Chapter Text
Sorrowful tears ran like rivulets down her face, an abrasive, corrosive brine against her cheeks. She barely noticed, though, curled up like a cat in a grimy back alley off the main street, and that was fine. Nobody ever noticed her, either. Not really. They had turned away when they saw her on the street, hastily diverting their eyes before they could think about the bedraggled, jaded schoolgirl. That was fine, though; the politician they voted for said they cared about the kids after all, even as they talked about reducing funding for quirk counselling.
‘What now?’ thought Toga Himiko, all while that morning’s events played again in her head. ‘Where now?’
It was still mercilessly clear in her mind. Her parents’ faces. Their words. What she had said back. Not that she cared about them. She knew they didn’t care about her. Not really. Just this idea of her that they had in their mind. Once, she had wanted to be a hero. Before she got her quirk. Her villainous quirk. The thought of it made her nauseous, like she’d been hit in the solar plexus before she could fully digest her thoughts. When was the last time she’d drunk blood? Every time she thought she remembered, it slipped from her grasp, as if she were trying to catch sand with a sieve.
Even though she could never go back, that didn’t hurt her. Rather, it made her feel… more real, piercingly real, like she had just taken her first breath of fresh air after almost drowning in penetrating frost, like she was finally the one actually living her life, rather than some intruder.
Are there others like her? Other people that were judged? Born wrong? ‘Stain…’ was her first thought. The hero killer. The more she thought about what he said, the more it made sense. A so-called villain. Like her. What had the heroes ever done for her, when she needed a hero herself? Soak up the glorious Sun while others couldn't even afford sunscreen. She knew her chances had been burnt up long ago. Really, these people were no less villainous than those they judged so harshly
‘My parents got one thing right, though. There is no place for me, not in this society. Not really.’ It was the thought occupying her spiraling the most since that moment. Not just that, but the last thing she said, too. ‘You can no longer see your daughter? You never saw me. You only ever see the person you wanted me to be. That’s not me. You never wanted a daughter. Just a sculpture to mould. And you know what? You’ll never see me again.’
It was one of the only things she wasn’t regretting right now. It had felt so good. The look on their faces. The gasp. The sense of freedom. The deluge of insults that hit like thrown stones. The rush of adrenaline. The feeling of storming out the door. The-
Her thoughts were terminated by the roar of conflict and the quake of disruption - from the street. She forced herself to get up. In that moment, the need for survival - the fear - outweighed her sorrow. It was as she emerged onto the street that she saw the source of the disruption. A villain. Hulking and viscous, a mass of slime. And within it? A boy. No more than a teenager by her guess, around her age. Still visible. Around them, heroes circled, like vultures over an occupied corpse. A crowd had gathered, but they didn’t even notice her. Not one. The longer the struggle between the boy and the villain went on, the worse the destruction, she realised. Over the howling of flames, which littered clouds of embers into the clear sky, she felt rage flowing like a stream of blood, coursing through her capillaries. The heroes, two of whom she recognised as Death Arms and Kamui Woods, weren’t planning to engage the villain at all, and wouldn’t dare risk it. No hands would be offered to help, only to apologise to the news broadcasters waiting for the next big scoop like a noxious pack of Hyenas.
She hated it so much she could laugh. She wasn’t surprised. Nobody ever helped her. Why would they? Heroes don’t increase their ranking through challenging themselves, through helping a lost child without the razor surveillance of the media. No. They’re paid to yell the names of golden, shiny supermoves while showing off for the cameras. To use their silver-plated party costumes to fight crime, not solve problems, to let others do their work when they face adversity, letting people’s lives wait upon “I shouldn’t”. They had failed her, and they would go to sleep in their multi-million yen homes easily tonight, even after knowing they’d sacrificed a child’s life because “they didn’t have the right quirk”.
A commotion erupted from within the crowd; people were being moved out of the way, but she couldn’t see who by. Then, she saw him. Another boy, in the same school uniform as the villain’s captive, darted out from the crowd. His face was a painting of fear, yet his footsteps were as sure as if they were rehearsed, determined. Purposeful. He wasn’t the biggest, by Toga’s estimate; he must’ve been only slightly taller than her, and he clearly wasn’t the best suited to this situation. But, with his fluffy green hair, scintillating veridian eyes, his torn school uniform and bleeding wounds, charging towards the opponent that even qualified heroes wouldn’t tackle, he looked like the cutest, most heroic person she’d ever seen. She watched in awe, not fear, as he hurled his school bag into the villain’s eye and tried to free the hostage. Despite his best efforts, however, he could only buy enough time for a struggle, and soon enough, the vile perpetrator was looming over him again, ready to strike. She dared to blink. The attack never landed. Instead, tall and defiant where the other heroes keeled back, stood All Might. It was never much of a fight. All that was needed was a single, weather-changing punch.
She stood there, dumbstruck, disbelieving. The whole crowd did. Even time itself stood at attention, saluting his power, while droplets fell, as though the heavens themselves were weeping. Eventually, the police arrived, and the villain was taken into custody. Despite being the only real hero there, other than All Might, the green-haired boy was verbally diced by the heroes for “doing something so dangerous”. He wore his blood like a ribbon on his clothes, proof of his bravery, in stark contrast to the spotless “heroes” lecturing him. It made him look so pretty, prettier than she could bear. When no hero cared about the explosive hostage, the child in need, he did. Even though he was scared, he still took the chance. Despite not using any quirk, he bought enough time for someone to do something. He dared to break the mould. Would he care about her? Despite everything, she found herself hoping that he would, that at least one person thought she could be more than a monster. She had to see him.
Izuku was bitter and dejected. What is the point of trying when he was born wrong? He was a freak. A subhuman, who made everything he touched worse. That's what his mind said. It's what society said. It's what those heroes meant. What the teachers always told him, and his classmates. Even his mother. Nobody thought he could be a hero. Nobody saw his dedication, how long he spent exercising after school. He knew he couldn't be a hero by sitting around, but… could he be a hero at all? Nobody saw his desire; he had tried his hardest to save Kacchan, yet it still wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. In the end, it was All Might who saved the day. Not him.
Death Arms had scolded him. Told him it was dangerous to do what he did. What would Death Arms know about danger, considering he never intervened in anything if he thought it would hurt him or his image? He didn't know what it was like to always be on edge because the moment you let your guard down, you would be beaten into the pavement for the way you were born, not like the pro hero knew anything but privilege. No matter what Death Arms did, Izuku knew the hero didn't have to worry. You couldn't be as much of a hero nerd as Izuku was without knowing the things the HPSC covered up.
Defeated, Izuku slumped to the floor. He wanted to vanish; to melt into the floor and never come out, never have the judging eyes of others on him, mocking him relentlessly, throwing judgement that burnt and bruised his skin while he was bound in the chains of his own worthlessness. His quirklessness. He wanted to never be seen again. He wante-
“Are you alright?”
Izuku's head snapped up faster than a pistol shrimp. It was a girl. A blonde-haired girl, scruffy and thin, her dull and dirty school uniform contrasting her sharp, bright yellow eyes staring down at him with concern and… something else. Hunger? He could tell she was tired; her posture and the deep bags under her eyes gave that much away. She didn't seem that much older than him, and as he stood up, he noted that she was shorter than him. Her enlarged canines pointed to her having at least a partial heteromorphic quirk, maybe a cat mutation? The more he looked at her, the more fascinated he was with her. Why did she look so downtrodden? Was she not looking after herself?
“Hello? Earth to greenie? I asked you a question!” She said, giggling and snapping Izuku out of his trance. Seeing his blank expression, she asked again; “I asked you if you were alright?”
Izuku scrambled for an excuse to tell her, a reason for why he was fine, like how he would with his mother, but he couldn't. What was the point anymore? He was broken, and there was no longer any point pretending otherwise. So he told her.
“No, I'm not. I haven't been since my fourth birthday. I've always wanted to be a hero; I've always been desperate to help others. But I can't. No matter how hard I try, how much I push through, I never can. I'm broken. Worthless. A freak. I tried helping Kacchan against the slime villain, but I just made it worse. Made it angrier. All Might had to bail me out. A real hero. Someone with a quirk. At my school, they all bully me, and those that don't say anything. The teachers encourage it. What point is there in going to the police? Why would anyone care about a quirkless person?”
Her reply was soft, barely more than a whisper, but hit Izuku harder than All Might's rejection.
“I don't think you're worthless.”
“What?”
“I don't think you're worthless.” She firmly repeated, her shining golden eyes staring kindly into his. “You did much more than those other ‘heroes’ for that boy. While they sat on their asses and complained about ‘not having the right quirks’, you ran in and did something. Tried to help. The fact you did that without even having a quirk is even more admirable!”
Izuku stared, stunned. “But I didn't even accomplish anything; it was All Mi-”
“That's not true! Your interference allowed All Might an opening to defeat the slime villain! Without you, his hostage would've died.”
Izuku's objections were silenced by her insistence, and the more he thought about it, the more he realised something. She was right.
“Thank you.” He whispered, only just loud enough for her to hear.
She tilted her head at him, confused. “For what? All I did was tell you the truth.”
“W-well, it's just that… nobody has ever thanked me for anything before, or told me that… they thought I wasn't worthless. Not even my own mother could bring herself to tell me I could be a hero. I've never had anyone who believes in me, or any real friends. Who would want to be friends with a quirkless pers-”
She rapidly surged forward, engulfing him in a tight embrace, holding him closely and resting her head on his shoulder. “I would. I want to be your friend.”
He started sobbing. He hadn't realised until the tears were flowing like a heavy stream, and, hard as he tried to choke them back, he couldn't. “Why?” Was all that he could say.
“Because… I understand what it's like to be shunned by society. To have people hate you, to hurt you for the way you were born.” She confessed, taking a deep breath. “My quirk makes it so that I love blood. I need it. I crave it. But my parents… they said it was gross. They tried to stop my quirk, to suppress it. They called it villainous.”
Izuku stared down at her, verdant eyes as comforting as a sparkling aria. “There's no such thing as a villainous quirk; it's about what you do with it. Your parents are wrong - you're not a villain. You've been nothing but kind to me, despite the fact that you don't know me at all. Much kinder than many with so-called ‘heroic’ quirks. I assume that's why you look so downtrodden, because you ran away from home?”
She nodded, eyes tearing up at the boy’s kind words. “I had a huge fight with my parents a few days ago. They pushed me too far, and the pressure of them shouting at me and withdrawals from my quirk… I just couldn't take it. I shouted back at them and fled. My name is Himiko Toga, by the way, but please just call me Himiko. I don't want to be associated with my family name.”
“I'm Izuku Midoriya, but since you want me to call you Himiko, you can call me Izuku.”
“Thank you, Izuku.”
“Thank you, Himiko.”
Under the glorious, warm saffron sun, they held each other. In that moment, the world stood still for the two. Neither saw the angry, blonde bomber turn a corner, ready to scold the useless Deku he knew, only to be stopped in disbelief at the sight he saw. Neither saw him leave.
Similarly, however, neither saw the enormous, muscular hero dash out in front of them until he was speaking.
“Young man, I am here! I'm sorry for the hold up; the reports were really pestering me today, but I come with a propositio-”
All Might stood, dumbfounded, staring at the young man he had seen before, now staring back at him. However, he was not the only one staring at All Might.
“What?”