Chapter Text
Izuku sighed, dropping his backpack on the floor of his bedroom and flopping face-first onto his bed. For once, the All Might blanket did little to comfort him, the pain from the burn on his shoulder taking up most of his attention. “All I did was say I wanted to be a hero… Kacchan, why?”
He heard footsteps in the hallway outside, and he quickly adjusted himself so that he was sitting upright. Mom stuck her head in, a soft smile on her face. “Hi, sweetie. How was your first day of junior high?”
Izuku smiled, barely holding back a wince as the burn throbbed again. “It was great, Mom! The teachers were nice today, and I got to know a lot of people that didn’t go to the elementary school!”
Technically, it was true. The teachers were nice - up until they found out that he was Quirkless. He did get to know new people - by getting acquainted with their fists and shoes. Izuku could never outright lie to his mom, but he’d gotten better at leaving out key details.
Mom’s smile widened. “Well, to celebrate a new part of your life, I went ahead and got you something!” Her arms came out from behind her back, holding what looked like a gray box. “I know you’d always wanted a gaming system of your own. It’s an old system from the pre-Quirk era - a Nintendo Switch!”
Izuku’s eyes watered. “Mom, you didn’t have to! Honestly, you don’t need to waste money on me like this…”
Mom frowned slightly. “Izuku, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with a mother getting her child a gift. And besides, I didn’t buy it, I found it in our storage unit.”
Izuku smiled. “Well, if you say so…”
After doing his homework (which had been assigned to him on the first day “because things are only going to be tougher for him later in life”), Izuku connected the Switch to the TV in the living room. Apparently, this was a used system, because there was already a profile set up on it, as well as several games installed on it. Whoever had previously owned it had apparently made sure to keep the card slot empty, but hadn’t bothered removing the digital downloads.
Izuku went ahead and set up a new profile for himself, deleted the old profile, deleted the old Miis, and made a new Mii for himself. Glancing at the clock, Izuku figured he had about 2 hours or so before dinner. Scrolling through the various titles, he eventually settled on one that he recognized - Kirby and The Forgotten Land. Supposedly, the game had been really popular when it first came out, though game production had gone stale when Quirks developed soon after. The franchise had been known for its low difficulty, and Izuku figured that would be the only game a stupid Deku could be any good at.
Before he could start doubting himself any further, he started up the game. The opening cutscene started playing, and Izuku settled in for a short play session.
Inko glanced over towards the living room, giggling to herself as she watched Izuku lean forward, focusing entirely on the gorilla boss he was fighting. Initially, she’d felt bad about lying to him, but he looked so happy that she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt. The system had actually been kept inside her bedroom, and she would occasionally play some of the titles on it when she was feeling especially down. She’d deleted her old profile and Mii to make it seem like an old system that Izuku could think of as his own, rather than being on loan from her.
She turned back to the stove, humming contentedly as the pork cutlets simmered in the pan. Maybe cooking Izuku’s favorite food and giving him a gaming system might’ve been too much for a single day, but it was the start of a new chapter in his life, after all.
That, and she knew he wasn’t being entirely honest about school. Oh, he thought he was hiding it, but a mother always knew when her child was in pain. She could tell from the moment he had walked in the door that he was nursing some kind of injury on his shoulder, and the bathroom sink running for much longer than to just wash his hands practically confirmed it. Probably a burn, if the light scent of smoking flesh was any indication.
Inko sighed to herself. I know Izuku always insists that he and Katsuki are friends, but I can’t lie to myself much longer. Mitsuki always had anger issues, and lord knows what influence the schools are having on that boy. I should’ve pushed harder after that one incident in elementary when Izuku got hurt while playing with that Tsubasa boy.
She shook her head, clearing her mind of the negative thoughts. No. All I can do now is support him.
She turned her attention back to the pork cutlets, humming along with the music coming from the living room. She didn’t bother turning around to check on Izuku, believing that he was mature enough to know when to stop. Though, if she had turned around, she would’ve noticed his hair glowing. She would’ve noticed a distinct green cap appear over his green curls, going unnoticed as the two occupants of the apartment were too focused on their own tasks. She would’ve noticed the sword laying on the floor behind the couch.
Izuku blinked as he felt a tap on his shoulder, glancing up at where Mom was standing to his side. “Time for dinner, sweetie.”
He blinked again, before glancing over at the clock, eyes widening at how quickly the time had gone by. “...Huh. Okay, mom!”
He quickly went through the process of closing down the game and turning off the console and TV. By the time he was done washing his hands, Mom had already set out two plates of katsudon on the table. He started digging in immediately. I had no idea playing video games made you this hungry. And it was only for 2 hours!
Mom giggled. “You liked that game, didn’t you? I wasn’t expecting to have to get you to stop myself.”
Izuku hummed, putting his chopsticks down on the table. “Me either. I’ve seen people play video games on HeroTube before, but I got… distracted. Sucked in, almost. It’s weird. And I don’t think I’m supposed to be this hungry after only 2 hours.”
Mom frowned. “You’re feeling hungry? You told me you had a good-sized lunch at school today.”
Unthinkingly, Izuku cringed at the thought of school. Sure, he’d gotten a good-sized lunch - up until the moment the tray was knocked out of his hands and the food was spilled all over the cafeteria floor. He could still hear the jeers of Kacchan and his two lackeys.
Mom sighed. “Izuku, sweetie, you don’t have to lie to me. Are you safe at school?”
Izuku waved his arms frantically. “No, mom, I’m fine! Besides, even if I did have any problems - which I don’t - then they’ll probably go away once I get to know my classmates better!”
Mom hummed, and for a split second, Izuku thought she didn’t believe him. But then she sighed and smiled at him. “Well, if you’re sure. Still, I think we should see a doctor. It’s odd that you’re feeling so hungry after only 2 hours of playing. If it keeps happening, I’ll call Musutafu General Hospital and set up an appointment as soon as they’re available.”
FOUR WEEKS LATER
The doctor frowned, flipping through the pages on his clipboard. “And you’re absolutely certain that you’ve been eating properly since you first noticed it?”
Izuku winced. The other students still hadn’t let up, but at least the lunch ladies had started giving him some of the extra scraps towards the end of the lunch hour. “Yes. But for some reason, I still feel really hungry and tired, even after really short gaming sessions.”
The doctor hummed, before stashing his clipboard under his arm and leaning down to look Izuku in the eyes. “Could this be a side effect of a Quirk?”
Mom shook her head. “We had it confirmed when Izuku turned four. He doesn’t have the extra toe joint, but he’s Quirkless.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Just because a person doesn’t have a Quirk at age four doesn’t mean they’re Quirkless. Which doctor was this?”
“Doctor Tsubasa.”
The doctor frowned. “That old quack? When he was here, most of his diagnoses were way off. A lot of people found out later that their Quirks were a lot stronger than they thought, or that it was a different mechanic behind it. If you want, we could get one of our more reliable Quirk specialists to come in and take a look.”
Mom hummed and turned to Izuku. “What do you think, sweetie?”
Izuku shook his head. “I don’t want you to waste your time on me.”
The doctor smirked. “It’s no trouble. It’s actually become an unofficial policy around here for Tsubasa’s former patients to get a second opinion. Heck, I won’t even charge you for it.”
Izuku glanced over at Mom. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble…”
The doctor patted him on the shoulder, which had thankfully healed from the burn on the first day. “It’s no trouble at all, young man.”
The Quirk specialist frowned, looking up from the laptop she’d carried into the examination room. “Huh. You’ve clearly got an active Quirk factor in your hair, though it looks closer to that of a four-year-old’s Quirk factor than someone your age, like it was only awakened recently. It’s a common sign in late bloomers or people with obscure activation requirements. It seems to be connected to the optical center of your brain. Have you seen anything strange or new in the past few weeks?”
Izuku hummed. “Well, Mom bought me a new gaming system to celebrate my first day of middle school. I’ve been playing it for about half an hour each day so far, though I did play on it for 2 hours on the first day before dinner. Why?”
The woman hummed, scrolling through the results on her screen. “Interesting. You seem to have an extra lobe connected to your occipital lobe. This lobe is commonly found in people with stockpiling Quirks, like Fat Gum. If you’d like, I can arrange for you to meet with a colleague of mine tomorrow. She’s a Quirk counselor whose Quirk allows her to analyze the Quirks of other people through skin contact. Normally, she’s got a pretty steep fee, but she’s got a soft spot for people that had their Quirks misdiagnosed. Would you like that?”
Izuku nodded. “If I actually have a Quirk, I’d really like to know that.”
The specialist winced. “Doctor Tsubasa diagnosed you as Quirkless, right? Can’t imagine you’ve had it very well. I lucked out, getting a Quirk that lets me scan a person’s body like an MRI. My little sister is Quirkless, and she had to put up with a lot of bullies in school. Can’t imagine it’s gotten much better for your generation.”
Inko hummed as she and Izuku sat in the waiting room for the Quirk counselor. As expected, the woman had been more than happy to give them a discount after hearing about Izuku’s misdiagnosis. Apparently, her Quirk had put her services in high demand, and the waiting list was usually quite long. But Izuku had gotten an appointment for the day after his hospital visit.
She glanced over at him, his attention distracted by the other people sitting in the waiting room. His fingers were twitching, obviously wanting to write down Quirk analyses in one of his notebooks. Which reminded her - the other day, he’d come with a tattered notebook, as though it had been ripped apart and hastily taped back together.
She sighed. “Izuku.” Her son immediately turned to her, confusion evident in his expression. “Be honest with me - your classmates aren’t kind to you, are they?”
He started stammering, clearly nervous at being put on the spot. Eventually, he managed to squeak out, “They’re fine, they just…”
Inko frowned and took his face in her hands, immediately cutting him off. “Izuku. You don’t have to hide anything from me. I’m your mother, it’s my job to worry about you. You don’t have to hide your pain to make me feel better.”
Izuku fell silent. Eventually, he whispered, “They… don’t like that I’m Quirkless. I was analyzing the Quirk of the girl in front of me the other day, and Yubi stretched his fingers to take my notebook and rip it in half…”
Inko sighed and pulled Izuku into a hug, rubbing his head softly. It didn’t take long before he started crying silently, letting the tears flow as he melted in her embrace.
Fortunately, they managed to collect themselves just as the receptionist looked up from her computer and called out, “Midoriya Izuku? Miwakeru-san will see you now.”
Izuku glanced around the room as they entered, noticing the one chair set right in front of the desk and the other chair set to the right and slightly behind the first chair. His attention was drawn to the woman behind the desk, who glanced up from her computer and smiled. “Midoriya-san, Midoriya-kun, please, sit.”
They complied, with Izuku sitting in the chair set closer to the desk. He asked, “Miwakeru Mimoto, right? Gazou-san at the hospital said that you can tell what a person’s Quirk is by touching them?”
The woman nodded, the smile never leaving her face. “That’s correct. My Quirk, Analyze, allows me to know the basics of a person’s Quirk by making contact with their skin with five fingers. I’m sure you noticed how close that chair is to my desk - it’s set up that way so that I can easily reach across and make contact with someone without having to sit right next to them. In any case, I’m sure you’re curious as to your own Quirk status.”
Mom nodded. “Gazou-san implied that his previous diagnosis might not be accurate, since the doctor that gave it has a history of being wrong. Izuku was originally diagnosed as Quirkless, but he’s been experiencing strange things recently, and we wanted to be sure.”
Miwakeru-san winced. “That’s rough. I know what people are forced to put up with based on a lack of a Quirk. Heck, before I first analyzed someone, I thought I was Quirkless myself. But enough reminiscing.” She laid her hand out flat on the table, one eyebrow raised. “May I?”
Izuku nodded, and she reached out, her hand wrapping around Izuku’s temple. She closed her eyes, and Izuku watched with fascination as her eyelids were covered in a flowing pattern of blue lines. After a few seconds, the lines disappeared, and Miwakeru-san let go of his head, opening her eyes and steepling her fingers on the desk with a smile. “Well, I can confirm that you do indeed have a Quirk after all. Though, it’s a bit of a strange one. Apparently, your Quirk allows you to store items that you’ve seen before in a sort of mental inventory, then manifest them at will. The strange part is that, for whatever reason, it has to be an item in a video game - it can’t be something that you’ve previously held in your hand. In addition, manifesting the items uses the fat stored in your cells, so the more you eat, the more items you can make. Once it leaves your hand, any manifested item will dissipate after about three seconds. The fat won’t go back to you when the items disappear, though - it kinda just disperses into the air.”
Izuku’s eyes widened. “That explains why I was so hungry after the first day of school! I must’ve created something without realizing it!”
Miwakeru-san nodded, rubbing at her chin. “My guess is that it must’ve been something you were using in the game at that time. If you don’t mind my asking, what game were you playing?”
Izuku rubbed at his neck sheepishly. “It was an old Nintendo game - Kirby and The Forgotten Land, I think. At one point, I was playing around with the Sword ability, and I remember wishing that I could use it myself.”
Miwakeru-san smiled. “That must’ve been when it happened. Oh, another thing - you can only store so many items, and the number you can manifest at any given time is even more limited. The numbers will grow with time and training, but at the moment, your current limits are 3 inventory ‘spaces’ and 1 ‘equipped’ item. Although, objects that are linked to each other will only count as one item for your Quirk - in the case of Monday, you manifested the hat and the sword as a single item. And with linked objects, you only need to be holding one object to keep the ‘set’ intact. It is possible to only manifest one part of a set, but only certain parts can be manifested by themselves. In this case, you could manifest just the sword, but you can’t manifest just the hat.”
Izuku glanced over at Mom, tears streaming down his face. “Mom, I… I have a Quirk. I have a Quirk! I can be a hero!”
Mom smiled. “I never thought you couldn’t be a hero without one, sweetie, but yes. You have a Quirk.”
Miwakeru-san cleared her throat, drawing Izuku’s attention. “As heartwarming as this is, we do have some paperwork to get out of the way.” She turned her computer around, showing Izuku the forms on the screen. “I’ve already filled out most of the information on the Quirk registry forms for you, such as type and basic abilities. All that’s really left is to name it.”
Izuku glanced at Mom, and she nodded. Turning to Miwakeru-san, he smiled and said, “Save File.”