Chapter Text
The classroom buzzed with an artificial, electric excitement that Izuku Midoriya could feel vibrating through the soles of his shoes. It was a suffocating sort of noise, thick with the unearned confidence of youth.
It happened every year, like a clockwork ritual designed to separate the dreamers from the realistic, but today felt heavier. The afternoon sun bled through the high windows, casting long, sharp shadows across the floorboards as the career forms were finally handed out. Students leaned over their desks, their bodies practically vibrating as they chatted loudly about sidekick agencies, prestigious internships, and the glittering futures they had already decided were waiting for them by right of birth.
At the front of the room, their homeroom teacher stood against the chalkboard, the heavy scent of chalk dust and old paper settling around him. He scratched the back of his neck, his fingers making a dry, rasping sound against his skin, and let out a long, weary sigh that was entirely ignored by the chaotic room. "Alright, settle down," he called out, his voice lacking any real authority.
Nobody listened. The teenagers were too drunk on their own potential to care about a tired adult. A slow, knowing grin spread across the teacher's face, a look of cynical amusement. "Though I guess it doesn't really matter. You're all planning to become heroes anyway."
The room instantly erupted into a deafening roar of validation. It was an explosion of egos, voices overlapping and competing for dominance in the cramped space.
"Obviously!" someone shouted from the front row.
"I'm getting into U.A., no question about it!" another boasted, slamming a fist onto their desk.
"No way, idiot, I'll beat you there before the entrance exam even starts!"
"I'm aiming straight for the top ten rankings by the time I'm twenty!"
White sheets of paper flew into the stagnant air like flocking birds, drifting aimlessly before fluttering back down to the desks. Laughter, loud and entirely unburdened by the harsh realities of the world, echoed from every single corner of the room, filling the spaces between breaths. Then, a familiar, grating voice cut through the noise like a razor blade sliding through silk.
"Don't lump me in with these pathetic extras." The words were laced with a casual malice that instantly shifted the gravity of the room.
BOOM. A sharp, concussive explosion burst from the back row, the sudden flash of orange light painting the walls in violent hues before leaving behind the acrid, bitter stench of burnt sulfur. Several students flinched violently, their shoulders bunching up in an instinctual reflex born from years of conditioning, while others simply laughed it off, accustomed to the theater of it all.
Katsuki Bakugou stood from his desk, the wood creaking under his weight, bearing a smirk that radiated absolute, unshakeable confidence. But it wasn't confidence. It was a raw, suffocating arrogance that demanded the entire room acknowledge his existence. "I'm the only one here who's actually getting into U.A."
The class collective groaned, the brief illusion of equality shattering instantly.
"Here he goes again," someone muttered, rolling their eyes toward the ceiling.
"Seriously? Does he ever shut up about it?" another whispered, though the bravado was noticeably absent from their tone now.
"Well... he's probably right, though," a quiet voice admitted from the side.
The teacher chuckled, a low, rumbling sound as he glanced down at the digital roster resting in his hands, his eyes tracking down the list of names. "Bakugou, Midoriya... you're both applying there, right?"
For a brief, agonizing moment, an absolute, freezing silence settled over the entire room.
The ambient noise died instantly, as if the air had been suddenly sucked out through the vents. A dozen pairs of eyes shifted in unison, turning away from the explosive prodigy and landing directly on a familiar, green-haired boy sitting near the window.
Izuku Midoriya sat quietly at his desk, his posture straight but entirely devoid of tension. There was no hero notebook resting open on the wood. There was no frantic, low-volume muttering filling the air. No nervous scribbling of strategies, no frantic tapping of a pencil, no trembling knees or anxious, bright-eyed excitement.
There was just an empty, hollow silence surrounding him like a physical barrier. His gaze remained fixed entirely on the crisp, white career form resting on the desk before him. It was completely unmarked. The boxes for his future aspirations remained blank, the stark white paper staring back at him like an unanswerable question.
The class exchanged confused, uneasy looks, the whispers starting up again but with a distinctly different flavor. This wasn't normal. This wasn't the boy they knew.
Years ago, Midoriya would have been on his feet, his voice cracking as he argued back against their low expectations. He would have been desperately defending himself, clutching his chest and declaring to anyone who would listen that he would become a hero no matter what the world said, no matter how much it hurt.
Now?
There was nothing. Not a flinch, not a spark.
One of the boys in the row next to him frowned, leaning over slightly. "Midoriya?"
There was no response. The green-haired boy didn't even turn his head. Izuku simply blinked once, his long eyelashes casting a momentary shadow over his dull, emerald eyes, and then calmly, methodically folded the paper in half, smoothing the crease with the pad of his thumb. Slowly, the surrounding conversations resumed, the classroom building its wall of noise back up, yet an uncomfortable, lingering feeling remained trapped in the corners.
Something was fundamentally different about the atmosphere. Even Katsuki noticed the shift. The blonde's crimson eyes narrowed into sharp slits, his gaze boring into the side of Izuku's head.
Because he remembered. He remembered middle school, elementary school, and every playground they had ever shared. Every insult had once gotten a reaction; every shove had brought a gasp of pain, every explosion had left a mark of fear, and every cruel word had drawn blood or tears.
There had always been something residing inside the quirk less boy. Anger, frustration, a pathetic, desperate shred of hope—anything. Now, there was almost nothing left to burn. And somehow, that absolute vacuum of emotion irritated Katsuki more than any defiance ever could.
---
The final bell rang, and the classroom emptied with a frantic, scraping rush of chairs and heavy footsteps. Students poured out into the hallways, their voices fading into a distant, muddy hum as they drifted toward the school gates and the freedom of the evening.
Izuku gathered his things with a slow, mechanical precision. Every book was placed carefully into his bag, every pen aligned just so, his movements entirely devoid of the frantic energy that usually characterized his afternoons. Then, a heavy hand slammed onto his desk with a violent, concussive force that made the old wood splinter and crack along the grain.
Izuku looked up slowly, without a single hint of urgency. Katsuki was standing directly over him, casting a massive, suffocating shadow across the desk. It was the exact same expression the blonde had worn for a decade—the same curled lip, the same degrading sneer, the same heavy expectation of fear. But it was an expectation that was not met today.
"You really still planning on applying to U.A., Deku?" Katsuki hissed, the old nickname slipping out like venom.
Izuku just stared at him. His eyes were wide, clear, and terrifyingly still. He wasn't afraid. He wasn't defiant. He just looked profoundly, deeply tired, as if the boy standing before him was nothing more than a minor inconvenience at the end of a very long day.
Katsuki clicked his tongue in pure disgust, his jaw tightening until the bone showed against his skin. "Damn extra," he growled. His right hand ignited with a cruel, rhythmic suddenness, tiny, sparking explosions popping loudly across his palm and scorching the air with the smell of sulfur and ozone.
"If you want my advice..." The sadistic, razor-sharp grin returned to his face, cutting deep into his features. "Take a swan dive off the roof of the building. Maybe you'll actually luck out and get a Quirk in your next life."
The hallway outside went completely dead quiet.
Several students who had been loitering by the door froze mid-step, their breath catching in their throats.
They had heard Katsuki's cruel jabs before, but this one carried a different, darker weight. A heavy, suffocating silence followed the statement. Katsuki waited, his entire body coiled like a spring, waiting for the inevitable payload. He waited for the outrage, for the pathetic tears to well up in those green eyes, or for a trembling, stuttering declaration about never giving up on his dreams. He waited for anything that would prove he still held power over the boy.
Instead, Izuku simply looked at him. For several long, agonizing seconds, he just held Katsuki's furious gaze with an unnatural calmness. Then, he stood up, the chair sliding back without a sound. He picked up his yellow backpack, swung it over one shoulder, and walked right past the blond without a single flinch.
"If that's all," Izuku said quietly, his voice as smooth and cold as river stone, "I'm going home."
Nothing else. No flashing sparks of hidden anger simmering beneath the surface of his skin, no heavy drop of sadness twisting the corners of his mouth, and no desperate, silent challenge lingering in his pupils.
There was only a vast, empty acceptance—a quiet, hollow surrender to a reality that had never been kind to him anyway.
Katsuki felt something cold and violent twist deeply in the pit of his stomach. It was an entirely foreign sensation, a sickening pressure that made his own skin feel loose and wrong. It was deeply uncomfortable. It felt entirely out of place in a room he had dominated for years.
Izuku simply continued walking toward the door, his steps rhythmically ticking against the linoleum. He didn't look back a single time. And for the very first time in all the years they had known each other, Bakugou stood frozen in the center of the classroom, his mouth slightly open, utterly failing to find a response.
---
The walk home was a solitary journey through a world that felt completely detached from his own heavy existence. The city moved around him in a grey blur of mundane activity—ordinary people laughing on concrete corners, cars passing with a low, rhythmic hum against wet asphalt, and local shopkeepers pulling down their rusted metal shutters for the evening.
Life continued its relentless, mechanical forward march, entirely indifferent to the boy tracking the pavement. It moved as if nothing fundamental had changed, as if today wasn't supposed to mark the permanent, quiet death of his oldest dream.
Izuku stared up at the vast evening sky, where the bruised purples and bleeding oranges of twilight were beginning to swallow the remaining daylight.
His future. The very word felt incredibly distant now, a abstract concept meant only for other people, entirely meaningless to someone born without a place in society.
Hero. That specific word felt even farther away, a bitter fairy tale whispered to children who still possessed the luxury of hope.
Maybe everyone had been entirely right from the very beginning. Maybe he had spent his entire life running himself ragged, chasing a ghost that was never meant to be caught by human hands.
His left hand drifted instinctively toward his chest, his fingers curling tightly into the rough fabric of his black school uniform. A familiar, deep-seated ache lingered there, throbbing in perfect sync with his slow heartbeat—an ache he had carried for as long as he could remember, yet could never logically explain.
Sometimes, when the night was cold enough, it felt less like a physical pain and more like a profound, echoing hollow. Like he was missing a vital, breathing piece of his own soul. Someone else entirely.
A sudden, violent flash of foreign color crossed his mind, tearing through his thoughts like lightning.
Red hair, vibrant and fierce like a burning hearth. Warm, teasing laughter that felt like a thick blanket on a freezing night.
A hand, elegant and strong, reaching out through a heavy fog toward his face.
Then, it was instantly gone.
Izuku stopped walking dead in his tracks, his breath hitching sharply in his throat as his eyes widened.
He blinked rapidly, staring blankly at the empty concrete before his shoes. "..." There was absolutely nothing there. The vivid image vanished as quickly as it had arrived, leaving behind only that strange, burning ache in the center of his sternum.
He shook his head slowly to clear the static and continued forward, his shoes clicking dully against the pavement.
Before he could even steady his breathing, another fractured fragment surfaced from the depths of his subconscious. Silver hair, catching a non-existent, ethereal light—beautiful, elegant, and entirely expressionless. Yet, beneath that cold, detached facade, those ancient eyes looked profoundly sad, watching him with a weight that felt centuries old.
Then, it too drifted away into the dark corners of his mind. His chest tightened painfully, the internal pressure so intense it made his throat feel completely dry. He didn't understand why these specific ghosts were suddenly haunting him today.
A third memory forced its way to the surface, more vivid and crushing than the rest. Dark, midnight-black hair and striking purple eyes that held the terrifying depth of a night sky. A serene shrine bathed in a brilliant, golden sunlight that felt real enough to actually warm his cold skin.
There was a profound, overwhelming sense of comfort there, a total absence of fear. Home.
Then, nothing. The beautiful illusion shattered into dust before he could even begin to grasp its edges.
Izuku let out a long, ragged sigh, his breath ghosting faintly in the cooling air. The dreams were getting worse again. Always these fractured, broken fragments of a life he had never lived, of people he had never met. There were never any real answers, never any concrete names he could call out into the darkness, and never any faces he could find in the real world.
There were only these heavy, crushing feelings.
And an absolute, profound loneliness that no amount of ambient city noise could ever hope to drown out.
---
A massive, dense crowd had gathered further down the main avenue, blocking the sidewalk entirely.
Izuku slowed his pace, his feet dragging slightly as he approached the perimeter of the commotion. People stood shoulder-to-shoulder, murmuring excitedly to one another as they surveyed the smoking, crushed aftermath of what must have been a significant villain attack.
At the absolute center of the destruction stood a towering, monolithic figure.
His hair was a brilliant, impossible blond that seemed to defy the dimming twilight, and a massive, blinding smile stretched across his features, radiating absolute, effortless victory. All Might. The Symbol of Peace. The undisputed greatest hero in the entire world.
Izuku watched the grand spectacle quietly from the very back of the crowd, his posture completely still.
There was no sudden surge of excitement warming his veins, no obsessive fanboying bubbling up in his chest, and no desperate rush forward to get a better look or a signature. There was just a quiet, solemn respect.
Because despite everything the world had thrown at Izuku, despite the cruelty of his peers and the systematic apathy of society, All Might was still All Might. He was the golden standard, the one bright light in a dark world.
The crowd eventually began to disperse as the police cleared the perimeter, leaving the towering hero alone among the cracked asphalt and yellow tape.
Izuku took a slow, deliberate breath and approached, his footsteps sounding incredibly loud in the newly emptied space. All Might noticed the movement immediately, his massive head turning as his deep blue eyes locked onto the newcomer. "Young man?" he called out, his voice booming but kind.
Izuku stopped a few paces away, the physical gap between them feeling like a massive canyon. His hands tightened with a white-knuckled grip around the canvas straps of his backpack, his knuckles turning a stark, bloodless pale against the fabric.
Then, he took a slow breath and finally asked the single question that had followed him like a phantom for the last ten years of his life. "Can someone... someone without a Quirk... ever become a hero?"
The legendary, unshakeable smile on All Might's face faded.
It was only a slight drop, a momentary lapse in the golden mask, but Izuku's sharp eyes saw the fracture instantly. The towering hero studied the boy before him, his gaze heavy, analytical, and surprisingly tired.
He saw no arrogance in the teenager's posture, no sense of unearned entitlement, and no childish, starry-eyed fantasy. There was just a boy asking a painfully honest question, his green eyes raw and searching, wanting nothing less than an honest answer from the one person he trusted. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, filling the open air with an unbearable tension.
Then, the Symbol of Peace spoke. "No."
It was just one word. Simple. Gentle. Terrifyingly honest. "I don't think they can."
The answer landed with a physical weight, hitting Izuku harder than any explosive insult Katsuki had ever thrown at him. It hit harder than the cruel laughter of his teachers, harder than the systemic apathy of a society that viewed him as broken, and harder than the cold shoulder of the world.
Because those people had never truly mattered to him. All Might did.
This was the man who had single-handedly inspired him to keep breathing, the man who saved thousands of desperate people with a reassuring smile, and the man who made the entirely impossible seem within reach.
And even he said no.
Izuku didn't cry. He didn't scream.
He simply bent his waist, bowing politely and deeply to the hero. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice perfectly stable, entirely empty.
Then, he turned on his heel and walked away into the gathering dark, leaving the greatest hero in the world staring blankly after him, looking strangely small in the twilight.
A cold unease settled deep into All Might's chest as he watched the small silhouette recede into the shadows of the alleyways. It was a phantom weight that made his old wound ache beneath his shirt. Because the boy hadn't cried.
He hadn't argued back, hadn't raised his voice, and hadn't begged for a loophole or a spark of encouragement. The terrifying look in those green eyes... it reminded him of something he had buried deep in his own memory.
It was the look of someone who had already given up on the world entirely, long before they had crossed paths today.
---
Izuku walked. And walked.
And walked.
The bright neon signs of the city blurred into streaks of meaningless static against his retinas. The vast sky darkened into an absolute, pitch-black void, and the local streetlights flickered on one by one with a sharp, electric buzz.
The surrounding people gradually disappeared into their warm homes, leaving the concrete avenues entirely barren.
Time passed completely unnoticed, slipping away through his fingers like sand. His mind drifted further and further from his physical body, his internal thoughts completely fading into a flat line of white noise.
Until eventually—he stopped dead in his tracks.
He found himself standing at the edge of an old municipal park. It was completely empty, swallowed by an absolute, heavy silence. The cold moonlight filtered down through the skeletal branches of the trees, illuminating the rusted, peeling metal of the playground equipment like ancient bones.
Something about the layout of this specific place felt intensely familiar to him. Crucial. Important. As though he had stood on this exact patch of dirt before, a lifetime ago. As though someone very specific had stood right beside him in the quiet—watching over him, protecting him, waiting for him to grow.
A strange, phantom warmth settled over his skin, a momentary comfort that defied the freezing night air. Then—absolute agony.
There was a sharp, concussive impact that shattered the silence. Something impossibly sharp and heavy pierced straight through his stomach from behind, tearing through flesh, muscle, and bone with terrifying ease.
Izuku looked down slowly, his brain completely short-circuiting from the sheer shock of the trauma. He felt profoundly confused.
Blood. Dark, thick crimson blood was already soaking through his uniform, pooling around a massive, ornate spear that protruded directly from his midsection.
For a long, agonizing moment, he simply didn't understand what he was looking at.
Then, with a sickening, wet sound, the weapon vanished into thin air. His legs instantly gave out beneath him, the capacity to stand entirely stolen from his nerves. The dirt ground rushed upward with violent speed. He hit the earth hard, the impact knocking the remaining air from his lungs as a wide puddle of warm blood spread rapidly beneath his chest.
His vision began to blur into dark, vignetted edges, and breathing became an impossible, rattling chore.
Distantly, above the sound of his own fractured breathing, he heard heavy footsteps approaching. They were moving slowly, deliberately, clicking against the gravel.
'So this is it.' The thought arrived in his fading consciousness with surprising ease, entirely unburdened by panic.
There was no sudden flare of anger at the unfairness of it, no deep regret for things left unsaid, and no terror of the dark.
Just a quiet, absolute realization. So this is how it finally ends. Alone on the dirt. Just like he had always been.
---
A sudden figure entered the very edge of his failing, blurry vision.
Crimson hair, incredibly brilliant and deep, caught the moonlight and seemed to burn against the darkness of the park.
It was familiar—so painfully, achingly familiar that it felt like every beautiful dream he had ever forgotten over the last ten years. A pair of wide, striking blue eyes stared directly down into his own, completely horrified, the pupils trembling with an unspoken terror.
And for the very first time in years, Izuku felt a genuine spark ignite within himself. A faint, magnetic tug pulled deep within the marrow of his soul. Recognition.
The girl dropped violently to her knees right beside his bleeding form, her expensive clothes soaking in the dirt and fluid. "No..." Her voice shook violently, the syllable breaking apart in her throat as though her mind simply could not accept the brutal reality of what she was seeing.
"No, no, no..." The heavy darkness crept inward from the edges of his eyes, rapidly consuming the colors, the light, and the shape of her face.
The absolute last thing Izuku heard before the world went completely black was that beautiful, trembling voice, and the desperate, crushing fear hidden within it.