Chapter Text
Izuku was 14 and running for his life.
If one were to ask him, he was not actually sure what he had done to incite his bullies that particular day, but they were chasing him down the corridors of school as the teachers passed them, some turning away in shame, others snorting, leers curling their lips.
“Oi! DEKU!” one of the bullies screamed. “GET BACK HERE!”
Izuku could barely shake his head, his lungs protesting the strain, his knees almost giving up as he dashed, the screams of his persecutors behind him spurring him to just go harer, faster, no matter he couldn’t breathe, he had to get away.
“KATSUKI!” one of them greeted. “GIVE US A HAND WILL YOU?”
Izuku can barely hear them over the beating of his own heart against his ears but he knows he is doomed when the scorching heat of Bakugou’s explosions reaches his back and the force propels him forward because they were too focussed on him running, they always were.
And this time Izuku was too focussed on escaping his usual tormentors, he always was.
And neither of them noticed the open window he was slowly, ever so slowly being thrown from by the force of Kacchan’s amazing quirk.
He didn’t hear their screams anymore.
He didn’t feel his knees begging for relief.
He could only see the sky so blue over him and the sun shining on his face.
And then there was only pain.
Pain, ago ny and fire and blood.
So much blood around him.
“WATCH OUT!” a woman screams behind him.
Oracle, the foresight hero turns just in time to evade a clawed hand that would have taken his neck with it before delivering a kick to the villain’s sternum with enough calculated force to make it feel broken without actually compromising the lungs and heart inside the man’s ribcage.
He is not a killer, he is a hero.
The city burns around him and he can see the shadowed silhouette of All Might far ahead, only visible due to his massive size, carrying civilians away by the dozens.
“You ok, Oracle?” the woman says, hand on his elbow to alleviate the pressure of the makeshift bandages on his shoulder.
He knows her.
She is Contort, the flexible hero, her ashen face and blood soaked costume signaling to him how long she has spent pulling victims out of the wreckage.
“Yeah,” he replies, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.
Contort’s hands shake against his skin, she’s hurt, and her quirk is at the very edge, she needs to step back or she will collapse.
His own shoulder was pierced, and his ankle is dislocated, but he can stand for a lot longer than Contort, he is sure.
“Hey Jeanist!” he calls. The newcomer hero turns to them from the dilapidated second floor of a building. New kid, recently graduated, Oracle’s tired mind supplies. Good kid, will go far if he keeps up with the good work he’s doing. “Contort needs medical attention, pronto, care to take her?”
“Oracle!” Contort protests. “You are in far worse shape than me!”
Jeanist looks between them, torn.
“No I’m not, plus Jeanist’s quirk could easily pull the tendons of my shoulder by accident and not yours, you are the best option for him to run away now, look at him Mai, he’s at his limit.”
The use of her real name startles Contort - she’s Mai, one of his best friends and former classmate, she’s his Mai - he usually maintains a strict no names on the field policy.
She turns to stare at the new kid, her lips curling grimly.
He is exhausted himself, but he can possibly go another round if the situation calls for it, they both can tell, and maybe Mai knows he’s using the new kid’s obvious weakness against her, just as he’s using her weakness on Jeanist, forcing their empathy to make them both go first.
“You’ll be right behind us, right?” she whispers, her hand clenching into fist around his torn sleeve.
“Sure thing,” he says in lieu of a response. “I’m going to check the perimeter one last time, though I think Endeavor and All Might have it covered I kinda want to make sure there are no more survivors of the wreckage before leaving.”
Contort’s lips thin.
“As soon as I get assistance I’m broadcasting your location, Oracle,” she warns. “You will come back no matter who has to haul your sorry ass back home, promise?”
He smiles, his usual calm smile that makes his students scowl.
“Promise.”
“Even if it’s Enji.”
“Even if I have to lean weakly against Endeavor’s manly and hairy chest,” he assures.
Contort grins.
“I’ll probably snap a picture to commemorate then,” she promises back, raising both arms. “I’m ready Jeanist! Let’s get out of here!”
Oracle watches as Jeanist’s threads wrap snuggly around Contort and pull her away from the fires, back to safety and prays that’s she’s seriously not thinking of sending En-...deavor after him. He doesn’t think he would be able to live it down if that mountain of a man has to princess carry him back.
With a shake of his head, Oracle turns to the last abandoned store in his vicinity, ready to check for the last survivors in the area, when there is a piercing agony in his back that spreads all over his body and he is falling face first into the ground, dust and ashes blinding him for a second.
His mind spins, reorients itself, catalogues all responses from his nerves.
He has been stabbed.
The cold metal warming quickly with his blood has a faint chemical scent that informs him he has been stabbed with a knife covered in poison.
The heavy sound of metal toed boots against debris is a clear signal that his attacker is still in the vicinity.
His sight is fogging.
His strength - already diminished - is being drained from him.
“... yes, madam,” a voice grunts from his left, only interrupted momentaneously by the static of a radio. “It’s done.”
An assassin.
Not a common villain.
But someone sent specifically to take him out.
“... You bastard…” he grunts, trying to turn, to get a glimpse of the one who was sent for him, to catalogue as much information about him as he can before…
A snort.
“Sorry, Oracle,” the man says, his voice jovial, mocking. “You know how these things are…”
And he does.
He does with the clarity only years of learning have given him.
He closes his eyes then.
And knows of nothing more.
Izuku opened his eyes, staring at the already familiar ceiling of the school infirmary, his eyes dull, his limbs aching.
“Ah, Midoriya,” the nurse said in her usually bored tone of voice that told Izuku how done she was with what she used to call ‘their silly teenage shenanigans’. “You are awake.”
“Yeah…” he whispered, his mouth curling, hand extending to receive the glass of water that the nurse usually gave him whenever he ended up under her mercy. Her quirk making the aches and bruises fade slowly as he drank.
“The principal already sent you a new school jacket and…” she began her usual report of his situation.
“Where’s my phone,” he interrupted, eyes set on his clenched hands - they were really small, he can tell that even in adulthood they won’t be big or muscled and can’t help the disappointment.
The nurse blinked, surprised.
“Here,” she said, placing it by his side on the bed.
Izuku sighed.
The screen was cracked and he obviously landed over it when he fell - was thrown - from the second floor window. A part of him thought he should use his allowance to replace it and be done with it, but another, smaller part of him cried at the thought of losing his precious limited edition All Might phone colab.
He would have to think about it later, when he felt a little more clear headed.
For now his fingers danced over the cracked screen, pulling his search engine and praying the phone didn’t die on his hands right that second.
‘ORACLE, The Foresight Hero.
Civilian Name: Mochizuki Touya.
Jan 8th 2XXX - Jul 15th 2XXX.
Place of Birth: Juban.
Quirk: Prediction.
Agency: Mystic. (Closed)
Alumni of UA, Oracle was blessed with the quirk of Prediction, allowing him to be one step ahead of his opponents.’
“I’ll go get your bag and you can go home as soon as you feel ready, Midori…” the nurse stopped, as she finally realized he was not paying attention to her. “Midoriya?”
Izuku would have usually responded with an affirmative, sheepish bow of apology and flushed cheeks, his eyes downcasted.
Instead his eyes were glued to his phone screen, his trembling fingers struggled to hold it in his line of sight as he read the entry on HeroPedia, devouring every word, staring into ice gray eyes so achingly familiar - of course they were familiar, he saw them every single morning in his bathroom mirror as he washed his teeth for the day - to the milky white skin barely graced by a small scar at the tip of his chin that had faded into a soft pink - En… deavor had caught him during training - and his slender build, barely hidden by his large cloak and hood - Mai had insisted he looked like a chicken and should cover up before he caught his death in the cold of the night - drinking into all the information of a person he could remember so achingly perfectly yet by all logic... shouldn’t.
His name was Midoriya Izuku, quirkless, loser, 14 years old.
His name was Mochizuki Touya, hero, mentor, 30 years old.
A bead of nervous sweat rolled down the teen’s back where he could still feel the phantom pain of the poisoned blade cutting his insides as he read over and over the same line.
‘Oracle fell to a surprise attack by villains while rescuing survivors of a local disaster in Hosu on July 15th and was found by the flame hero Endeavor a few hours later. (See Hero Oracle’s funeral footage.)’
A lump formed inside Izuku’s throat.
He knew for a fact he did not ‘fall’ while fighting villains.
He had been murdered because he knew too much.
And he also knew now… he had reincarnated.
...........
