Chapter Text
The world had never been colorful to [Name].
People talked about colors constantly. Teachers pointed at red circles on worksheets. Store clerks asked whether she wanted the blue or green notebook. Children argued over their favorite shades as if they were discussing entirely different worlds.
To [Name], everything existed in black, white, and the endless stretch of gray between them.
She could tell the sky was bright because it hurt her eyes when she looked up. She could tell flowers were different because their petals reflected light in different ways. She could even tell when someone had dyed their hair because the texture and shine changed. But color itself was a mystery. Not that she minded. Most days, she preferred mysteries to expectations.
The morning air was cool as she walked down the familiar neighborhood street toward Aldera Middle School. Ahead of her, Katsuki Bakugo’s voice carried across the sidewalk.
“I’m telling you, I’ll get into U.A. easy!”
A group of boys walking beside him nodded eagerly.
“Yeah, Bakugo!”
“You’ll be the top student!
“Probably the next number one hero!”
Bakugo grinned without slowing down. “Damn right.”
A few steps behind them, Izuku Midoriya hurried along with his backpack clutched against his chest. His green curls bounced with every step. At least, she assumed they were green. Everyone said they were green.
“Morning,” she said.
Izuku nearly jumped. “O-Oh! Morning, [Name]!”
Bakugo glanced over his shoulder. “Took you long enough.”
“I left my house at the same time I always do.”
“Then walk faster.”
“Why?”
“So you’re not behind.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
One of the boys snorted before immediately covering his mouth.
Bakugo clicked his tongue. “Tch.”
[Name] hid a small smile. Some things never changed. The three of them had lived in the same neighborhood since they were little. Before Quirks became rankings and rankings became reputations, they had simply been children chasing each other around the park. Bakugo had always run ahead. Izuku had always followed. And [Name] had usually walked somewhere in the middle, wondering why everyone was in such a hurry.
“Did you finish the math homework?” Izuku asked quietly.
“Most of it.”
“Most?”
“I finished the important questions.”
“There were twenty questions.”
“Exactly. That’s too many.”
Izuku laughed under his breath.
Bakugo scoffed. “You two are hopeless.”
“Yet somehow we’re still passing.”
“Barely.”
“Still counts.”
For a second, Bakugo looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking.
The school gates came into view. Students streamed through them in noisy clusters. Shoes scraped against concrete. Someone was already shouting across the courtyard. To [Name], the entire scene looked like moving charcoal sketches. She liked that. In a world obsessed with standing out, gray made everyone a little harder to sort into neat categories.
Their classroom was already buzzing when they arrived. Bakugo was immediately surrounded.
“Bakugo! Did you see All Might’s interview last night?”
“Of course he did!”
“Hey, show us that explosion trick again!”
Bakugo smirked. “Move back if you don’t want your eyebrows burned off.”
The crowd laughed. The familiar sound of the homeroom bell echoed through the classroom, cutting through the chatter that had filled the room all morning.
“Everyone, take your seats,” their teacher called as he walked in, setting a stack of papers onto his desk.
Students hurried back to their desks, conversations dying down into quiet whispers.
[Name] rested her chin in her hand, staring absentmindedly out the window. The school grounds looked no different than they had yesterday—or the day before that. Students crossed the courtyard below while the breeze stirred the trees lining the fence.
Everything blended together in shades of gray. Beside the window, the sunlight reflected off the glass just enough to make her squint. She wondered, not for the first time, what everyone else saw when they looked outside. Blue sky. Green trees. Bright flowers. Those were the words people always used. To her, they were just names.
“…[Name].”
She blinked. “Hm?”
The teacher sighed. “Would you care to join us in today’s lesson?”
A few students chuckled.
“I thought I was.”
“You’ve been looking out the window for the last five minutes.”
“I can multitask.”
“No, you can’t.”
The classroom laughed a little louder.
She smiled sheepishly before sitting up properly. “Sorry.”
The lesson continued, though [Name] couldn’t say she paid much more attention. Across the room, Izuku scribbled furiously in his notebook even though the teacher had only written two sentences on the board. His pencil barely stopped moving. She wasn’t even sure he was taking notes from class anymore. He was probably writing something about heroes. Again.
“You brought another one?” she asked.
Izuku looked up. “Huh?”
She nodded toward the newest notebook.
“Oh! Yeah. I ran out of space in the last one.”
“Already?”
“I may have written a little too much about rescue operations.”
“A little?”
He scratched his cheek. “Maybe a lot.”
She leaned her head against her hand. “What was the last topic?”
“The Kamino traffic evacuation drill from a few years ago. I was comparing civilian movement patterns to—” He stopped abruptly. “Sorry. I started rambling.”
“You always do.”
“Is that bad?”
“Not really.”
A faint smile appeared on his face. Before either of them could say more, a shadow fell across the desk. Bakugo.
“You’re still writing that junk?”
Izuku straightened. “It’s not junk.”
Bakugo snatched the notebook. “‘Rescue Operation Efficiency Notes, Volume Four.’”
Several classmates laughed.
Izuku reached forward. “Kacchan, please—”
“Who’d want four volumes of this?”
[Name] watched Bakugo flip through the pages. Messy diagrams. Arrows. Hero names. Entire paragraphs squeezed into the margins. Izuku’s handwriting looked as if his thoughts had been racing the pencil.
“Give it back,” she said.
Bakugo didn’t look at her. “Stay out of it.”
“It belongs to him.”
“He leaves it lying around.”
“It was in his hands.”
Bakugo finally turned. “And?”
“And stealing is generally frowned upon.”
A few students chuckled.
Bakugo’s eyes narrowed. “You gonna report me?”
“No.”
“Then quit talking.”
She considered that. “Your mom would probably hear about it eventually.”
The room erupted.
Bakugo froze. “Shut up.”
“Last time she made you apologize for a whole week.”
“I was a kid!”
“You still are.”
More laughter. Bakugo’s face darkened. For a heartbeat, the classroom held its breath. Then he tossed the notebook back onto Izuku’s desk.
“Tch. Keep your nerd garbage.”
Izuku caught it against his chest. “Th-Thanks.”
Bakugo turned away. “And stop thanking people for everything!”
“Sorry!”
“That too!”
Even [Name] couldn’t stop herself from laughing. Bakugo muttered something under his breath and dropped into his seat. The tension dissolved. Conversations resumed. Chairs scraped. Someone opened a bag of chips before the teacher arrived and immediately got yelled at. Normal. Completely normal.
When homeroom finally began, their teacher strode to the front carrying a stack of papers.
“Alright, settle down!”
The room quieted.
“You’re in your final year of middle school, which means it’s time to start thinking seriously about high school.”
Excited whispers spread across the room. Support courses. General studies. Vocational schools. Hero programs. The teacher grinned.
“Though I have a feeling I know what many of you are thinking.” He tossed the papers into the air. “U.A. High!”
Cheers exploded. Several students raised their hands at once.
“I’m applying!”
“Me too!”
“My parents already signed the forms!”
Bakugo stood before anyone else could speak. “I’m getting into the Hero Course.” The confidence in his voice filled the room. “Obviously.”
No one argued. Even the students who disliked him knew how strong his Quirk was.
The teacher laughed nervously. “Well, Bakugo certainly has impressive scores.”
Bakugo crossed his arms. “Everyone else can fight over second place.”
A few classmates forced laughs. [Name] looked down at the application sheet that had landed on her desk. U.A. High School. The letters were sharp black ink on pale paper. A hero school. A place built for people whose Quirks could save others, stop villains, or inspire crowds.
She thought about her own Quirk. No beams. No strength. No flight. No explosions. Just a world without color. When she was younger, she’d once asked a doctor whether it might become stronger someday.
The doctor had smiled kindly. “Not every Quirk develops into something dramatic.”
At the time, she’d cried anyway. Now she simply folded the corner of the paper. Beside her, Izuku stared at his own form. His fingers trembled slightly. He wanted it. Anyone who had ever heard him talk about heroes knew that.
Bakugo noticed too. “Don’t tell me you’re applying.”
The room fell silent again.
Izuku swallowed. “I…”
Bakugo barked a laugh. “With no Quirk?”
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
Izuku lowered his gaze. “I just—”
“You just what?” Bakugo leaned back in his chair. “Think hard before embarrassing yourself.”
[Name] watched Izuku’s grip tighten around the paper. The edges crinkled. For a moment, he looked smaller than usual. Not because he lacked a Quirk. Because everyone was waiting for him to give up. She reached over and flattened the corner of his application with two fingers. The paper stopped shaking. Izuku blinked. She didn’t tell him to apply. She didn’t tell him not to.
Instead she said, quietly enough that only he could hear: “You should decide for yourself.”
His eyes widened. Then, slowly, he nodded.
Across the room, Bakugo clicked his tongue. “Tch.”
The teacher hurried to continue the lesson before another argument could start. Around them, students resumed chatting about entrance exams and hero rankings. But [Name] turned back toward the window. Outside, sunlight spilled across the courtyard in silver-white shapes.
Somewhere beyond those walls, people chased bright futures she could never quite picture. And for the first time that morning, she realized she didn’t mind. She didn’t want to become a hero. Not because someone told her she couldn’t. Not because her Quirk was weak. But because when she imagined the future, she saw something else entirely. She just hadn’t figured out what it was yet.
When the lunch bell finally rang, chairs scraped against the floor almost in unison. Students rushed toward the cafeteria before the lines grew too long.
Izuku carefully packed away his notebooks. One. Two. Three. Four…
“…You brought another one?”
He looked up. “Oh.” He smiled awkwardly. “I filled the last one.”
“Already?”
“I may have… underestimated how much I wanted to write.”
“How many pages?”
“…All of them.”
She laughed. “I don’t think that’s underestimating.”
Before Izuku could answer, Bakugo walked past their desks.
“You two coming or planning to starve?”
“We’re walking,” [Name] replied.
“You walk slow.”
“You walk like you’re racing someone.”
“I am.”
“Who?”
“…Everyone.”
She blinked. “That sounds exhausting.”
“Tch.”
Without another word, he continued toward the hallway.
Izuku watched him disappear. “…Should we go?”
“Might as well.”
The cafeteria buzzed with conversation. Every table seemed packed with students talking over one another.
After a minute of searching, [Name] spotted an empty table near one of the windows. “There.”
Izuku followed. Once they sat down, silence settled between them for a few moments while they opened their lunches.
Izuku glanced toward her before speaking. “Can I ask something?”
“You usually do.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “…Your Quirk.”
She paused. “What about it?”
“I’ve always wondered…” He hesitated. “…What’s it like?”
She looked down at her lunch for a moment. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Because you’ve always had it?”
She nodded. “If someone asked you what breathing felt like, what would you say?”
“I…”
“I don’t notice it anymore.” She picked up a piece of food with her chopsticks. “I know people see colors. They’re just…” She searched for the right words. “…Ideas to me. I know the names. I know apples are supposed to be red. The sky is blue. Grass is green. But those words don’t really mean anything.”
Izuku listened quietly.
“I’ve never actually seen any of them.”
He frowned. “…I’m sorry.”
She looked at him. “There it is.”
“What?”
“You apologized.”
“…Sorry.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “You just did it again.”
Even Izuku laughed at himself. “I guess I did.”
Across the cafeteria, Bakugo noticed them laughing. He grabbed his tray and walked over. “You two are loud.”
“You walked all the way over here to tell us that?” [Name] asked.
“I needed somewhere to sit.”
“There were empty seats over there.”
“I didn’t ask.” He dropped into the chair beside them anyway.
For a while, the three ate in relative silence. It wasn’t awkward. It never really was. They’d known each other too long for silence to feel uncomfortable.
Eventually, Bakugo spoke. “You still haven’t told anyone where you’re applying.”
[Name] looked up. “I don’t really have a reason to.”
“You have to go somewhere.”
“I know.”
“So?”
“So… somewhere that isn’t U.A.”
Bakugo stopped eating. “What?”
“I’m not applying.”
“You serious?”
She nodded. “I’ve never wanted to be a hero.”
He stared at her. “Why?”
She shrugged. “My Quirk isn’t exactly hero material.”
“So train it.”
“I’ve had fifteen years.”
“Maybe it’ll evolve.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not.”
Bakugo frowned. “You’ve already decided you can’t.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I decided I don’t want to.”
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Izuku quietly looked between the two of them. He understood there was a difference. Bakugo didn’t seem to.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again before clicking his tongue. “…Whatever.”
The rest of the afternoon dragged by after the excitement surrounding the U.A. applications. The classroom never quite settled back into its usual rhythm.
Every few minutes someone would lean across the aisle to ask another student where they planned on applying. Conversations about entrance exams and hero schools drifted through the room while the teacher tried, with limited success, to keep everyone’s attention on the lesson.
[Name] rested her cheek against her palm as equations slowly filled the chalkboard.
“…And that’s why you carry the one,” the teacher explained.
She blinked. Carry the one? She hadn’t even realized they were doing math now. A crumpled piece of paper bounced off the corner of her desk. She looked up. A boy from the row beside her pointed toward the note before turning back around. Curious, she unfolded it beneath her desk.
You really aren’t applying to U.A.?
She glanced toward the student, who looked back expectantly. Without saying a word, she wrote one answer.
No.
She folded it back up and tossed it across the aisle. Not even thirty seconds later, another note landed on her desk.
Why not?
She sighed quietly.
Because I don’t want to.
She slid the paper back. This time, there wasn’t another question. Apparently that answer wasn’t satisfying enough.
The teacher finally clapped his hands together. “Eyes up here.”
Every student quickly looked forward.
“If all you’re going to do is talk about your futures, you can save it until after school.”
A chorus of disappointed groans answered him.
“Good,” he said. “Now open your textbooks.”
The room obeyed. Mostly.
The final bell rang. The loud buzz echoed through the classroom like a signal for freedom. Almost instantly, chairs scraped against the floor as students packed their bags. Conversations resumed before the teacher had even finished dismissing them.
Bakugo was already halfway to the door. “Hurry up.”
[Name] zipped her bag closed. “We’ve been dismissed for exactly three seconds.”
“And?”
“You’re impatient.”
“I don’t like waiting.”
“You don’t have to.”
He frowned. “…What?”
“You can leave.”
Bakugo stared at her for a second before clicking his tongue. “Tch.” Instead of leaving, he leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed.
Izuku finished stacking his notebooks one by one into his backpack. He was always careful with them. Especially after what had happened earlier. Once everything was packed away, he stood.
“S-Sorry for taking so long.”
“You weren’t even that slow,” [Name] said.
“I know, but—”
“Don’t.”
He blinked. “…Don’t what?”
“Apologize.”
“…Right.” A pause. “…Sorry.”
She smiled despite herself. “You lasted almost five whole seconds.”
Even Bakugo let out an amused scoff. “I’ve seen snails move faster.”
“I know…”
“You’re apologizing again.”
“I know!” The tips of Izuku’s ears turned pink. “…Sorry.”
Both [Name] and Bakugo groaned at the same time.
Izuku buried his face in his hands. “I can’t help it!”
That finally earned a genuine laugh from [Name]. For a brief moment, everything felt… easy. Just like it had years ago.
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky as they stepped through the school gates. Students spilled out onto the sidewalks in every direction, laughing and making plans for the evening.
The familiar walk home began without anyone needing to suggest it. Bakugo naturally took the lead. Izuku walked a few steps behind. [Name] drifted somewhere between them. It had always been that way. The sidewalks grew quieter the farther they got from school. The noise of traffic replaced the chatter of classmates.
They passed a convenience store, a small playground, and the corner where an elderly woman always watered the flowers outside her house. The flowers looked no different from any others to [Name]. Different shapes. Different shades of gray. Nothing more.
“So.” Bakugo’s voice broke the silence. “You actually meant it.”
[Name] looked over. “About what?”
“Not applying.”
“I did.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “That’s stupid.”
“I figured you’d say that.”
“You’ve got a Quirk.”
“I do.”
“So use it.”
She laughed softly. “My Quirk lets me fail every color vision test.”
“Tch.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“It isn’t exactly hero material.”
Bakugo stopped walking. “It doesn’t have to be.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“You think every hero punches villains?”
“No.”
“Then figure something out.”
She looked at him for a moment. There wasn’t any mockery in his voice. Just frustration.
Like he genuinely couldn’t understand why someone wouldn’t try.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” she said, “but that’s not really the point.”
“Then what is?”
She looked ahead again. “I don’t want to spend my life fighting people.” Neither boy answered. “I don’t dream about becoming famous. I don’t want interviews. I don’t want fans. I don’t even like attention.” A light breeze stirred the trees overhead. “I just…” She searched for the words. “…want something quieter.”
Bakugo frowned. “Sounds boring.”
“To you.”
He clicked his tongue. “Yeah.”
Izuku finally spoke. “So… have you thought about what you do want?”
She smiled sheepishly. “Not really.”
“…Not really?”
“I know what I don’t want. I’ll figure out the rest later.”
Izuku nodded slowly. “I think that’s okay.”
Bakugo looked between the two of them. “You guys worry too much.”
“And you don’t worry enough,” [Name] replied.
“I don’t need to.”
“Everyone needs to.”
“Nah.”
She shook her head, laughing quietly. “You are unbelievably confident.”
“I’m right.”
“You certainly think so.”
“I know so.”
As they continued walking, the neighborhood park came into view. The old swing set creaked gently in the wind.
Izuku slowed. “…Remember when we used to come here every day?”
“Hm?”
“When we were little.”
[Name] smiled. “We used to race from the slide to the swings.”
“You always won,” Izuku said.
“I cheated.”
“You took shortcuts.”
“They were efficient routes.”
“They went through the flower beds.”
“They were still routes.”
Bakugo snorted. “You two were idiots.”
“You got your head stuck in the slide.”
His expression froze. “…No I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did,” [Name] said. “I remember because your mom had to help pull you out.”
“I was six.”
“You cried.”
“I DID NOT CRY!”
“You were screaming.”
“I WAS TELLING HER TO HURRY UP!”
“You cried.”
“I DIDN’T!”
An elderly couple walking past glanced over.
Bakugo lowered his voice immediately. “…Shut up.”
[Name] and Izuku exchanged a look before laughing.
Bakugo groaned. “I’m never walking home with either of you again.”
“You said that yesterday,” [Name] reminded him.
“And last week,” Izuku added.
“I mean it this time.”
“Mhm.”
The three continued walking. Nobody spoke for a while. It wasn’t awkward. It never had been.
After years of taking the same route home together, silence was almost comforting. Eventually, they reached the corner where the road split. Bakugo’s house was one way. Izuku’s and [Name]’s were
the other.
Bakugo paused. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you,” Izuku replied.
[Name] lifted a hand in a small wave. “Try not to explode anyone.”
“Tch.” He smirked. “No promises.” With that, he turned the corner, hands stuffed into his pockets.
The moment he disappeared from sight, Izuku let out a small sigh. “…He’s in a good mood today.”
“He is?”
“He only threatened three people.”
She laughed. “I guess that’s progress.”
The two continued down the quieter street toward home.
After another minute, Izuku spoke again. “…Can I ask you something?”
“You’ve already asked me that twice today.”
“I know.”
“So ask.”
“…Do you ever wish your Quirk was different?”
She didn’t answer immediately. The question lingered between them as they walked. “When I was younger,” she admitted. “I used to wonder what everyone else was seeing. I’d ask my parents what colors looked like. My mom tried comparing them to feelings. My dad compared them to temperatures.” She smiled faintly. “Neither explanation made much sense.”
Izuku listened quietly. “I guess…”
She looked up at the bright sky above them. “…I stopped wishing for something different.”
“Why?”
“Because this is normal to me.” She glanced over at him. “Everyone has something they can’t do. You don’t have a Quirk. I can’t see colors. Neither of us gets to choose that.”
Izuku looked down at the sidewalk. “…Yeah.”
She nudged his shoulder lightly. “But we do get to choose what comes next.”
He looked at her. A small smile slowly spread across his face. “…Thanks.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “For what?”
“…Everything.”
“There you go apologizing without apologizing.”
He laughed. “I guess I did.”
By the time they reached the next intersection, the sun had begun to sink lower behind the rooftops, casting long shadows across the pavement. To everyone else, the sky was probably filled with brilliant oranges and reds. To [Name], it was simply another beautiful arrangement of light and shadow. She’d never seen color. And somehow… She didn’t feel like she was missing it. Not today.