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Izuku stared at the All Might figurine in his hand. The figurine stared accusingly back up at him. Merely one day ago, he never would have described All Might's gaze in such a horrid way. He would have said something stupid and naive like "looked proudly up at him".
The question was: was it better to lie to yourself and be so foolishly wrong, and yet at least feel you had something to live for, or was it better to just accept the ugly truth that you were a worthless useless waste of space that society would rather do without. If the number one hero couldn’t stand the sight of you, if he would leave you to die at the top of a building, was that when it was time to finally fucking jump?
Izuku balled his hand into a fist over the toy. Maybe if he were stronger, better, more useful, he would be powerful enough for that motion to break it. Instead, he just sat there, hand curled tightly around the accursed thing.
For all the tears Izuku was known for, he didn't seem capable of shedding so much as a single one despite his entire world toppling down around him. He'd thought maybe he was just holding it together while his hero – his hero who hated him – was there, but no. Now he was alone in an empty room, free to cry without anyone ever knowing, and still his eyes remained dry.
He was angry.
It wasn’t his fault he was quirkless. He had never done anything bad in his life, and yet the hero who is known to like everyone except villains didn't like HIM. Despite all the abuse, the torment, the suffering and struggling he had endured over his life, he had never once fought back, never once had he taken revenge for any of it. All because he didn't want to disappoint a hero who was apparently already disappointed in him regardless.
Well, if he didn't have anything to prove to anyone, if he was always going to be a pathetic hated thing, he may as well finally teach some people a lesson. It seemed only fair. He threw the action figure to the ground, stomping on it several times, before turning, grabbing one notebook from the back of his bookshelf, and leaving the room.
The only thing his mother had done was to obsess over protecting him from everything – the truest embodiment of a helicopter parent – so he didn't even have to think about the revenge that deserved. He simply walked out of the apartment without telling her, all while knowing he had zero intentions to return.
Kachaan was next on his list. He pulled out his notebook and flipped to the page it almost fell open to.
How to kill Kachaan: a 5 step plan.
Izuku smirked. This would be good. After all the years of bruises, burns, broken bones and near death, removing the asshole from this world seemed only fair.
---
Kachaan's death had been bloody, but Izuku didn't care. The people he was hunting down had never once cared if he was covered in blood, sure, it was usually his own blood he was covered in, but he didn't care. He simply flicked to their page and followed each plan. It was all supposed to be a hypothetical, the notebook was titled: "In case of emergency ONLY" and was meant to be a protection measure if a villain ever turned people evil, but hey, these people already were.
Izuku smiled to himself, satisfied with the days work after yet another revenge plot succeeded. He was walking lazily in the middle of the road, unbothered by the dangers. He had done enough to the worst of them, if he died, he would die satisfied. With his eyes trained on the starless sky, Izuku didn't notice the pothole until he was falling, crashing into the ground beneath him. He lay there for a long time, his bloodied face now bleeding for itself, cheek pressed exhaustedly against the road. He should get up, should keep walking, but he didn't know if he could be bothered. Where was he walking to anyway? Not home, that much he knew. Perhaps he could just rest here a while. No need to get up. Worst thing that could happen was apparently a benefit to society, so why did it even matter? He let his eyes flutter close, listening to his breathing as his mind finally calmed to quiet.
Internally he screamed in frustration when he heard the unmistakable thudding of footsteps running towards him. With a tired groan, he peeled his eyes open, looking in the direction they were coming from. He winced slightly as the gravel that had embedded into the grazes on his face were pushed around by his movement, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the approaching figure.
He flicked a leg out, lifting it up into the air slightly as he rolled onto his back.
"I'm quirkless, don't even bother," Izuku grumbled, making sure the approaching person could see the red shoes. The footsteps did at least hesitate at that, but then for some inexplicable reason they continued towards him.
"Have you been hit? Where are you hurt?" The figure – a man with a gruff voice – questioned.
Izuku rolled his eyes and sat up. Clearly the man wasn’t going to get the message.
"I'm fine, just resting, but you don't have to worry, I'm quirkless. I'll get off the road or whatever if you're worried about me causing traffic issues or whatever," Izuku said, shoving himself up to his feet and walking away, headed loosely in the direction of the edge of the road. The man followed, seeming infuriatingly concerned, even when Izuku was walking on the side of the road. Seriously. It was like having a stalker. What was the guy's problem, that he had to be following so intensely.
"Kid, I need you to stop for a minute."
Izuku ignored him.
"Kid–"
Not stopping walking, Izuku gave him the middle finger.
The man seemed completely unbothered by this, and it took a stupid amount of effort to keep from actually screaming. Whatever. If he was so intent on following, who was Izuku to stop him?