Chapter Text
As soon as the bell rang, everyone began leaving the classroom, either in groups or alone. Backpacks bumped against desks as students crossed through the doorway. Quiet conversations echoed through the hallway, mixed with the distant sounds of footsteps, lockers closing, and occasional laughter that gradually faded as the students left the building. The cold late-afternoon light streamed through the classroom windows, long and pale, illuminating particles of dust suspended in the air.
Izuku remained seated at the back of the room.
The cold felt lodged deep inside his bones.
His hands, hidden beneath sleeves far too large for his uniform, trembled faintly. He pressed them between his knees, trying to make them stop, but the shaking continued anyway, small and constant. He hadn’t turned on the apartment heater that morning, nor the mornings before it. He needed to save electricity, and the power bill had become far too expensive whenever he used the heater.
Besides, there was barely any food at home anyway, so it didn’t make sense to spend even more money trying to make the apartment comfortable when he could barely keep anything in his stomach to begin with.
Some classmates cast quick glances in his direction as they left.
They were curious and mocking. Their eyes carried faint sparks of disdain and malice. The looks didn’t affect him anymore the way they once had. They were just… uncomfortable.
He could feel his skin prickling whenever those gazes dragged across him, searching for any sign of weakness. And unfortunately, he was nothing but weak.
At Aldera Junior High, Izuku had always been alone. Not completely alone, of course. People talked to him sometimes. When they wanted to laugh. When they wanted to remind him of his place. When they wanted to see how far they could push someone who never truly fought back.
Izuku had never fully understood exactly when it started.
Maybe it had been the moment the other students discovered he still hadn’t manifested a quirk. Maybe even earlier, when he had still been a child who asked too many questions. All he knew was that, over the years, the spaces around him had grown larger in such a gradual way that nobody seemed to consciously notice it. Empty desks appeared beside his. Conversations died when he approached. People naturally stepped around him in the hallway without even realizing it. Like water flowing around a stone.
Even so…
Izuku pressed his fingers against the worn fabric of his pants, feeling his nails weakly digging into his own skin through the uniform.
He still wanted to be a hero.
He wanted it so badly that sometimes it hurt.
Ever since the incident with the Sludge Villain, though, it had become even worse. First the heroes. The shouting. The scolding. Adults asking what exactly he thought he was doing running toward a villain without possessing a quirk at all. As if trying to save someone had been something wrong. As if they themselves had done anything besides saying their quirks weren’t suitable.
Not that Izuku blamed them for it. He understood perfectly well that it was part of hero protocol to wait for someone more suitable in order to avoid escalating a situation further. But in that case, someone had already been in danger! Kacchan obviously wasn’t okay and could have gotten hurt, or worse!
Izuku tightened his fingers harder.
“I didn’t need to be saved.”
The words still felt lodged inside his chest, heavy and sharp like broken glass.
The worst part was that Kacchan didn’t even seem angry in the usual way. There were no exaggerated explosions, no threats or furious yelling. Just dry irritation. Cold irritation. As though the very idea of Izuku stepping into that situation had been offensive.
And now he didn’t even look at him anymore.
Kacchan passed by the classroom door at that exact moment, his backpack slung over one shoulder.
He didn’t even turn his head in Izuku’s direction.
Something inside Izuku’s chest tightened a little more at that.
But it was okay.
Izuku lowered his eyes to his desk.
It was okay.
He hadn’t done it expecting gratitude.
Heroes save people because it’s the right thing to do. Even if nobody understands. Even if the stares burn against his skin. Even if he still doesn’t have a quirk.
His throat dried out immediately.
No.
He has a quirk.
The doctor had said so years ago.
Izuku remembered the white examination room, the sharp smell of alcohol, and the small plants forgotten near the window. He remembered his mother sitting beside him, holding his hand so tightly it almost hurt.
Every student in his class had already manifested their quirks back then.
Except him.
The doctor had examined the test results several times before slowly adjusting his round glasses.
“He possesses the necessary gene to manifest a quirk.”
The calm voice still echoed in his memory.
“But the quirk appears to be… dormant.”
Dormant.
Like a seed buried deep beneath the earth.
“Does that mean he’ll develop a quirk later?” Inko had asked too quickly, far too hopefully.
The doctor hesitated for a moment, folding his hands over his stomach.
Izuku remembered that hesitation.
“It’s possible. Certain quirks have specific activation conditions that are often complicated and unpredictable.”
Possible. Not guaranteed.
The years passed after that.
And nothing happened.
No explosions.
No unique ability.
No brilliant manifestation.
Not even the slightest sign that he was anything more than quirkless.
And slowly, people began to stop expecting anything from him. The teachers avoided drawing attention to his lack of a quirk because it made the atmosphere uncomfortable. The students laughed less as time passed because even mocking Midoriya eventually stopped being anything new.
And even his mother started looking at him differently sometimes. Like someone trying not to show disappointment.
Izuku’s fingers absentmindedly brushed over the thin skin of his own arm beneath the uniform. He could feel the bones easily now.
He had gotten thinner again.
He needed to ration the remaining food better.
Maybe there was still half a bag of rice at home, and if he managed to find a few coins on the way back, he could buy some instant noodles.
His head throbbed faintly.
For a moment, he imagined hot broth. Freshly cooked rice. The smell of food filling the small apartment while steam rose from the pot. The taste of cooked meat.
His stomach twisted painfully.
Izuku closed his eyes and breathed slowly, trying to ignore the hollow feeling inside his body.
He just needed to endure a little longer. He will become a hero. With or without a quirk. He needs to believe that. Because if he didn’t…
Izuku remained seated for a few more seconds after the hallway had fallen silent, listening to the distant echoes of voices gradually disappear through the school building. Then he slowly let out a breath through his nose and finally forced himself to stand.
His body protested immediately; his legs felt heavy, and his shoulders ached from the constant tension he had carried for so long that he no longer consciously noticed it.
He began putting his notebooks into the yellow backpack with slow, careful movements, as though he were afraid of breaking something. His fingers absentmindedly brushed over a new tear along the side of the worn fabric near the zipper, and he paused for a moment, staring at the frayed lines spreading apart between the fibers. Another tear.
He would need to sew it when he got home.
Izuku pressed his lips together silently and ran a hand through his green hair, pushing back the long strands that insisted on falling into his eyes. It had gotten too long again, messy too. Some parts were different lengths than others because, over the past few months, he had been cutting it himself with an old pair of kitchen scissors, only trimming the strands that started getting too much in the way of his vision.
His mother used to do that for him. She would sit him down on the bathroom chair, jokingly complain about how fast his hair grew, and then ruffle the strands when she finished.
Now Inko barely came home long enough to notice things like that anymore.
He swallowed hard.
He would have to cut his hair again that night too.
Letting out a quiet sigh, Izuku lifted his eyes toward the classroom window. The sky was slowly beginning to darken, stained by heavy winter clouds, and the lights of distant buildings were already flickering along the horizon.
He stared outside for too long, lost in thoughts that seemed to slowly sink deep into his chest, until he lightly shook his head, almost as though he were trying to force them out.
Everything would be okay.
He needed to believe that.
He was going to become a hero. Somehow, he would. And then things would change. Maybe his classmates would start talking to him normally. Maybe people would look at him without making him feel that strange discomfort. He could truly help someone, save people, make the world a better place than it was now.
Maybe his mother would start coming home more often if she were proud of him. Maybe she would smile again in that tired but sincere way she used to years ago, and her eyes would linger on him for more than a second.
And maybe…
Maybe even All Might would look at him with something other than pity.
Izuku immediately felt his chest tighten and shook his head again, harder this time, reprimanding himself almost instantly for even thinking that way. All Might hadn’t done anything wrong. He was only trying to protect him. Only being realistic. (You should give up, my boy.)
Izuku had explained that his quirk still hadn’t awakened. The doctor had said so. There was a possibility. There was a gene. He wasn’t truly quirkless. (Without a quirk, you won’t be able to save anyone.)
All Might only wanted to keep people safe.
That was all.
It had to be. (Useless.)
Izuku tightened his grip on the backpack strap as he walked through the empty school hallways. (Useless. Useless.)
He left the building almost without noticing, lost in his own thoughts.
The cold wind immediately struck his face and made his hands ache inside the long sleeves of his uniform. For a few seconds, his eyes automatically drifted toward the street that would lead him to where the Sludge villain attack had happened a week earlier. His stomach twisted painfully. (His mouth and nose full of sludge pouring inside them. He can’t breathe. He can’t save himself. Useless.)
Izuku looked away, gripping the backpack straps tighter as he breathed deeply and pretended he couldn’t still feel that villain inside his lungs. Pretended he hadn’t cried in the shower while vomiting that day. He is okay. Everything is okay.
He deliberately chose a different route.
He knew the villain would probably spend the rest of his life imprisoned for the crimes he had committed. Illegal quirk use, theft, resisting arrest, attempted assault against civilians, arson, and who knew how many other charges. The news had talked about it for days.
Even so, just the idea of passing near that tunnel made something cold slowly crawl up his spine.
So he took a different shortcut.
His tired green eyes absentmindedly scanned the ground as he crossed a narrow alley surrounded by buildings that were far too tall, his hands hidden in his pockets to preserve at least some warmth.
His mind drifted slowly from one thought to another, trying to figure out exactly how he was supposed to train if he still wanted even the slightest chance of getting into U.A. High School. He needed to become stronger. Faster. More resilient.
But to train properly, he needed to eat more.
And that was becoming really difficult.
Izuku thought about the book on edible plants he had illegally downloaded from the internet a few weeks earlier and lightly bit the inside of his cheek, trying to convince himself it was a good idea.
Maybe he could search for food himself instead of continuing to place all the weight on his mother. She already worked so much at the hospital. Massive shifts, absurd hours, back-to-back duties. He didn’t want to become an even greater burden than he already was. She had already suffered so much taking care of him. (Useless.)
Izuku lowered his eyes even further as he kept walking. He had already tried looking for work several times before. Markets, small stores, warehouses. But it only took people looking at him long enough to realize it: underweight, exhausted appearance, arms too thin, no manifestation of a quirk.
Nobody wanted to risk hiring someone like that.
Izuku continued through the narrow alley with his eyes lowered, his hands hidden inside the long sleeves of his uniform while the cold wind slipped through the spaces between the tall buildings.
The damp concrete faintly reflected the light from distant streetlamps, forming yellowish stains across puddles gathered near the walls. His mind still revolved around the same exhausted thoughts as always: training, food, money, U.A., work.
Izuku lightly tightened the backpack strap against his shoulder while trying to ignore the hollow sensation in his stomach. He didn’t want to keep being a burden. He didn’t want Inko to worry more than she already did. It was only then that Izuku noticed the sound of footsteps.
Too late.
When he abruptly raised his head, his body was already reacting before his mind could catch up in a pathetic attempt to dodge. A large rough hand violently grabbed his throat and slammed him against the damp alley wall. His back struck the filthy concrete hard enough to rip the air from his lungs in a painful, choking sound.
Izuku’s eyes widened.
The world seemed to spin for a moment.
Air escaped his throat in useless little wheezes as he tried to breathe. The hand clamped around his neck kept him suspended several inches above the ground, forcing him to remain almost at the same height as the man holding him. The smell of cheap alcohol hit Izuku immediately.
The man looked somewhere between thirty and forty years old. He wore dark sweatpants and a dress shirt hanging far too open, without a tie, wrinkled as though he had been wearing it for days. He was much taller than Izuku and had overly broad shoulders, made even larger by the mutations of his own quirk. Dark scales covered parts of his neck and the sides of his face before disappearing beneath the open shirt, trailing down across his torso. His yellow eyes had narrow, clouded pupils.
Izuku felt his brain automatically racing to analyze the quirk.
Scales, maybe a reptile-based mutation. Some kind of large reptile perhaps. Definitely enhanced physical strength. The skin is probably more durable than it looks, maybe a strong jaw too if the mutation affects the entire body…
The thought died before he could continue analyzing the quirk because something else suddenly blared through his mind like a siren, warning him that something was wrong.
The man’s eyes weren’t focused on him. They were unfocused and bloodshot.
“How dare she…” the man muttered in a slurred voice, tightening his grip on Izuku’s throat. “After everything… after everything I did…”
Izuku tried to drag in more air, fear rapidly beginning to seep into him. He barely managed anything.
The man violently shook him against the wall.
“I gave her everything…” His face twisted into a horrible mixture of rage and pain. “Everything!”
Izuku tried to say something, anything, but only broken sounds escaped from his compressed throat. His hands desperately grabbed at the man’s scaled arm, trying to pull it away, but it was useless. The strength granted by the physical mutation made it impossible. Izuku’s fingers could barely move the man’s arm even a few centimeters.
The man didn’t even seem to truly see him. He kept shouting at someone who wasn’t there.
Izuku’s vision began to blur around the edges.
He kicked instinctively, trying to hit the attacker’s legs, trying to push him away, trying anything at all. His sneaker struck uselessly against the man’s leg without provoking any reaction. Tears began streaming down Izuku’s face while muffled noises escaped from his crushed throat.
His thoughts spun desperately, trying to find some kind of solution.
Some hero move.
Some technique.
Something.
All Might. Death Arms. Kamui Woods. Endeavor.
Any one of them would know what to do. Any one of them would have a quirk to help and years of training.
Izuku tried to remember strikes, stances, vulnerable points, strategies he had read about in magazines or seen in videos. His brain fired through ideas too quickly, but none of them mattered.
Because he was too weak.
His arms didn’t have enough reach to attack the eyes.
His legs didn’t have enough strength or length to attempt a kick to the groin.
He could barely breathe.
Useless.
The word surfaced inside his head like a whisper, echoing the voices of so many people throughout his life.
Useless.
His vision began darkening around the edges, and more air was leaving him than entering. He could feel his nails and fingers aching as he tried to pry the man’s hand away even just a little. But he couldn’t.
Useless.
The man squeezed harder. Izuku felt something warm running down his neck where sharp nails tore through his skin. A certainty suddenly settled inside his mind with such clarity that it even made him stop struggling for a moment.
He was going to die there.
In a filthy alley.
Without saving anyone. Without becoming a hero. Without managing to even defend himself. Because of his own uselessness.
The pressure around his throat tightened once more.
Pain exploded through Izuku’s throat, hot and suffocating, and for a moment he truly felt that this was the end. Air hadn’t properly reached his lungs for far too long already. His vision darkened at the edges in pulsing, distorted patches while the sound of the man’s voice became something distant and incomprehensible, as though it were being heard through water.
Then something moved.
Not around him.
Izuku’s eyes widened when a strange sensation appeared somewhere deep in his abdomen, far too gentle to be pain and far too warm to feel normal. The heat spread slowly through the inside of his body, sliding beneath his skin, climbing through his chest, his arms, his crushed throat.
Warm and comforting. Almost too comforting.
Izuku couldn’t stop the small sound that escaped his lips, a trembling, involuntary sigh. His pupils dilated while his body relaxed for an instant, overtaken by an absurd feeling of relief.
Like sinking into warm water after being cold for far too long.
Then the pressure around his throat abruptly dragged him back to reality. The man noticed that something had happened too, though for entirely different reasons.
The scales on the hand gripping Izuku’s throat suddenly trembled when tiny sprouts began emerging between them.
The man froze.
“What the hell—”
The words died in a scream.
Flowers began growing directly from the scaled skin of his hand. Not sprouting slowly, nor in any natural way at all.
They bloomed far too quickly, opening petal after petal at an impossible speed while thin roots burrowed beneath the man’s flesh. The grip around Izuku’s throat vanished and he collapsed to his knees on the wet alley floor, coughing violently as he tried to drag air into his burning lungs.
His vision was blurred with tears. The world felt distant and unfocused while the warmth still crawled through his body.
But when he finally managed to lift his eyes as his vision cleared, the flowers had already overtaken the man’s entire arm.
And all Izuku could think was that they were beautiful.
The slightly rounded petals had centers of deep purple that slowly shifted into red as the color spread outward, losing intensity until it reached an almost delicate pink along the edges.
The man was screaming now. Not in anger anymore. The anger had vanished from his face and all that remained was fear.
He violently tore one of the flowers from his arm, ripping away skin in the process, but at the exact same instant two more bloomed in its place, opening rapidly between blood and scales. Thin vines spread faster and faster across his skin while flowers began appearing on his other arm too, along his fingers, his neck.
“What the hell is this?!”
The words came out broken and desperate, the confusion caused by alcohol completely gone.
The man staggered backward, frantically trying to rip the plants away, but the more he destroyed, the more grew in their place. Then he started coughing. A wet, suffocated sound.
Flowers appeared between his teeth.
Izuku felt his stomach twist as he watched petals slowly force the man’s lips apart from the inside. He tried to vomit them out, tried to rip them from his own mouth, but new flowers were already growing deeper inside his throat.
More bloomed from his nostrils. The terror in the man’s yellow eyes became absolute. A flower slowly began opening inside his right eye.
Izuku watched the cornea distort.
Then rupture.
Red and purple petals blossomed outward from the eyeball while others began sprouting across the rest of his face. The man collapsed onto the alley floor, thrashing violently, his screams turning into muffled sounds as flowers filled his mouth, throat, and lungs.
Izuku couldn’t look away.
His entire body was trembling.
He should feel disgusted. He knew he should. But all he could feel was a warm, uncomfortable curiosity growing inside his chest, rising together with the comforting heat moving through his body, his head feeling light and hazy.
The flowers kept growing.
Beautiful.
Delicate.
Horrible.
They covered the arms. The chest. The face. The legs.
Until the man disappeared completely beneath a pulsating mass of petals and intertwined vines. The mound of flowers continued moving on the alley floor for a few more moments before the motion finally stopped.
Then every flower withered at the exact same time.
The change was instantaneous. The petals lost their color, shriveled, and dried within seconds.
The entire mound collapsed in on itself in a silent wave of dying plant matter, leaving behind only a large oval structure made of intertwined black and dark brown roots. The roots faintly glistened beneath the alley light, thick in some places and thin in others, weaving over each other like muscles.
The alley fell silent.
Izuku barely noticed when he started moving.
He felt like he needed to get closer to it, something inside him urging him forward.
His hands trembled as he crawled across the wet concrete on all fours, ignoring the pain in his throat, the taste of blood in his mouth, and the cold filth soaking through the sleeves of his uniform. His heart was beating far too hard inside his chest.
When he finally got close enough, the cocoon seemed… strangely welcoming. As though something instinctive inside him recognized it. The dark roots moved slowly across its surface, sliding over one another in an almost imperceptible motion.
Izuku raised a trembling hand.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he gently touched the cocoon.
At the exact same instant, the black roots began opening around his fingers.
The black roots slowly pulled apart around Izuku’s touch, sliding over one another with small sounds that were both wet and dry at the same time, like ancient wood being twisted. The inside of the cocoon was dark, warm, and strangely damp, the scent of wet earth and sweet flowers much stronger within it.
And right at the center was a fruit.
Izuku went still for a moment as he stared at it, overtaken by strange feelings and sensations. Something inside him screamed that the fruit belonged to him.
It hung delicately from a cluster of thin vines attached to the top of the cocoon, swaying almost imperceptibly in the cold alley air. The skin was a deep red, dark enough to appear almost black in the shadows, crossed by purple streaks that slithered across the smooth surface like veins beneath translucent skin. The fruit had a rounded shape similar to a large apple, but it didn’t truly look like any normal fruit.
At the bottom of the cocoon, partially trapped among the dark roots, Izuku could see a broken watch and torn pieces of damp fabric.
Where is the man?
The thought surfaced slowly, too distant, almost muffled.
Because the warmth inside him was growing again. Calling to him and awakening a new kind of instinct within him. His mouth filled with saliva so quickly it almost hurt. His stomach clenched violently with a hollow growl while his hands began trembling again.
The fruit smelled perfect.
Warm.
Sweet.
Comforting.
The scent seemed to slip directly into his mind, wrapping itself around thoughts and memories in a single unbearable wave of hunger. It was as though the thing knew exactly what his body needed. His entire body ached from the emptiness inside him.
He needed to eat the fruit.
He needed to eat it now.
But something inside him stopped him from tearing the fruit free from the roots and biting into it right there.
Not exactly a thought. That new, freshly formed instinct pushing at him again. A small, distant voice buried somewhere deep in his mind silently repeating:
Not here. Dangerous. Go home.
Izuku swallowed the saliva that was nearly dripping from his mouth, struggling for a moment between the overwhelming need to eat the fruit and what his instinct was telling him.
His trembling hands slowly reached toward the fruit. The instant his fingers touched the smooth, warm surface, a powerful sensation tore through his entire body, far too warm, far too intense, making his pupils dilate once again.
The fruit detached immediately from the vines as though it had been waiting for him. It fell softly into his hand as though it belonged there.
And at that exact moment, the black roots began to wither. The entire cocoon suddenly seemed to age. The roots lost their shine, dried out, shrank in on themselves until they slowly crumbled into dark ashes that the alley’s cold wind carried away almost immediately.
But Izuku barely noticed.
The fruit was warm in his hands, strangely heavy, but all he could think was that it was perfect.
His mouth wouldn’t stop watering now. His stomach hurt so badly that he had to bend slightly while instinctively clutching the fruit against his chest. His hands trembled almost violently.
With extreme care, as though protecting something far too precious, Izuku placed the fruit inside his backpack and immediately pulled the bag tightly against his body, holding it to his chest as he began walking.
Later, he couldn’t even remember exactly how he got home. The journey felt fast and slow at the same time. The streets blurred past his eyes while his mind revolved around a single suffocating sensation:
Hunger.
A cold hunger that made his empty stomach feel like torture.
He needed to eat.
Needed to.
Before he realized it, he was already unlocking the apartment door with trembling fingers. He didn’t even remember climbing the building stairs. Didn’t remember the hallway. The apartment was dark and silent, but that felt far too distant to matter.
Izuku stumbled inside and immediately hurried toward his room.
He didn’t close the door properly. He only shoved it shut with his body before collapsing to his knees beside the bed, ripping the backpack off his shoulders with desperate movements. His fingers found the fruit immediately.
It was still warm.
The scent grew stronger the instant he pulled it from the backpack.
Saliva dripped involuntarily from the corner of his mouth and his breathing came out in short, rapid pants through parted lips.
His hands were trembling so badly he could barely hold the fruit properly as he brought it toward his mouth as fast as he could. He didn’t hesitate before biting into it with desperation and hunger.
The flavor exploded inside his mouth the moment his teeth pierced the thin skin.
Izuku’s eyes widened immediately and his pupils expanded.
Never in his entire life had he tasted something like this.
Sweet and warm at the same time. Far too rich to be compared to any normal fruit or anything he had ever eaten before. The taste seemed to fill every empty part of his body all at once, spreading warmth through his throat, chest, and stomach in a wave that was almost painfully pleasurable.
A low sound escaped involuntarily from his mouth. His entire body shuddered, chills spreading across his skin. He didn’t even think before biting again. He ate more. And more.
Desperately.
The thick juice ran down his fingers, dark red beneath the weak bedroom light, staining his hands, trailing down his chin and dripping onto his uniform while he devoured the fruit without being able to stop. The taste was addictive. Every bite made the emptiness inside him fade a little more, replaced by a warm, heavy fullness that made his thoughts slowly melt away.
Izuku didn’t even notice when he ended up sitting on the floor.
Nor when he finished eating.
He only realized he was breathing far too quickly, curled over himself while small waves of warm pleasure continued coursing through his entire body in slow shivers.
His mind felt covered in honey. Heavy and slow, dragging along without truly forming coherent thoughts.
He smiled without realizing it. A small, happy smile, the first genuinely happy smile in years.
For the first time in a very long time, he didn’t feel hungry.
The feeling of fullness completely filled him now, warm and pulsing inside his abdomen while small sparks of pleasure moved through his exhausted muscles. His whole body felt lighter. More alive.
Exhausted, Izuku slowly stretched himself out across the cold bedroom floor, still breathing unevenly while the warm sensation continued spreading through him.