Chapter Text
Quirkless.
QUIrKLesS—
No QUIrK
QUIRKLESS
The doctor’s indifferent announcement replayed through the four-year-old’s head, sticking into his mind like an inescapable brand. Izuku felt his dreams being crushed and trampled on as the proclamation came out of the doctor’s mouth.
Izuku was in a daze as he was escorted into the car by Inko, whose hands were shaking slightly.
Quirkless.
He didn’t react when his brother, Mikumo, asked their mother to change the station from Hero News to Put Your Hands Up Radio and Present Mic’s peppy voice started to boom from the speakers.
Quirkless .
As soon as they reached their apartment, Izuku rushed through the door and turned on the computer, playing his favorite video, All Might’s debut. He dragged the cursor back again and again, watching All Might burst through the rubble, defeat the villain, and save the civilians.
Izuku turned and looked up at his mother with hope-filled eyes. “Even without a Quirk, can I become a Hero?”
Before the green-haired woman could reply, a voice, belonging to a sharp-eyed teen, chimed in. “I don’t see why not.”
These words changed things .
In one universe, Inko would break down and apologize to Izuku, and imply, “You can’t become a Hero.” In that universe, Izuku would hold onto his dreams anyways, suffering through torment and abuse before finally meeting his idols just to have his hopes crushed again. He would be permanently scarred, despite eventually achieving his goal, his lifelong wish he had sacrificed everything for.
In this universe, Midoriya Mikumo, older brother to Izuku by eleven months, said, “I believe in you, Izuku. You can become a hero. ”
A butterfly flapped its wings, and a little boy broke into a beaming grin.
You can become a he—
QuiRKLesS—
You can— cannot — can—
You can become a hero! You can do it!
“Thank you, nii-san.” Tears welled up at the edges of his eyes. Izuku threw himself into his brother’s open arms. “Thank you.” Izuku felt his world piece itself together again.
“However.” The single word froze Izuku’s entire being. He widened his eyes and gazed up at his brother. “Becoming a Pro-Hero is difficult, Izu,” Mikumo said. “Especially because you don’t have a Quirk. People will question, and point fingers, and look down on you.”
He didn’t say no . “I— it doesn’t matter, as long as I can be a hero!”
“Why are you so insistent on becoming something so troublesome?”
“Because,” Izuku said, his eyes gleaming with passion. “I want to save people with a smile on my face, like All Might!”
Mikumo gave a miniature smile. “There are other ways to save people, too. The term, Pro-Hero . It’s as if being a hero is just a job. A true hero doesn’t need rankings or publicity. A true hero helps others because, because they know: ‘It is the right thing to do.’”
Without waiting for Izuku’s reply, Mikumo continued. “Along with Pro-Heroes, lawyers, police officers, doctors, disaster relief workers… I think these are all jobs that also bring out a hero’s spirit. But, always remember: it is the person that makes the hero, not the profession.
“I believe you have the potential to become a great hero, Izu-kun, no matter what mantle you ultimately decide to take on. Just know, whichever career you choose, I’ll support you.”
Izuku blinked blankly.
“You don’t have to decide anything now. Think on it, okay?” Izuku heard a bit of concern creep into his older brother’s voice, and Izuku felt a glowing warmth in his chest.
That night, as Inko was tucking Izuku into bed, she said, “I was cleaning out the closet today, and I found one of your old notebooks, where you used to write down details about the Quirks of different Heroes. It’s really cute.” Inko placed a green notebook, obviously used, on the nightstand. “Maybe you could even make a career out of it,” she chuckled.
There was a beat as Izuku took in his mother’s words, and when he did, he sat up abruptly. “That’s it!” he cried, as if an earth-shattering revelation had been thrust upon him. “This is how I can be a hero!”
A few seconds later, he paused, hesitating. Was it really okay to just give up on his dreams of becoming a Pro-Hero?
It was a sleepless night.
The next day, Izuku walked to school with his usual spring in his step, acting like nothing had changed. The one and only Bakugou Katsuki walked beside him, and every so often, miniature explosions popped from the other boy’s palms as he eagerly enlightened Izuku about the movie he’d watched recently. Mikumo, in his typical slouch, followed behind the duo.
When Izuku reached his classroom, the teacher looked up from her desk with a slightly sympathetic smile, her eyes curving into crescents. “Izuku-kun,” she greeted. “I heard you didn’t receive a Quirk. I’m sorry. After all, you have to give up on your dreams of being a Hero.”
The whole class turned to stare at the wide-eyed, green-haired boy, Katsuki included. An awkward silence fell over the room, and the first to break it was the explosive blond, who grabbed Izuku by the shoulders. “Hah?!” he screamed. “You’re Quirkless?”
Izuku stared into his childhood best friend’s blazing red eyes. Izuku’s own eyes began to water. “Yeah,” he said in a whisper. “That’s what the doctor said.”
“You—” Katsuki sounded betrayed. “What happened to becoming Heroes with me? You can’t be a Hero without a Quirk!” The words hurt, despite, or maybe because of, their casual nature. He stated it so confidently, like a sure fact. The Quirkless can’t become Heroes.
In that moment, Izuku knew . All his deliberation last night amounted to this. Pro-Heroes had such a reliance on public opinion and without it, their ability to help others was limited. No one would believe a Quirkless person could become a Hero. They wouldn’t trust him.
“Kacchan,” Izuku said softly. “I might not be able to become a Hero, but I can still be a hero.”
“What are you saying, Nerd?!”
Conviction filled Izuku’s gaze and voice as he proclaimed, “A hero helps others! Even if I can’t become a frontline Pro-Hero, I can still be a hero in other ways, by supporting Heroes from the sidelines! This is realistic .” The idealistic dreamer in Izuku who never gave up writhed and twisted and took on a new shape. “I’ll become a strategist for the Heroes!”
Katsuki scoffed. “You shitty Nerd. Well, I’m gonna be the Number #1 Hero. And you better become the Number #1 Strategist right beside me!”
Izuku looked at “Kacchan” with eyes filled with stars. “I’ll live up to your expectations, I promise!” And I’ll live up to my own expectations, too .
Letting go of Izuku’s shoulder, Katsuki stalked away and into his seat. Unnoticed by everyone else, a small, pleased expression rested on his face. The rest of the class quickly swiveled their gazes away from Izuku. The teacher cleared her throat. “Alright, that’s enough dramatic declarations for today. Let’s begin class.”
When the bell rang for lunch, a mass of small children swarmed into the cafeteria, one after the other either buying lunch or finding a seat and unpacking their homemade bentos. Izuku was one of the latter, and Katsuki was one of the few without their own bentos. Before he could stalk into the lunch line, though, Izuku pulled him over. “Kaa-chan packed a bento for you,” Izuku said with a sunny smile.
Leading him by the wrist, Izuku ushered Katsuki to an empty table. Izuku took a seat, and carefully opened his bento, to reveal a meal of katsudon, warm and obviously made with love. He handed the other bento to Katsuki, which was similarly filled with katsudon. Izuku knew better than to poach any from his friend, though. The last time he tried, he had to down an entire milk jug before the damage to his mouth could begin to be soothed.
“Itadakimasu,” Izuku said cheerfully.
Katsuki echoed the phrase, and the two kids dug into their meal.
After that, although Katsuki treated him the same, Izuku could feel the distance that had been created between him and the rest of the class. There was nothing overt, because if there had been, Katsuki would have been snapping on their heels, but Izuku could hear his classmate’s whispers when they thought he couldn’t and could feel their hostility when they knew he would. Even the teachers looked at him with changed, less friendly, eyes.
It was them against the world.
Bakugou Katsuki, the future Number One Hero.
And Midoriya Izuku, the future Number One Strategist (and perhaps more importantly, Katsuki’s best friend).
Izuku, woken by an uncharacteristic racket, rubbed his eyes as he sat up. Is it morning yet? he wondered. The sky beyond his curtains was dark, but Izuku could see the light slipping through the cracks underneath his door. Curious, Izuku got out of bed and entered the living room.
Sitting on the couch was Katsuki. Izuku froze, shocked by the sight of his friend, usually so confident, especially after his seventh birthday, with his eyes blown open in fear and hands shaking.
Wordlessly, Izuku approached his friend, placing his hand over the other’s. Katsuki bristled at the touch, but didn’t brush Izuku off. Bolder, Izuku pulled Katsuki into a hug. Like a soft and furry creature, Katsuki melted into Izuku’s arms.
The next morning, Izuku walked into the living room to find Katsuki clutching a cup of steaming tea, staring into the swirly depths of the dark liquid. When he heard Izuku walk in, Katsuki looked up and snorted. That may have been, in part, due to the fact that Izuku’s curls were wilder than normal, giving his head the appearance of a fluffy bush.
“Morning, Nerd.” Bakugou’s tone was deceptively nonchalant.
“Good morning, Kaachan!” Izuku gave a beaming smile.
Blinking rapidly, as if something bright had flashed in his eyes, Katsuki scowled, his earlier vulnerability gone so fast Izuku would have thought it a dream if not for the blond’s red-rimmed eyes. Katsuki’s scowl deepend as he seemed to contemplate something. “Hey, Nerd… um, Izuku. The Hag’s dead. I’m moving away.”
“Wh— What? ”
“My house was attacked last night.” Katsuki choked up, tears welling up. Anger seemed to layer over his eyes as his grief did.
“Katsuki, honey,” Inko interjected gently. “You don’t have to tell if you don’t want to.”
Katsuki whirled around to face Inko. “Shut up!” he screeched. Horror overtook his features as he realized he’d raised his voice at his precious Auntie Inko. “Sorry,” he said in a softer tone, turning away. “But I want to tell this myself.” Izuku noticed, offhandedly, that that was the first time his friend had apologized of his own volition.
Clearing his throat, Katsuki began. “The Hag—” Katsuki flinched slightly, holding back tears and looking all the more angry for it. “The Hag and I were arguing, as per usual. I don’t even remember what it was about, probably something stupid, but that’s why we were awake.”
“Then, someone came down the stairs. A fucker with a black ski mask over their face. Must’ve slipped in through the window upstairs. They had a gun, shot the H— shot my mom .” Katsuki’s eyes widened slightly, his expression distorting.
“They… they shot my mom .” Katsuki released a feral scream, clutching his head. “AND I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING! Instead, I ran away like— like a coward . And the best fucking part about it?”
The boy sneered, the dark and bitter expression incompatible with his childlike face. He said, in a soft whisper, “I heard it from the police, later: They got the wrong house. ”
Izuku stood, frozen, unsure how to react. The silence was broken by Inko, who sported an awkward smile. “Do you want some breakfast?”
A silent and rather tense meal later, Katsuki continued his narrative. He took a deep breath. “So, yeah. I’m moving away. To a different prefecture. A different school.” Katsuki turned to level Izuku with a steely glare. “But don’t think you can slack off, alright? You better get into U.A., because I’ll be there, too, and I’ll be waiting for you.”
The green-haired boy nodded solemnly. “I’ll be there,” he promised. “You’ll be the Number One Hero, and I’ll be your strategist. Just like we promised.”
Katsuki nodded back with a grave countenance and firm will, as if sealing the deal with an unbreakable vow. “Just like we promised,” he echoed.
A rather uneventful but extremely emotional few weeks later, Izuku, along with Inko, who was clutching her bag with whitened knuckles, and Mikumo, who was there only reluctantly, stood on the front porch of the house that once belonged to the Bakugou family.
The lawn looked dead to Izuku, as if the moving out of the Bakugou family stole all life from the grass. (As if Bakugou Mitsuki’s death stole all life from the grass.) A SOLD sign was stuck, front in center, in the lawn. It grated on Izuku to see such a familiar place marred by a symbol that seemed to mock him with how it made the immense change about to happen more real .
A moving truck was parked on the curbside. Mikumo, making himself useful, pulled a box from the hands of Masaru — Bakugou’s father — and carried it into the truck. Slinking out of the house, Katsuki gently shut the door behind him, giving the house’s now mostly empty interior a morose glance before exiting.
After his mother’s death, Katsuki quieted, going into a period of silent reflection and saying barely a word to neither his family nor the few “friends” that hovered around him at school. Izuku, however, was the exception.
The duo had spent long hours awake at night over at the Midoriyas’ house quietly discussing their plans for the future while Masaru, having been scouted by a large fashion firm in a different prefecture, was preparing to move. Though neither child had a phone, they promised to stay in touch through their parents.
Now, after exiting his former home, Katsuki made a beeline for Izuku, letting the bag hooked around his neck bounce against his side. “Izukkun,” he called in greeting, using his new nickname for his friend, abandoning “Nerd” and “Deku” due to their unpleasant connotations. A competitive light, a remnant of Katsuki’s old personality, flashed in his eyes as he saw the notebook Izuku was carrying in his hands.
“Kacchan!” Izuku replied, a cheerful note lifting his already innocent-sounding voice into something pure. “I made something for you,” he continued, slightly shyer.
Izuku held his notebook out to Katsuki, who took it from Izuku’s hands. Katsuki studied the notebook’s outside intently. Biting his lip nervously, Izuku wondered if choosing a notebook covered in fluffy, grinning pomeranians perhaps wasn’t the best idea. However, his worries were assuaged when Katsuki cracked a small, but genuine smile. “Thanks,” the pomeranian-like boy said. “What’s in it? It doesn’t have a title like your normal notebooks.”
“I figured that might be safer,” Izuku said. “After all, if the notebook fell into the wrong hands it could bring serious repercussions and your well-being could be compromised and this contains some sensitive information; well, I put it the code we developed but it isn’t absolutely safe so I just wanted to be sure—”
Izuku took a breath, about to continue, but he stopped himself before he could start speaking again. “Oh,” he said sheepishly, putting a hand behind his neck. “Sorry, I got off track.”
“No shit Sherlock,” Katsuki replied pointedly. “But you don’t need to explain it anymore. It’s an analysis of my skills and how to improve them, right?”
Izuku looked over at Katsuki curiously. When he saw that the notebook was splayed open in Katsuki’s hands, Izuku let out a small “Oh!” in understanding. “So, what do you think?” he asked, looking like a splitting image of a cute green rabbit. Izuku saw Katsuki’s hand twitch, as if itching to pet a small animal, but didn’t think much of it.
“I’m not that good at reading the code yet,” Katsuki admitted. “But it looks comprehensive enough. Good job, Izukkun.” Katsuki broke eye contact. “Thanks,” he said begrudgingly. A small flush unwittingly ran across Katsuki’s cheeks.
Izuku sported a similar, if much redder, blush. “You’re welcome!” Izuku wore a bittersweet smile. “I—” He hesitated, but, making a determined expression, continued. “I like you a lot, Kaachan. I hope we will meet again.”
Katsuki’s blush grew more defined. “I like you a lot, too,” he whispered. Then, meeting Izuku’s eyes, he said fiercely, “We better meet each other again! At U.A., like we promised.”
“Yeah,” Izuku echoed, captivated by the flames, the undying will, burning in the depths of his childhood friend’s eyes. “Yeah.”
A knocking noise caused Izuku to startle. Reluctantly, he broke eye contact with Katsuki and turned toward the sound. The noise’s origin was Mikumo, who was leaning against the truck, a faint look of amusement on his face, as if he’d been watching an especially interesting anime. “The moving truck is ready to go,” said the dark-haired boy with a yawn.
As if finally realizing the implications of “the Bakugous are moving away,” Izuku’s eyes welled up with tears. “Ka— Kacchan,” he stuttered. “I’ll miss you so much.”
The blond’s eyes looked suspiciously wet. “I’m not crying,” he denied, a tear leaking out of his eye. “I’m just sweating from my eyes.”
Izuku let out a short laugh, followed by a sob. He buried his face in the oversized Fatgum hoodie, a cherished piece of clothing gifted to him by Mikumo, he was wearing. The sleeves were already beginning to look wet, dampened by the notorious Midoriya tears.
The next second, a small green blur buried itself in Katsuki’s chest, wrapping him in a hug. The object of the hug, Katsuki, relaxed and hugged Izuku back. The shirt Katsuki was wearing, on the other hand, was looking distinctly worse for the wear.
The two kids remained intertwined for an indeterminable amount of time. After what could have been a second or half an hour, Inko, after discretely snapping a picture, cleared her throat. “Honey,” she said to Izuku. “It’s time for Katsuki to go.”
Slowly and unwillingly, Izuku pulled away, sniffling.
Katsuki walked toward his car, each step feeling like walking through quicksand. He gave Izuku one last, longing glance, before sliding into the back seat of his car. His knuckles were white around the notebook Izuku had gifted him. Then, like a fading memory, the car pulled out of the driveway and vanished into the early morning rays, the moving truck following closely behind.
It felt like a second funeral for Mitsuki.
Scrunching his face up, Izuku sniffled pitifully. Tears welled up in his eyes.
A soft, slightly callused hand placed itself on Izuku’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” Mikumo said gently. “Let yourself cry.” Mikumo wrapped his arms around his little brother, ruffling his hair.
“Remember,” Mikumo said. “You and Katsuki-kun will meet again. Katsuki-kun’s definitely going to work himself ragged trying to improve, so he’ll be disappointed if he finds you’ve only wallowed in your loss. So when you guys reunite, let Katsuki-kun reunite with someone he can be proud of.”
The next day at school, Katsuki’s seat was conspicuously empty. Izuku’s classmates brushed Katsuki’s absence off as, perhaps, a sick day, and ignored it, but as the days ticked by and the seat remained unoccupied, the students began to suspect that Katsuki wasn’t coming back.
And without his “protector,” Izuku became a tempting target.
At first, it was just a few mean words. Then, every corner he turned, Izuku could hear their mutters: “Weak. Quirkless. Useless.” Soon, someone remembered Katsuki’s old nickname for him, Deku, and that was what they called him from that point onwards.
The day someone left spider lilies on his desk, Izuku was brought near to tears.
Izuku was walking along the halls when someone shoved him in the back. He stumbled, but before he could crash into the wall, Izuku placed his hands in front of him and caught himself, dropping his books with a loud clatter. He heard a “tsk” of disappointment, but when he turned around, the culprits had scattered. Izuku lowered his head.
Wordlessly, he started to pick his books up. A girl, looking slightly guilty, helped him, before hurrying on her way. She didn’t give him a second glance, but Izuku felt grateful nonetheless.
The rest of the day passed by without incident. However, Izuku could feel an undercurrent of tension running through his homeroom class.
The bullies — there were four main culprits (Kaito Taro, a beefy boy with anger issues and a Quirk that let him create small, plate-like force fields; Kuroiwa Mariko, a girl with a Quirk that enhanced her voice and a superiority complex; Morishiwa Kichirou, a studious kid with severe prejudice, whose Quirk gave him night vision; and Uesugi Kazuyuki, who had the face of an angel and a Quirk that made him seem innocent even when in the wrong) — were probably planning something.
Of the four, Izuku was most worried about Kazuyuki, because even if caught red-handed, the boy’s glib tongue and Quirk might let him pin Izuku as the villain instead. Of course, Taro was strong, Mariko was clever, and Kichirou, knowledgeable. Izuku wasn’t sure of his chances.
When the final bell rang, Izuku slung his bag over his shoulder and exited the class. Nervous energy made his muscles tense. It was precisely this that made Izuku aware of the people following behind him as he walked toward his house. He wondered, slightly wryly, when they were planning on cornering him.
His questions were answered when he was walking across the playground of the park near his house. A group of kids surrounded him, their shadows tracing menacing shadows on the concrete.
Izuku felt sad as he recognized their faces. Taro, Mariko, Kichirou, and Kazuyuki were there. Standing with them were Chihiro, Souta, and Tsubasa.
My best bet… he thought, … is to find a chance to run . Glancing at the circular formation, which trapped him within their clutches, Izuku really wasn’t sure of his chances.
“You think you’re hot shit.” Kazuyuki said in an arrogant, affronted-sounding drawl. Despite his vulgar language, Kazuyuki sounded charming and childlike.
Frowning in disgust, Izuku pinched himself, the pain snapping him out of the effects of Kazuyuki’s Quirk.
“But,” Kazuyuki continued. “You were only ever Katsuki-tan’s dog. And now that dearest Kat-su-ki,” he emphasized each syllable, “is gone, you’re not hot anymore. You’re just shit.”
Beside him, Mariko giggled, sneering. “Let’s teach him a lesson, boys!” She cracked her knuckles threateningly.
Izuku’s face twisted into a frown. He really wasn’t sure of his chances. He wasn’t sure if he could hold back enough so that he wouldn’t go beyond the bounds of self-defense and get in trouble with the law.
He was confident in beating them; after all, after declaring their intent to become partners in Heroics, Katsuki had dragged him to a mixed martial arts studio, citing that “No partner of mine can’t defend himself!” Sparring against Bakugou “Let’s fight!” Katsuki for three years would make anyone competent in self-defense.
When the first bully stepped forward and raised his fists, Izuku acted. Time seemed to slow down as Izuku swung his bag at the other’s head, dodging around his blatantly obvious right hook and jabbing his elbow into the other’s gut.
Letting out a screech of pain, Chihiro fell backward, leaving a gap in the encirclement.
Izuku darted forward and ran away.
When he neared his apartment, Izuku slowed down, regulating his quickened breath. He walked up the stairs toward their house with even, measured steps, adjusting his bag and plastering a smile on his face.
As he opened his front door and entered the house, Izuku was greeted by the sight of a deadpan Mikumo being dragged by the ear through the house by Inko. “You—!” the normally calm and collected woman fumed. “Just because you don’t like Fujiwara-san doesn’t mean you can snub him like that!”
“He’s clearly a sleazy asshole who only wants to get int— uh,” catching sight of Izuku, Mikumo didn’t finish his sentence. “Anyways,” Mikumo corrected himself. “He clearly didn’t have good intentions. Kaa-san, you could do so much better. Get a man who’s good for you!”
Inko swatted the back of his head. “And you’re clearly so knowledgeable about the matters of romance.” She sniffed huffily, like a woman ten years younger might.
Izuku couldn’t help it. He laughed.
Inko turned toward Izuku with a sunny smile. “Welcome home, honey,” she said. “How was your day at school?”
“It was good,” Izuku said.
“That’s good to hear,” Inko said, turning away, oblivious. “I’ll go and make dinner, then.”
Although Inko missed the way Izuku’s smile turned slightly tighter when he mentioned school, Mikumo didn’t. The spiky-haired boy waited until Inko bustled off into the other room before confronting his brother.
“Say,” Mikumo said with a faux-casual attitude. He sported a dangerous smile. “Who do I need to beat up?”
Izuku let his mask fall, sighing. “I don’t think you can do anything about it, nii-san. It seems, these days, that there are very few people who are on my side. Even the teachers turn a blind eye.”
“Well, in that case, it’s pretty simple. Just drop out.”
“What?” Izuku said, startled.
Mikumo said, “I’m taking online courses, why can’t you?”
And that was that.
The day after Izuku’s ninth birthday, on a weekend, the family of three went to the park near their house. The sky was a canvas of blue, and in its endless expanse lay clouds, white and fluffy, looking as if one could fall on them and bounce.
Izuku, sitting on a swing, swung his legs rhythmically. In a short amount of time, Izuku was soaring on the swings, the grin of a delighted child displayed on his face. Mikumo, on the other hand, lay on the nearby bench. His half-lidded eyes were focused toward the clouds above.
“Honey,” Inko nagged Mikumo. “Get up and play with Izuku! You’re too young to be laying around like a salted fish.”
Mikumo yawned. “But…” he complained. “It’s so comfortable here. Watching the clouds, drifting slowly and without a care in the world — it soothes my soul. It reminds me that not everything in life has to move at a breakneck speed; not everything is a national-level emergency. It’s okay to take things slow sometimes. Take a deep breath, relax. Each second is temporary and should be cherished and enjoyed.”
Inko looked at him, speechless. Then, recovering, her face glowed. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “My baby, at ten years old, is spouting words of wisdom.” She put a hand over her mouth modestly and giggled like a mischievous little girl, eyes sparkling. “If only he didn’t act like such an old man. An aged philosopher.”
His face instantly darkening, Mikumo sat up. He pointed to himself, “Me, an old man?” His tone held a trace of warning, as if the wrong answer would bring calamity.
Laughing from his spot on the swings, Izuku shouted down: “Yes! Kumo-nii, you’re an old man!”
Mikumo’s expression became even uglier, but he made no move against Izuku. Although he couldn’t hear his brother’s sigh, the pineapple-haired boy’s lowered shoulders told Izuku all he needed to know. Mikumo’s countenance smoothed out, but his eyes retained a sense of foreboding.
A few minutes later, when Izuku got down from the swings, Mikumo, with painstaking effort, got up from his bench and walked over to his brother. Mikumo patted Izuku on the shoulder, bending down a little to look him in the eyes. “Hey,” he said in a low voice. “If I’m an old man, then what is kaa-san, who’s older than me? What are you implying, huh?”
Izuku immediately panicked. “That’s not what I meant!” he said loudly, attracting Inko’s attention. Meeting her puzzled eyes, Izuku averted his eyes, embarrassed. “That’s not what I meant at all,” he said in a softer voice, glaring at Mikumo.
Mikumo laughed lightheartedly, the earlier heavy mood having completely dissipated. He ruffled Izuku’s hair playfully. “I know.”
“It’s good that you know…” Izuku smirked. “… old man .”
Sensing danger, Izuku dodged out of the way of Mikumo’s outstretched fist, twisting on his heels and bolting. Undiscouraged, Mikumo ran after Izuku, screaming bloody murder. Izuku, on the other hand, was laughing like a maniac.
After pivoting around one of the poles holding the swing set up, Izuku met his mother’s eyes. Inko was holding her phone horizontally, evidently taking pictures. The gentle woman grinned shamelessly, her thumb pressing down on the camera icon a few more times. Izuku slowed, holding his two fingers up and smiling to reveal a mouth with missing front teeth.
Izuku’s momentary hesitation cost him, for the next second, Mikumo bowled him over, his eyes flashing in triumph. His anguished screams resonated around the park.
The sky had darkened by the time Izuku and his family began their walk back home. Izuku stared at the long shadows on the ground with mild interest, watching the shadows twist as the shadow’s caster changed position. Suddenly, a bright light pierced through the shadows.
Izuku stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet as he raised a hand to shield his eyes. Mikumo placed a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, steadying him. “It’s a Hero,” Mikumo said uninterestedly. His eyes were squinted, partly because of the dazzling flash and partly because of annoyance.
“That’s right!” said a jovial voice. The voice belonged to a Pro-Hero wearing a black cloak with a white shirt underneath. Strapped to their back was a larger version of a handheld mirror, its intricate frame glistening. “I’m Glimmer; it’s a pleasure to meet you!” The Hero’s tone darkened slightly: “Now, let me finish this villain off.”
Izuku spun around, frantically trying to catch sight of the aforementioned villain. Catching sight of some movement out of the corner of his eye, Izuku’s attention was drawn to the shadows he’d been paying attention to earlier. Despite the lack of a visible caster, there was an extra shadow splayed on the sidewalk.
“An invisible villain,” Izuku muttered under his breath. His hands twitched, eager to grab a notebook in which to write down his mental notes.
Glimmer reached a hand over their shoulder, pulling the mirror free of its strap with a tug. Spinning the mirror in a complicated maneuver, Glimmer pointed it to the villain as if it were a sword. A small light flickered at the edges of the mirror.
Beside him, Inko gave Izuku a gentle nudge. “Let’s go…” she said nervously, reaching for Izuku’s hand, as if to reassure herself that he was still safe. “It’s dangerous.”
“But, kaa-chan,” he said, looking at her with wide, imploring eyes, “I want to watch this fight.”
Before Inko could say anything, Mikumo interjected. “Izuku, I know you can protect yourself. But kaa-san can’t. Are you willing to put her in danger for a little curiosity? Look,” Mikumo gestured to the crowd that had slowly gathered, pointing out the newscasters with professional equipment and various passersby with phones. “You can find a video of the fight later.”
“Alright.” Izuku acquiesced.
The family made it back home without any further interruptions. As soon as Izuku entered the door, he bolted for his computer, searching for news of the fight. Mikumo lay on the couch beside him, face darkened in something that seemed like boredom, watching as Izuku scribbled notes with maniac energy.
“That’s it!” Mikumo sat straight up. He frowned slightly, taking a few seconds to arrange his hair, which had been flattened by his lying on the couch, back into spikes. Then, his frown gave way to excitement. “Let’s create a HeroTube channel,” Mikumo said to Izuku. “With your analysis skills, we’ll always have content, and if you don’t want to show your face, I haven’t been practicing digital animation for nothing.”
Mikumo’s insistent eyes urged Izuku to make a decision. The green-haired boy thought the idea over carefully, then nodded. “Alright.”