his teens. Either most people didn’t stick around here that long, or the dojo itself was relatively new.

“Thanks again, Midoriya-san,” the teacher bid his mom farewell, then turned his focus to Izuku. “Midoriya-kun, welcome to my dojo! My name’s Dakeriki, but you can call me Dake-shishou. Let me show you around.”

He walked Izuku throughout the building showing him some things he hadn’t noticed before, like the shoe-cubby near the entrance, the bathrooms, and finally his very own Gi and white-belt. The way he held his clipboard to his chest during the tour made Izuku think of some important inspector, or something; he kept that thought to himself.

When the tour was done, Dake-shishou gestured down the hall “Go ahead and get yourself changed in the bathroom over there. We’ll wait for you.”

“Uh- hai!” As Izuku walked away, he heard him telling the other students about their new arrival. No pressure or anything; he was rigid enough just trying to speak to the teacher, let alone with witnesses!

When he returned wearing his new outfit, he saw the rest of the class lined up in approximate height order, with a gap near the shorter end. Was it arranged by age? Or was it originally by height and just not adapted when students grew? But since a new student was added they would have had to adjust it for him, and why would they leave the rest?

“Midoriya-kun, go ahead and take your place between Douka-chan and Tsutotame-kun while I take attendance,” Dake-shishou directed.

It must have been age, there was no other explanation… unless it was random and just happened to almost be their height. Or maybe it could be weight? It seemed a bit rude, but weight-class was a thing with stuff like this wasn’t it? Wait, Dake-shishou was looking at him expectantly; Izuku was pretty sure he had just been told to do something… What did he want from Izuku? He must have wanted Izuku to introduce himself to the class. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but he just had to do something plain and simple, and ignore the topic of Quirks. He could do this.

“H-Hai!” he shouted, “Midoriya Izuku, n-nice to meet you!” He bowed his head stiffly, and hoped it hid his reddening face, before rushing to fill the gap between the two students.

Dake-shishou called out names, and the students shouted back in the order they appeared in line. All in all, it took less than thirty seconds until it was over. He then told different students to work on forms and terms that weren’t familiar to Izuku. All the other students were so smart, and knew how to do the things! Would Izuku be able to do it too, or was it beyond his capabilities? His nerves grew more agitated as the teacher moved further down the line – closer to Izuku.

“The rest of you will join me as I run Midoriya-kun here through the basics,” Dake-shishou explained. There were three other students among those who remained – four counting Izuku – who all followed Shishou onto the raised platform, where banners hung on the walls. “Every technique in Wing Chun relies on understanding its three base forms; the first and most important to understand is Siu Nim Tau.” He gestured to the first banner which displayed the Chinese characters, as well as its translation: ‘little idea’. “As you eventually move onto the other forms, you should see how they all branch off of what you’ll start learning today. Why don’t you three show Midoriya-kun what the first stance looks like?”

The three students moved in near synchrony, bracing their elbows to their side with their fists firm in front of them. They also placed their feet apart, but their hips were still narrow. It looked like a weird squat as if they needed to use the bathroom, and could be toppled with a single well-placed push. Shishou demonstrated this by going on by one, slowly pushing against their collar until they lost balance.

His teacher then demonstrated the same stance, and although Izuku couldn’t discern any differences, it looked sturdy this time. “Push against me, Midoriya-kun,” he commanded.

Following instruction, he reached up and pushed against Dake-shishou’s chest. Harder and harder he pushed until he couldn’t go further; although his torso moved, his legs remained planted, simply allowing the hips to pivot backwards. “Good job Midoriya,” he dismissed. “Remember, if you brace yourself, and become stiff, you have to take the force yourself; but if you relax your body, you can move with the force, and disperse the energy.”

He then dismissed the others to their own practicing, and spoke to Izuku one-on-one. Showing him the proper stance, and pointing out where it should be hurting if he was doing it right, and where it shouldn’t. He explained the benefit of the stances, the way it built tension in the joints, strengthening the tendons preparing them to absorb energy in the event of impact, or to explosively release energy when striking.

This was demonstrated with rapid strikes against what was called a ‘wooden dummy’, though to Izuku it just looked like a polished vertical log with strange protrusions; he would have thought them to be arranged randomly had there not been identical ones standing with the other supplies on the opposite wall. Each strike Shishou sent at the dummy displayed the immense experience he had; sometimes Izuku couldn’t even see the movements at all, just that the dummy shook with the force. He was worried he’d have to hit the hard wooden dummy when the demonstration ended, but was instead directed to practice his stance further.

After he learned enough to get into the stance without assistance, Shishou had him doing ‘kinetic stretches’ with the other three students he had been with before. Depending on the stretch, they were either done in the same stance, or similar. It involved slow movements while keeping the muscles tense. Izuku kept forgetting to engage his back muscles when doing the arm movements; before today, he didn’t even know what the back muscles looked like, let alone how to engage them.

They ended the lesson doing cool-down stretches, with instruction from Dake-shishou to do the stances, kinetic stretches, and flexibility stretches on his own time for the best results. But with the ache that spread through every muscle he’d discovered that day, those would have to wait. Part of him had hoped that he would learn awesome fighting moves like what he saw Shishou doing to the dummy, or like some of the older students did while he was learning how to stand. But with his body protesting as much as it was, there was no way he’d have been ready for sparring of any sort.

Izuku continued going to the dojo after school three days a week: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. While he still wasn’t anywhere close to the top of the class – he wasn’t even close to sparring anyone yet – his strength, flexibility, and especially his endurance have improved greatly; his body felt lighter, motions were less straining. Who knew exercise was this good for the body?

He was already pretty sure from even the first day, but after just a few weeks, it was clear that this was his path. It wasn’t just a trial run for the dojo, or the martial art anymore; he was serious about it.

Though he could tell that it affected his mom – she started working part-time as a receptionist at a nearby gym. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the cost of the dojo or if his being away from home for longer made her antsy. When he asked her about it, the only indicator she gave was a comment about ‘maybe getting him in for free when he’s older’.

Beyond giving her the extra duties, he was also reliant on her for transportation to and from the dojo. He wished she didn’t have to expend so much effort on his behalf, but his current schedule didn’t allow him time to walk; while it wasn’t every day, most days he had to clean up any burns and/or scratches from his time at school, in addition to changing his clothes and finding time to eat.

The first time she caught him eating after school, she made a comment about ‘her young boy finally growing up’. He didn’t correct her; even though she gave him lunch money for school each day, he stopped bringing it when it kept getting stolen.

He felt bad for lying to her, even if he wasn’t actually telling lies. Just as he felt bad for the extra responsibilities she’d undertaken the past few weeks. She never complained, and he knew it wasn’t his prerogative to tell her how she was supposed to be taking care of him, but it still twisted his gut with the admonition of it ‘not being heroic’ whenever he tried to explain that to himself.

On no particular Friday, on the way home from dojo, he brought up the topic. “Hey, Mom?” He watched street lights pass behind them through the passenger window he was leaning against. It wasn’t yet dark enough that he couldn’t see anything, but the orange hues of the sky didn’t illuminate as much as the artificial lights did.

“Yes Izu-kun?” He didn’t dare look over at her, but there was a positive lilt to her voice.

“I know you’ve been kind of busy lately with that new job you started. . .” He paused, steadying his breath. Why was having a normal conversation so hard? “If you wanted, you don’t have to give me a ride to the dojo anymore.”

Against his expectations, she chuckled. “I know you’ve been all gung ho about exercising lately, but are you sure you wouldn’t be late? It’s really no trouble to drive.”

“Well, I was kind of thinking it would be nice to have a bike anyways, and then – like you said – it would be good exercise. I think this would be the perfect excuse to get one.” When she didn’t respond in half a second his anxiety pushed him forwards. “I know they're kind of expensive, but you don’t have to worry about that! You see I’ve been saving up for a bit now. . .” He trailed off, unsure how to form the thoughts that ran through his head.

“Saving up?” she questioned, and he knew that if she wasn’t driving she would be giving him the look. “How? You don’t have a job or allowance. You haven’t been bullying people for money with your new fighting skills have you?” she jokingly chided him.

“No, uh. . .” He was about to mention that he hadn’t even gotten to the fighting stage, but he didn’t want to distract himself so he just grimaced at his reflection in the window instead. “I’ve been saving my uh, lunch money?” His shoulders rose to cover his neck; whether the defense was necessary or not he didn’t dare look behind himself to check.

“Izuku! Have you not been eating?” she scolded; good thing he covered his neck, for all the good that did.

“Err- no, I have been eating, promise!” just not at school he silently muttered, turning to face forwards and look at her from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t a lie, not technically. Or at least that’s what he told himself, despite knowing otherwise.

“I had no idea Katsuki would be so generous with his food.” He saw a glint of something in her eyes; she knew something else was going on. He could only hope that she didn’t bring it up. “From now on, no taking other people’s food when you have the ability to get your own,” she reprimanded.

“Of course. . . I’ll be considerate of that. . .” It wasn’t exactly what she’d reprimanded him for, but it did bring the idea that with how long it’s been since he’d carried lunch money to school, no one would expect him to start again; he’d just have to be inconsistent with the days so no one could take advantage of it. “Anyways, think we can go to a bike shop tomorrow so we can have it ready for Monday?”

“Of course! I’d love to go shopping together!”

And so the next day, they went to the bike shop and found one that fit him. It only took mild convincing to allow Izuku to get one without training wheels. He’d rather fall a hundred times than be caught even once with them on.

The next Monday, as he rode his new bike to school, it really hit in how much Wing Chun had changed his life in short order. He was stronger, and his commute was shorter simply by virtue of no longer being on foot. But that feeling changed as his school drew into view. He was just as small as he was before, he was just raised off the ground by something other than himself. He would never be as much as those who innately stood above on their own two feet.

As a third-grader, saying you took martial arts – like Karate or Kung Fu – would easily boost anyone’s social standing. Or at least, it would for anyone else. For Midoriya Izuku, they would all know why he was taking those classes. They wouldn’t suddenly raise him to the same pedestal that Bakugou claimed as birthright at the age of five. He could already imagine the comments he’d receive.

“Deku here thinks he’s all tough now! Let’s show him he’s not!”

“This kid’s so useless, he needs special lessons to make him feel normal!”

“Let’s see what he’s learned. Think he could beat Bakugou now?”

Their jeers echoed in his head before they’d even been spoken.

He was glad he started martial arts. Really! But that didn’t mean his confidence could survive the journey through the dojo’s doors. Not yet anyways.

Part of him wondered if the dojo would feel as friendly if anyone there knew he was quirkless. No way he would test that hypothesis though. If the dojo just became round two of school… Well, he didn’t know what he’d do.

He didn’t know what it was, but something about seeing the same spaces and paths from a new angle brought an essence of nostalgia. He thought back to all his (not so fond) memories as he biked his way to school.

Everyone at school already knew he was quirkless; Bakugou had ensured that. He used to be Izuku’s best – and only – friend. But something about the way Shishou talked to him at the dojo, the way the other students talked to each other. It was something that couldn’t be found at school. It wasn’t the reverence that Bakugou expected and received from all.

He didn't know where he stood with Bakugou. It wasn’t friendship; he knew that now – it was one-sided idolism directed at an oppressor.

Friendship or not, their previous companionship gave Bakugou ample ammunition to use against him. Wherever Izuku went, Bakugou’s baggage followed, along with a dirty nickname and the stigma of being quirkless. Even if someone wanted to know Izuku – let alone be his friend – they would be too afraid of Bakugou and his ‘hero’s quirk’ to do anything about it. It was a battle that had a clear victor for everyone to root for.

Not to say his prior experiences with Bakugou were fruitless; beyond just his general dread of school that slowly replaced his joy of learning, he also gained apathy to hostility directed at him, and the only thing that could maybe be useful: an abnormally high pain tolerance.

He’d noticed early that the way Bakugou treated him wasn’t right, but that was just because he was Deku – he was quirkless. When he had noticed that other people were getting the same treatment, he’d started stepping in, taking the hits directed at others. He never regretted it, even if his clothes did. Eventually, either Bakugou stopped targeting others, or he got better at hiding it. That is to say, it wasn’t often that Izuku saw Bakugou’s rage aimed at anyone other than him. He wished he’d noticed earlier the way Bakugou treated other people.

And speak of the devil, as soon as he crossed the threshold to enter the schoolgrounds, he saw Bakugou in all his glory stomping up the steps as though they scorned him. Maybe they had. Izuku was just grateful at Bakugou’s insistence on being early to everything – it was the only reason Izuku was able to avoid both Bakugou and his own tardiness.

Izuku had been diligent in his training since he started Wing Chun nearly six months prior. He’d asked his mom if he could start running around the town to help his cardio, and after a short back and forth, she agreed as long as she was present. And so three to five times a week, they would run around the neighborhood together. They started by taking the smallest loop that met back at their apartment, but within weeks the route they took would vary by the day. Eventually, he’d grown such that Mom got tired before he would – though she still didn’t let him run by himself.

When he wasn’t running, he would perform the stretches and kinesthetics his teacher had taught him, growing steady proficiency in Wing Chun; it wasn’t long until his efforts were noticed. Following roll call at the dojo one day, Dake-shishou didn’t group him with anyone else like he usually did.

“Midoriya-kun,” he called, “it’s time you learned to spar.”

The ground and walls around him felt fake; this was what he’d been training for! If he did well here, he could become a hero! “Hai, Shishou!” He tried to withhold the smile that tugged on his face, but he could feel his failure. “Who will I fight first?”

“You’re not fighting anyone. You’ll be sparring with me. The difference is in a fight there’s a victor and a loser; in a spar, everyone wins but someone learns more than the other.” He walked to the raised platform, and gestured for Izuku to follow. “If you demonstrate all three forms with an active opponent, you won’t have to practice against the wooden dummy everytime.”

They stepped apart from each other, until there was a comfortable gap between them, before bowing to one another with a sharp “hai!” from both parties. Izuku wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he was still surprised when Shishou didn’t immediately move following the start of their spar. His guard was raised, but he didn’t otherwise respond.

It was left to Izuku to close the gap. “Demonstrate your understanding of the second form ‘Chum Kiu’; cross the bridge and land your strike.” Dake-shishou himself was demonstrating the stance of the second form, with one foot in front of the other, his torso angled slightly, and his weight on his rear foot – he was in a defensive stance – his arms rested in front of his center, splayed to exert control over any direction.

Chum Kiu, the second form, was where a practitioner obtained the skills to meet their opponent, involving techniques to break the distance between fighters, perform strikes, and recover from compromised positions.

Izuku copied the stance both from memory and the example in front of him, with the exception of his weight which was prepared on his forward foot. He walked slowly perpendicular to Shishou, trying to get on the side his torso twisted away from, but Shishou tracked his movements, stepping in place to reorient himself.

He waited until the moment Shishou lifted his foot, then dashed forwards. Time moved in slow motion as his target grew close; the only sound in his ears was the stomp of Shishou’s foot hitting the floor, pushing his movement towards Izuku as well. With the gap now closed, Izuku went to strike Shishou’s side, but was deflected and forced to the ground.

“Good. Again!” Dake-shishou commanded, stepping back to rebuild the distance.

He wasted no time, lunging from the ground into another strike, this time he struck true – though it was obvious that Shishou could have blocked it as well.

Dake-shishou bowed, signifying the test over. “Well done. Now, the third form: Biu Jee”

Biu Jee was the practice of lethal blows, as well as strikes for when there was no opportunity to recover stance structure. In Dake-shishou’s words “It should not be used with carelessness, which is why it’s important to learn how not to use it for when you need it, and you should learn how to use it, so you do not have to.”

Izuku bowed back, and stood at their initial distance. Shishou approached until they were both nearly at arm’s reach, bowed, and assumed stance.

So that was how it was, huh?

He knew that he needed to either perform maneuvers effectively while destabilized, or perform a strike that would be greatly destructive if Shishou wouldn’t block it. He started by using the quick jabs and strikes from Chum Kiu – none of which landed – to learn the momentum of the encounter.

When an attempted elbow strike left his torso open, Shishou acted. He wasn’t quite sent to the ground, but his chest was lower than his waist so it was a near enough thing. With his foot that wasn’t carrying the brunt of his recovery, he swiped at Shishou’s legs; the power was weak compared to a braced attack, but effective enough as a distraction to let Izuku reorient himself.

After a few more tumbles, counterattacks, and recoveries, both parties were satisfied with the spar – as one-sided as it was. Dake-shishou bowed and Izuku reciprocated. “Congratulations Midoriya-kun! You are now equipped to spar with your classmates.”

He may as well have told Izuku he was going to the moon and told him how. Never before had the possibility of becoming a hero felt so… plausible. He was different than he was at the start of his third grade; he might have even been the strongest third-grader at his school if a spar was done legally (i.e. no quirks). Not that that mattered in the real world – both because fighting shouldn’t be done in school anyways, and if there was a true fight, quirks would be used regardless of rules.

Izuku could fight! He had finally begun his path to become a hero! Sure he wasn’t anywhere as good as Shishou, but he was only eight; he wasn’t going to reach his goal without taking his first step. And if starting Dojo wasn’t it, this definitely was.

During classes at school, he imagined himself doing the moves the way Shishou demonstrated. The way his hands could effortlessly deflect any attack sent his way made him look invincible, and that was without using a quirk!

It all relied on the proper stance; the feet position prepared the movement. The arms had to remain in a relaxed state, ready to strike at any moment. He visualized the stance how he’d been taught, and imagined that instead of sitting in class, he stood in front of the wooden dummy Shishou had him practice against.

‘The wood is hard, but you can’t be afraid of hitting it; you have to strike until you become stronger than the damage it can inflict.’ Shishou’s words echoed through his head.

He practiced controlling his breath. ‘Breathe out when you strike. Your breath is your energy; don’t try to hold onto it as you dole it out. Breathe in when your body is at rest; prepare yourself for the next strike – always look forward.’

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

“Deku. What do you think you’re doing?!”

He opened his eyes to his fist extended in front of him, pressing into the bag of Bakugou who’d been walking past his desk to turn in his paper. The paper he was supposed to be doing.

When Izuku failed to respond, he’d expected Bakugou to blow up in his face (literally), but after receiving little more than a stern glare, Bakugou resumed his path to the teacher’s desk. “Meet me after class, Deku. I’ll return your favor.”

He swallowed his throat down to the depths of his belly; sure he’d aggrandized himself as though he could use his new Wing Chun skills to beat most anyone in his grade, but Bakugou felt like the exception, and Izuku really hadn’t been doing martial arts that long. And that was ignoring the fact that Bakugou would ignore Izuku's desire to fight quirkless.

It was difficult to return his focus to the test that laid on his desk, but he had time left to work on it. Still, he found himself glancing at the clock more than he’d have liked; the minute hand moved both slower and faster than he’d have liked.

When he finished his test, he didn’t dare stand up to turn it in, fearful of the ire that would be directed his way. Instead, he went over his answers, again and again, until his eyes scanned the page thoughtlessly, no longer working on the answers he’d done and redone.

He didn’t know how long he’d vacantly stared at the sheet of paper on his desk, but he was brought out of his reverie when the school bell rang.

He quickly stood up as all the other students did. While they were rushing for the door, he rushed to the front of the class – towards the teacher’s desk – maybe he should have turned it in when he’d finished it for the second time, or the third. When he turned around to leave the room, Bakugou was the only remaining student.

He still didn’t say anything to Izuku – at least, not with his voice; his mouth rose in a smirk as his eyes narrowed in fury. With there only being one exit, and Bakugou occupying the center of the classroom, Izuku was forced to pass him to leave.

Strangely, nothing happened as he passed the explosive blond. Instead, Bakugou grabbed his bag, and silently followed Izuku with a short distance between the two. He continued to follow him all the way through the halls, and out the building. At which point, Tsubasa, and Nagayubi were waiting for him on either side of the door.

Tsubasa and Nagayubi were often found at Bakugou’s side, the former having a powerful quirk that granted wings capable of flight – despite his heavy-set frame. And the latter had an unexpectedly useful quirk that allowed him to elongate his fingers.

They both walked in step beside Izuku, while Bakugou held the rear. Nagayubi grabbed his head from behind, and the long fingers wrapped around until they barely breached Izuku’s peripheral vision. “We heard that you wanted to play with Bakugou like old times. You wouldn’t exclude us, would you?” Nagayubi teased.

Izuku meant to respond, but only weak, meaningless sounds escaped his throat. Tsubasa filled the space for him. “Yeah, come play with us, Deku.” Something about the way he spoke the name ‘Deku’ ate away at him; whenever Bakugou called him that, it always came with a just hate and enunciation to match. As if he was spitting in his face the control he had over him. But Tsubasa said it so plainly; Deku was ‘Deku’ and that was just how it was.

They led him away from the school, away from the busy streets. As soon as they were away from prying eyes, Tsubasa used his powerful wings to hover beside Izuku instead of walking. He liked to do that; whether it made him feel strong – or free – or if he just wanted to show what he could do, Izuku didn’t know.

He started to recognize the route they were taking. He remained trapped as he walked away from safety and into the sprawling fields they often played in together before their quirks came in. He didn’t need to look behind him to know that Bakugou was staring daggers at his back the whole way there; Izuku might’ve dared to flee from the other two if he wasn’t there.

Tsubasa and Nagayubi stopped abruptly by the edge where the stream ran through; Izuku followed suit. He heard the crunch of gravel under Bakugou’s shoes as he neared his prey. “What’s your problem, Deku?” He stopped walking, and Izuku swore he could feel those words on his neck. “I didn’t even do anything to you. And you just go and hit me out of nowhere?”

“I-I-”

Bakugou grabbed Izuku’s backpack and pulled it from his back, throwing it behind himself with reckless abandon. “I can’t hear you! Look at me and stop muttering!”

Nagayubi loosed his grip on Izuku’s head, allowing him to turn to face his aggressor. His short steps were awkward as he shuffled to orient himself. His shoes failed to find a comfortable nook in the gravel, but he couldn’t risk adjusting them again.

“I didn’t- I’m s- it was an accident!” A million thoughts raced through his head, all competing to be the first thing spoken.

“You’re full of it.” He moved his smoldering hand to rest on Izuku’s shoulder. “I’m just minding my business, and as soon as I walk by, you ‘accidentally’ punch my bag?”

“He’s just jealous of our quirks!” Nagayubi exclaimed, clamping his hand across Izuku’s face.

“Our quirks?” Bakugou turned his nose up at all three of them. “He didn’t punch you, idiot! No one wants your lousy quirks.” He flicked his hand from Izuku’s shoulder, to lightly smack Nagayubi’s head, before gripping his shoulder harder than before.

He couldn’t turn to look, but he could imagine the sheepish embarrassment plastered on Nagayubi’s face.

“Here’s how it’s gonna go, Deku. I’ll give your punch back to you, and I’ll keep giving it back to you until you either fall in the river, or my backpack uncrumples itself.” He nodded to the classmates on either side of Izuku. “Hold him good, you extras.”

Tsubasa landed beside Izuku and grabbed his right arm, while Nagayubi used his free hand – the one that wasn’t wrapped around his head – to grab his left arm. Izuku used the movement to hide the way he braced his feet against the ground. Part of him wanted to just push himself in the stream with the first strike and be done with it. But he wanted to show what he was capable of – what he’d spent nearly the last year learning. And he also knew Bakugou; if he fell into the water with the first hit, Bakugou would just pull him up to hit him down again.

Instead he braced his legs against the first hit, letting his hips and shoulders absorb the hit as well as his small physique was able (which wasn’t much in the face of Bakugou’s exploding fists). When the second strike hit, he yanked his right arm free from Tsubasa’s grasps, and pinched Bakugou’s extended fist to his own hurting stomach with his elbow.

“Hey, nitwit, I said to hold onto him!” Bakugou screamed as he pulled himself free from Izuku’s grapple. He then shoved Tsubasa over the ledge, who let his wings catch the air, and remained hovering over the stream. “I didn’t say you were free from your job, you chicken wannabe.” Bakugou groaned.

Nagayubi glanced around erratically, obviously fearful of his own misconstrued wrongdoings. Before Tsubasa could even land himself in response to Bakugou’s demands, he yelled out once more. “Ugh, nevermind extras. If Deku here wants to fight back, we’ll let him.” He nodded to Nagayubi who hesitantly let Izuku free.

Bakugou grinned as Izuku mimicked Shishou’s fighting stance. A moment of waiting revealed that Bakugou wouldn’t be taking the first strike (though Izuku was already down two for the count). He slid his rear foot backwards in satisfying crunch of gravel until it found strong purchase in the small stones. A beat later, he lunged forwards.

Time slowed as Bakugou raised his palms forward, and smirked. A burst of heat and smoke straight to his face blinded Izuku. Instinctively he recoiled, which Bakugou took advantage of by smacking Izuku’s extended arm away, and using his other hand to slam an explosion into Izuku’s chest.

Air rushed from his lungs as his feet left the ground. He felt disconnected from his body; the pain, the disorientation, the burning in his lungs and stomach – it was worse than anything he’d experienced whether in dojo or otherwise.

His disillusionment in the present was broken when his rear hit the sloped gravel beyond the ledge, sending new spasms of anguish through his body. His momentum pushed him further, scraping on the stones until his head was cold, and wet – splashing in the stream for whatever gasps of air his lungs could hold onto.

When he wrenched himself free, he saw more than heard the teasing laughter of his fellow classmates. They quickly turned away walking from the scene of the crime. He barely caught one last passing comment from Bakugou before they left earshot. “What does Deku think he is?”

Izuku spent a few minutes sitting on the smooth pebbles beside the stream. He knew that the longer he waited to get home, the longer he’d stay wet, but he could care about that later when he had the energy to do so. For now, he’d hug his legs to his wet chest for all the warmth they offered as his hair dripped onto his pants and shirt.

He’d really thought it would be different – he didn’t know why he thought it would be different, but he thought he’d changed; he thought that his efforts had amounted to something. Sure it was three against one, but not in the end; in the end it was a one-on-one where he was ceded the first strike, and he still didn’t make even a single contact.

He knew that Bakugou’s quirk was strong, but the boy himself hadn’t had any training. Surely training could’ve breached the gap between them. But apparently nearly half a year of martial arts couldn’t light a candle compared to a few years of having explosive palms. When he thought about it that way, it made sense. A superhuman with more experience would obviously be better than someone who was just super… human.

He brushed aside his hair that had been pulled down to his eyes with the weight of the water it held, and noticed that he was shivering. He should really head home soon, before it got dark. So he stood up, and climbed the ledge with all the strength he didn’t have. When he got to the top, he remembered his backpack, and dashed towards it to see what damage was caused in its haphazard flight earlier. Initially, he’d been upset with Bakugou for having thrown it, but he supposed that was better than it falling in the water with him.

The walk home was slow going; it felt like the movies where the hero goes through an awesome battle without flinching only to wince at the slightest touch once the danger is gone. Except Izuku flinched at every part, and the battle wasn’t so awesome. And instead of wincing at getting patched up, it was with every movement that brought him closer to home.

He thought back to his thoughts this morning – how much hope and determination he held. He thought back to all his efforts at the dojo. He thought back to his distraction in school that led to his fight with Bakugou.

He’d been trying to be someone for a while – maybe his whole life – but how hard was he really trying? Sure Bakugou and the other students might’ve been born with more tools at their disposal; they’d gotten a head start at life in comparison. But Izuku had only just started. That very morning, he told himself the same thing: he was finally at step one.

All he had to do was take one step after the other. Keep walking. Keep standing back up every time he gets explosively punched into a river. Keep learning from Dake-shishou so he can prevent himself from falling down.

And eventually– become strong enough to not just stand up himself, but to raise others with him.

As the years went on, Izuku found greater comfort in who he was. He might never get a quirk. He might never become some big name hero. He might never escape the moniker ‘Deku’. But he had a place where he belonged, where he could just be who he was. A place where everyone already knew he was a bit weird, and he wasn’t expected to talk to anyone. Where his actions spoke instead of his genetics. He dare say he was even respected in small part as his skill grew.

Many others left the dojo, very few people who were there when he’d started were still found there. And none from his age range. A lot of people didn’t see martial arts the same way Izuku did. Sure he never got past his timid nature at school, but he didn’t have to. The dojo was where he learned the things that couldn’t be taught through a textbook.

He enjoyed who he was; he was hopeful even, that as he entered seventh grade – at Aldera Junior High – things would be different. Middle school wasn’t the same as elementary school; it was a bigger pond where a single large fish couldn’t make such space-defining ripples. If he were lucky, he might not even see Bakugou for months at a time. Maybe he could meet someone who didn’t already know he was functionally quirkless.

But luck had never been one of Izuku’s strengths.

He sat in his assigned seat in homeroom class, slumping at the sight of the name ‘Bakugou Katsuki’, written clear as day, two seats in front and one to the right of his own seat. At least his hope brought him to class early today; he’d rather be prepared to see Bakugou in class than walk into one he already resided in. At least he knew that Bakugou was in Izuku’s homeroom (or rather, that Izuku was in Bakugou’s homeroom).

Nothing had changed at all; nothing but the scenery he’d be trapped in for the following years. Maybe his quirk was constant bad luck.

A few days later, something strange happened during lunch: an unknown student willingly approached Izuku to introduce themself. He wasn’t being hazed was he? A few wary glances sated his fear, so he reached forward to grasp their offered handshake. As their hands met, he had a random feeling, or maybe just a thought: ‘mutation’

What did it mean? Was it even worth mentioning? He didn’t know this person – had never met them – and they didn’t look like they had a mutation quirk. But he decided to swallow his fears and say something for once. “Hey. . . umm, I kn-know we like, just met. . . and this is a random, possibly personal question. . . but is your quirk by any chance a mutation type?”

“Yeah, actually! It is!” He rolled his shoulder proudly. “My bones are denser and stronger than most people. Could you tell from just a handshake?”

“Oh, uh. . . you know, it was just a feeling really, I was just curious.” His cheeks flush red, but beneath the embarrassment, he was ecstatic about having gotten so good at identifying quirks.

The other boy looked at him strangely. “Oh. . . Okay?” In the brief moment following, Izuku failed to respond, and the boy walked away – clearly as done with the interaction as Izuku felt inside. He was left to find his own seat in the cafeteria once more.

There it was. His first experience talking to someone who didn’t know him as the quirkless Deku. He didn’t even learn the boy’s name, let alone share his own; he just branded himself as the weird kid. And if that was before discovering his quirkless status, imagine after! But… was he quirkless? Sure the doctors told him he had one, but he’d always been functionally quirkless, and it was all he’d ever been known as.

But that was certainly some intuition. Uncannily so.

It could have just been luck, or coincidence – there were only three categories of quirk it could have been in the first place. But why would mutation of all things jump out at him? The boy’s quirk was as visible as Izuku’s own!

The thought lingered with him throughout the rest of his school day; for once he felt a potential that he hadn’t felt since the ride to the quirk doctor. His stomach churned with excitement for class to end. He needed to do something; he had no idea what that something was, but he had to do it.

The final bell rang, and he wasn’t sure if he’d even retained any of the information that was taught that day. He needed to get home. He dashed through the halls as fast as was inconspicuously possible, choosing a route that brought him to his bike with minimal disturbances (*cough* Bakugou *cough*).

It wasn’t until he was biking home, allowing his autopilot to engage – pushing the pedals, swaying rhythmically back and forth to stay upright, feeling the rush of wind past his ears – that he’d realized what the butterflies in his stomach had been screaming about all day. He had to tell someone. He finally could tell someone. Couldn’t he?

No. Not until he could confirm it. He wouldn’t dare speak such a frail hope into the wild. He needed to run some tests. If it was his quirk, it activated when shaking the boy’s hand; it was most likely contact, but it could be something mental between the user and recipient, and if it was contact, it could have specific requirements.

He needed to attempt contact with people whose quirks he didn’t already know. That ruled out everyone he knew from school. But at the same time, his anxiety wouldn’t agree with him if he tried it with those he didn’t know at school (as he discovered earlier today).

Was there anyone he knew with an unknown quirk?

Whether it was the adrenaline in his veins, or an actual lack of connections, Izuku couldn’t think of a single person he knew well enough to bring this up with, that he didn’t already know their quirk. That being said, he couldn’t think of anyone he’d be willing to bring this up with other than his mom. But he didn’t want to tell her until he knew for certain.

It looked like he would have to go about his regular life, trying to make physical contact with anyone new he met, and make it a point to learn their quirk afterwards. Honestly, that didn’t sound so impossible; he was at a new school, and people tend to make it a point to have their quirk known. But the time it would take was unfortunate. Being the class nerd with a regular schedule that didn’t meet new people often, it was going to take a while…