Chapter Text
Izuku opens a new tab in his browser, searching up the forum he uses to attain information on Japan’s heroes. He lets the site load, one finger tapping against the free space below his laptop’s keyboard. Once the page became colorful and the search bar was in sight, rather than just a spinning circle, he flipped open his notebook to a free page with one hand. The fingers on his free appendage moved to type Hawks into the search engine, getting ready to start up a new page of information.
The young boy always enjoyed writing down things about heroes; his passion present even when he was just a little boy. The compulsive need to constantly write things down always buzzed in the back of his mind; his hands itching to move lead across paper. In the mornings he satisfied the urge, waking up early just so he could fill in at least one page a day. He would do it during one of his free periods at school but the people around him found it creepy.
Every time he brought his analysis notebook out into the public eye he was judged, hit, or ignored. He often wonders if it’s due to his quirklessness, the fact he muttered while jotting down his thoughts, or if it was just him. Whatever the case may be, Izuku didn’t understand it.
Why couldn’t he just be himself? Do what he wanted?
Midoriya drew his eyes off of the screen, hunching over his notebook. His free hand moved up to his mouth, pinching his lower lip between his index and thumb as he muttered at an incredible speed.
Hawk’s quirk was an interesting one and Izuku wanted to pick it apart in person if given the chance. Not to mention, if he ever got the opportunity to ask the winged hero the many questions he had brewing in his mind, he would.
For example:
- If he can control his feathers individually, does that mean he has to work to keep the wings together? And if so, how complicated is flying really?
- If Hawk’s feathers can lift people, why can’t he just use one to pick himself up?
- What’s the max speed he can go?
- How far can his feathers travel?
- Does he have to preen like other birds or just take the feathers off?
- What happens if he doesn’t bring a feather back to his wings? Dose it just stay where it was left or does it home back to him?
He could go on for hours, asking question after question. However, there’s always the lingering thought in the back of his mind that he’d end up freaking the hero out.
Izuku set his pencil down, shutting his book in the process. He turned in his chair to get up as he closed his laptop; stretching moments later. Midoriya then went over to the closet where his gakuran resides, uneasiness settling deep within his gut.
The teen loved to learn, but it was hard to enjoy something when the fear of getting something wrong, muttering too loudly when jotting notes, or getting hit was hanging over him constantly. That’s why the boy shifted to only doing his work at home.
It was safer that way. No one was over his shoulder, waiting for him to drop his guard enough so that he wouldn’t notice a punch coming his way or taking his things. Nobody was there to hit him if his muttering got too loud. No one was there to glare.
He could be himself without the consequences of being judged.
Izuku was hit atop the head by a disembodied hand, causing him to quickly clamp his free hand over his mouth and look up. His teacher’s hand retracted back to his wrist while he looked down at the pre-teen in disgust.
Midoriya’s cheeks and neck burned with embarrassment as his peers around him snickered amongst themselves.
“If you’re not going to pay attention and instead disturb the class, Midoriya, I will need to ask you to take it elsewhere. I don’t appreciate my lessons going through one of your ears and out the other,” the teacher said in a condescending tone.
Izuku shrunk in his seat. “Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.”
The instructor just gave him an unamused look, mouth pressing into a line at the corners before he went back to teaching.
The snickers he heard around the room made the tingling feeling of embarrassment crawl down the green haired boy’s spine. He shriveled in his seat more, trying and willing it to swallow him whole.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t listening, he was, it was just that when Izuku was hyper focused on something, he tended to let the minimal control he had on his voice slip; the babble of words tumbling out of his lips in an incoherent stream of mutters. Not to mention, when Midoriya whispered to himself, he wasn’t fully aware he was doing it– it just kind of happened.
It was an uncontrollable thing, just like his quirklessness.
His quirk status always seemed to play a part in his day to day life, looming over him constantly. Whether it was just in school or at home, it always managed to appear in one form or another.
He couldn’t walk down the halls of Aldera Junior High without an insult or jeer thrown his way. He couldn’t walk home from school without the fear of getting jumped; couldn’t even be out in public without the anxiety of someone recognizing him. He couldn’t even be at home without his mom throwing him a look of pity or guilt.
He hated the looks of disgust from his peers, sure, but the sympathetic and remorseful looks he got from his own mother were worse. He already knew he was a handful to have around, but the gazes made him feel like more than a burden. A stain.
Reverting his gaze from the teacher and back down to his notebook, Izuku bit his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself from muttering. His grip on his pencil tightened, hand trembling slightly from his panic.
Trying to ignore his rising anxiety, the pre-teen tried to focus on the lesson, rather than the people around him. If he ignored them, it’d be easier to calm his raging thoughts… at least till the bell rang to signal the end of his torment.
Midoriya’s leg began to bounce lightly, toes staying planted on the ground as his heel tapped rhythmically against the hard tile. His eyes darted to the clock, only 5 minutes.
He focused back down to the paper, finishing off the shakily written sentence before flipping the book shut. He didn’t need to take notes anymore, he could just sit patiently in the hard and uncomfortable seat as the teacher wrapped up the lesson. Besides, Izuku highly doubts that his handwriting would be legible if he even attempted to jot something down right now.
The green haired child pushed both of his hands under his thighs as his leg sped up. The chair was warm from where his legs had been resting, the surface slightly rough from years of use. It was grounding in a way, having something solid under his fingertips as a steady weight was applied above them.
He breathed carefully, eyes darting to the clock again.
Three minutes.
Anxious viridian eyes watched the second hand tick by, skin getting clammy under his tight clothing.
Looking back to the front of the room once more, Midoriya’s teeth dug into his lip harder. Pain bloomed in the general area of his lower jaw and the faint taste of iron sat on the tip of his tongue, but he ignored both.
The pain was grounding enough to keep his racing heart at bay for the most part.
When the bell rang, Izuku pulled his hands out from under his lap, the lingering warmth on his hands keeping them damp. He slid out of his seat, lifting his bag to sit on his desk. His sweaty hands fumbled to pick up his book while the other one unzipped his bag. In a fluid motion that only comes from years of repetition, he shoved the book in his bag, followed by his pencil and eraser, before pulling the two zippers together. The green child pulled the straps of his bright yellow bag over his shoulders before briskly walking towards the door.
His feet moved in tune with his beating heart, each step matching rhythmically up to the quick pace hammering in his chest.
When the rows of getabakos were in sight, Midoriya nearly sighed in relief. His grip loosened ever so slightly on the straps hooked around his arms, before they were letting go completely in the midst of being tripped in favor of catching himself.
His thumbs caught in the straps, taking away vital time needed for his hands to come out in front of him. So the boy could only grunt as the force of the impact was absorbed by his nose, rather than his arms or hands.
He rolled over, his back bending over his bag uncomfortably while his hands came up to cup over his nose. The kid kept his now teary eyes shut for a moment before blinking them open, willing them to focus enough to see who tripped him.
A boy with a familiar head of straight ashy brown hair stood over him, smirking cruelly as his long fingers slowly shrunk to his hand.
He chuckled, jabbing his elbow back into his friend’s arm while glancing back to them, before turning to walk away.
Izuku’s gaze followed him, getting distracting enough for the other boy to land a solid kick to his side. Midoriya coughed, legs drawing up to his chest as he turned over on his side; one hand on his bleeding nose while the other gripped his torso. He distantly heard soft laughing as he writhed on the floor, form trembling.
Eventually, once the kid was sure it was safe to get up, his tightly shut eyes blinked open. He moved the hand on his side to the cool floor, shifting his weight to the limb. His elbow shook with the effort of pushing himself to his hands and knees.
Blood seeped between his fingers, the warm liquid dripping down to the floor with faint pats. Izuku’s misty eyes shut for a split second while the hand around his nose tightened; fingers adjusting to pinch the bridge of it.
Everything hurt.
Izuku turned on the tap, cold water running over his hands and washing away the dark crimson that stained them. His head was fuzzy, not the injured kind of fuzzy, but the kind of fuzzy that seemed to slow the whole world down. His fingers moved between each other slowly as he stared blankly down at them. He scrubbed at his hands, watched the red fade from them with each pass under the water, the repetition lifting the fog in his mind ever so slightly.
Once the water started to come out clear, Midoriya pulled his hands back, flicking the water down towards the sink. He turned the tap off and reached for the rough, old towel that he used to dry his hands.
Once only the cold lingering feeling of the water was left, he put the cloth down and walked out of the restroom, heading to his room.
The door creaked open to reveal the colorfully decorated walls. Each side of his room seemed to be an overstimulating mix of them; blending together into one bright mess in Izuku’s hazy vision.
The pre-teen pushed the door shut behind him, sniffling as he felt the phantom sensation of blood trickling out of his nose. That only served to make him wince though, pain shooting up into his head. The boy’s eyes shut momentarily before he inhaled through his mouth, not taking any chances with his nose.
Making his way over to his desk, Izuku pulled out number 12 of his analysis notebooks, grabbed a pencil, and opened his laptop. A faint buzzing entered the room; the sounds of the old fans within the machine filling the silence. Midoriya settled in his chair, shifting around until he found comfort in the barely padded plastic upholstery.
Typing in the password, he waited for the old pc to load in the forum he had used previously in the day.
Instead of the brightly themed page however, the kid was greeted with an error message. He refreshed the page but still, the error popped up. Midoriya tried one more time– still, nothing. The grip he had on the wooden pencil tightened.
Hero analysis is how he liked to clear his head. It provided a freedom that the real world couldn’t; allowed the boy to let his thoughts flow freely. Without it…
Izuku shook his head, a small spike of pain emanating from the movement. There were other sites, he didn’t have to just use this one.
Relaxing his grip, Midoriya set the pencil down on his book. Pushing aside the two items he pulled the laptop closer. He then opened a new tap and searched through whatever links he could find.
When one entitled https//:hero.net kept showing up, he clicked it, waiting for the page to load.
When the circling bar finally disappeared, he was greeted with a dark background. There was a spot for him to log in on the top right corner, and below it lay a few ads. On the left side sat tabs, each one used to scroll through different topics, resources, heroes, and more. Izuku’s eyes lit up, his finger dragging across the pad to move the mouse above the section labeled “underground heroes.”
The page took a second to load, his old computer taking a moment to process the code. Once it did though, the page was lined with different links that would lead him to sections of information.
Selecting the one about Midnight, Izuku flipped the notebook open and began writing.
Midnight
Name:
- Nemuri Kayama
Alias:
- Midnight
Quirk:
Somnambulist-
- Her quirk allows her to release a soporific scent that leaves opponents too weak to fight.
- Works better on men
Attack Patterns:
- Ultimate move: Sleepy Hollow
- Support Gear: Her whips and fans were designed to pick up traces of her scent and launch it in any given direction, giving her Quirk more accuracy
Birthday:
March 9
Height:
175 cm
Classification in terms of ranking:
- Power = D
- Speed = C
- Wits = C
- Technique = A
- Cooperativeness = C
Status:
- Alive
Equipment:
- Whips of Love
- Feather Fan
- Ultra Thin Fabric Suit
Weaknesses:
- Close range fighter: If someone were to use a gun or bow against her at a long range she’d be effectively quirkless due to the fact her mist would take a while to reach further distances.
- The thin design of her costume: Suppose she became paralyzed or weakened, or couldn't tear her costume for some other reason. Her quirk would become unusable since her clothes would block it.
- Limited physical power: A villain with a strength quirk and a gas mask could take her down no problem. Not to mention, Midnight doesn’t carry around effective weapons.
Questions/Theories:
- How far can her Quirk go?
- Is there a limit to her expelling the gas, or is it essentially unlimited?
- If it is limited, why not have gas canisters as a support item?
- What does Quirk exhaustion look like for her? Does she even experience quirk exhaustion?
- Why does it work best on males? Is it reactive to the Y-chromosome males have somehow?
- Can the gas change colors?
- Can she change how potent it is?
- Why doesn’t she have a costume made out of her DNA? That way the weakness of her suit is negated.
- Is her quirk always active?
Midoriya looked back up to the site that held far less information than what he wrote down. He moved the mouse to scroll down for further data, but got comments instead. He sighed, resigning himself to the fate that that was all the information he would be able to acquire about her.
He leaned back, fingers interlinking above his head as his spine arched and popped. The pre-teen’s head felt lighter, no longer plagued with the thick fog, and content sat deep within his gut, signaling that his analysis session could come to an end.
He reached a hand to the laptops lid, intending to close it, only to pause when his eyes caught on an anonymous comment:
Anonymous235 – March 15:
Is there someone that sells in-depth analyses on heroes? These sites are good sure, but they don’t have what I need.
Izuku blinked, reopening the laptop fully. He looked at the words on the screen for a long moment, before clicking the replies. He read through a few before moving the mouse to open a new tab.
The pre-teen searched through the web with newfound curiosity, diving deeper and deeper into the profession of analyzing. He had never heard of this before, not feeling the need to search into different careers besides heroics until now.
From as far back as he knew, Izuku always had his mind dead set on hero work; even if the people around him didn’t think he could do it. Midoriya wanted to help people, that’s just his nature. Maybe, if he couldn’t help people through hero work, this could be his chance to help people through other means.
The last site he clicked on was for job listings. He may only be 12 and can’t actually apply for any of the offerings, but he can at least plan for the future. After all, that is why the green haired boy started his analysis books in the first place.
Scrolling through the different opportunities, Izuku clicked on a summary that caught his eye. His gaze moved across every word, heart fluttering in his chest with pure hope. Maybe this was something he could do– the faith in chest then shattered as his eyes landed on the quirk requirements.
He needed a quirk.
With a remaining ounce of hope Izuku clicked off of the page, going back to the long listings of jobs. His heart clenched before sinking down to his gut. Every job offering required a quirk.
Midoriya’s shaking hand pulled away from the mouse pad before closing the lid of the laptop roughly. The light illuminating his room was snuffed out, bathing him in darkness; the only light coming into his room was from the now risen moon in the sky from beyond his curtains.
His front teeth dug into his bottom lip while he leaned back into the chair. The pre-teen’s mind was swirling with thoughts, each one worse than the last.
It occurred to the green haired boy long ago that quirks played a part in day to day life. However, he never realized how bad it had become for the quirkless.
Izuku brought his hands up to his face as he leaned his head back, taking in a deep breath. He didn’t want to think about this right now– it was late and he had school the next day.
Getting up, Midoriya pushed in his chair before moving over to where his bed was. He let his knees give out, flopping down on his bed– only to immediately regret it. Pain bloomed through his nose, spreading up to sit behind his eyes.
Turning over, Izuku clutched his nose, shutting his eyes in an attempt to dull the pain.
Why did his life have to constantly revolve around his quirklessness?