Chapter Text
“Having a strong Quirk means you’ll be a strong hero. You’re weak, so you’ll need an even stronger Quirk to be worthy of being my sidekick!” Kacchan grinned. Tiny explosions crackled in the hot summer air as he held out his pinkie finger. “So promise me you’ll get a powerful Quirk!”
Izuku eagerly hooked his pinkie with his best friend’s. “I promise!” he beamed, bouncing on his toes. “I’ll get the best Quirk in the whole world and help everyone feel safe! And then we’ll become the best hero duo ever!”
“Ha!” Kacchan laughed. “As if your Quirk could ever be as awesome as mine!”
“Ouch!” Izuku yelped, jerking his hand back as one of Kacchan’s tiny explosions crackled where their fingers touched. “Don’t do that,” he said with a pout, shaking out his stinging hand. “Just wait and see, okay? I’ll get my Quirk soon and it’s going to be the best, most heroic one ever.”
To outsiders, it might have seemed like a silly thing—just two toddlers playing in the sun, pretending to be heroes and making promises that would be forgotten by dinnertime. But to Izuku, it felt like a vow. He wanted to save people and be a strong hero, like All Might. And someone already strong, like Kacchan, had to be right when he said that Izuku had to get a powerful Quirk to be a real hero.
Many people said that Quirks helped shape who you were. Someone with an animal Quirk usually liked animals. Someone like Kacchan—whose Quirk made explosions—would be loud and explosive too. Even Izuku’s dad sometimes joked that, because he had a fire-breathing Quirk, he was like a dragon and liked to hoard nice things. So to little three-year-old Izuku, it only made sense that All Might would also have been born with a Quirk as powerful as his heroism and that to be like him, Izuku needed a Quirk that showed he could be a hero too.
But Izuku’s Quirk didn’t come. His fourth birthday came and went, but nothing happened. At first, Izuku thought he’d done something wrong. When he asked, Kacchan just huffed that if Izuku was strong—if he wasn’t a Deku—then he should hurry up and get a Quirk worthy of being a hero. Izuku wasn’t sure how to make it happen faster. He thought about it for hours while rewatching All Might’s debut video for inspiration, until he had an idea.
He would try to be better and stronger—so he’d be worthy of a good Quirk.
But no matter how often he helped unload the dishwasher or carry bags inside, none of his attempts to breathe fire or levitate objects ever worked.
Next he asked his family how to get a Quirk. Mom reassured him it would come eventually. Dad smiled and offered to help Izuku look into Quirk theory. Uncle launched into a long explanation about the medical side of Quirks and why it was too complicated for a four-year-old. Izuku decided to follow his dad’s advice and research Quirks. He was smart—Mom and Dad always said so. If he tried hard enough, he would definitely figure out how to make his Quirk come!
Or not.
In his enthusiasm, Izuku overlooked one thing—he was new to reading and needed help. Dad often left for work suddenly or stayed out until very late, so he didn’t have much time. Still, Izuku set aside a bit of time he’d usually spend watching All Might videos and instead used it to fill the notebook his dad had given him with notes and drawings about Quirks and heroes. It was his very first ‘Hero Analysis’ notebook, written and drawn almost entirely in colourful crayons.
When Dad was home, he helped do actual research into Quirks. Together they found that ‘late bloomers’ weren’t that unusual. Sometimes the Quirk just needed more time to develop, or it was very subtle, or it had strange activation conditions that were hard to figure out.
The days passed quickly, but Izuku still hadn’t found a solution. It was fine, he told himself. He loved Quirks, and Dad always encouraged him to keep learning. His uncle told him about a case where someone got their Quirk when they were already ten—ten!—so it was fine. He was four, almost five now. He still had more than five years. He didn’t need to be scared—or to whisper please, please, over and over to his All Might figurine while everyone else was asleep, hoping that a Quirk would come tomorrow. He wouldn’t break his promise to Kacchan, because everything was going to be okay.
It could still happen!
“Yeah... That’s not going to happen.”
The Quirk Doctor lazily gestured to the x-ray of Izuku’s foot. Izuku recognized the toe-joint. He’d tried to draw it in his notebook before. He knew what it meant: medically Quirkless. Not just late, but not developing. Not going to come.
But that couldn’t be true! Maybe the machine was wrong, or maybe...
“You should give up.” The doctor’s voice droned, like he could hear Izuku’s thoughts and couldn’t be bothered to care.
Izuku didn’t hear the rest of the appointment. Or the ride home.
He only realized two hours later that he was in his room, staring at a screen. All Might’s booming laugh echoed through the room as he proclaimed to everyone, “You’re safe now! I am here!” Izuku watched the video on repeat, trying to make sense of what it all meant.
“Mom…” His voice shook, vision blurring with barely held-back tears. Mom was hovering in the open door, but Izuku couldn’t tear his eyes from the hero onscreen. “Can I… be a hero too?”
He pointed at the screen, shaking as he finally turned to his mom. A hero was strong. Helpful. Capable. Brave. If a Quirk showed who you were, then surely Izuku too—
“I’m sorry, Izuku!” Mom fell to her knees beside him, hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry…”
~°~°~
Being a late bloomer hadn’t been easy, but being Quirkless was worse.
Kacchan had never been nice. He was loud and rough, obsessed with being the best. Izuku hadn’t minded that before. Kacchan was strong and cool. They’d promised to be heroes together, so even if Kacchan was mean sometimes—called him useless, or a Deku—that was okay.
After the diagnosis, the other kids at school either avoided him or pitied him. Kacchan and his friends never included him anymore. Instead Kacchan’s temper kept getting worse and he started picking fights with other kids.
At first, Izuku thought it was kind of cool. He watched Kacchan challenge all the bullies and always win, like a hero defeating villains. Even the teachers praised him for being strong.
But after a while, no one challenged him anymore. So he started picking on the kids who couldn’t fight back. That wasn’t heroic anymore.
Izuku had tried to stop him.
“Why do you keep trying to stand in my way, Deku?” Kacchan sneered, barely winded after pushing Izuku to the ground.
Izuku pushed himself up, trembling, clenching his hands in front of himself like a shield. The bruises already started throbbing under his shirt. “Please stop, Kacchan… Y-you’re being mean…”
“Mean?” Kacchan snapped. “No, I’m strong! Stronger that all these losers! Why can’t you see that? You’re nothing, stupid Deku. You don’t even have a Quirk!”
Izuku’s lip wobbled. Maybe Kacchan was right. If he was going to be a hero, he couldn’t be like this. Without a Quirk... he couldn’t do anything.
He needed to find a way to catch up.
~°~°~
After that day, Izuku threw himself into more research. The doctor had to be wrong—somehow. Maybe there was some sort of amazingly heroic Quirk that also gave you the extra toe joint and a Quirkless body!
Was that even possible?
Izuku dangled his feet off the edge of the couch, squinting at the article on his tablet. No matter how hard he tried, the words just weren’t meant for a six-year-old’s brain.
Research had gotten way harder since Dad went to work overseas. But Uncle Usamu visited more often now, and sometimes, he would help.
Izuku peeked over the edge of the couch into the kitchen, where Mom and Uncle Usamu were preparing dinner with their backs turned to him. He listened in to their conversation.
“So, any luck with Sasha?”
“I told you not to call Hisashi that. He doesn’t like it.” Mom said in a hushed tone, stirring a pot as her brother handed her a bowl of chopped vegetables.
“If he hates it so much, then maybe he should stop hiding in America and come back to make me stop.” Uncle Usamu huffed.
Izuku sighed. Mom and Uncle were arguing about Dad again. Uncle Usamu—a lanky man with mint green hair—had been helping out more since Dad left. And even with the occasional bickering, Mom seemed happier than she’d been in a long time.
“He’s not hiding, Usamu—he’s working.” Mom sighed with fond exasperation. “It’s temporary, and we needed the money. I know you don’t like him but it’s an opportunity he couldn’t miss…”
“No, Inko, he’s a prick.” Uncle scoffed, bringing the knife down hard on the cutting board. “You should’ve listened to me when I said he was bad news. He ran off when Izuku was diagnosed, and he left you to deal with everything alone. Sure, he sends you money and calls every month or whatever, but he also never picks up when you call! He’s a Quirkist assh—”
“Language! And can we please not do this right now?” Izuku ducked back behind the edge of the couch as his mother hissed at her brother. Izuku sat still as the adults glanced at where he sat, keeping his eyes locked on the tablet as if it hadn’t already gone dark. He knew what his uncle thought of his dad. The man was anything but subtle.
After a moment, Inko continued, “Hisashi did not leave because of him, and I don’t want your paranoia making him think that. And stop swinging that knife around or you’re going to hurt someone.”
“Inko, he’s a child.” Uncle Usamu audibly rolled his eyes. “Children don’t understand things like that. Plus, he won’t remember being this young anyway.”
“That’s not how kids work, and you know that.”
“My badge at Tokyo Central Hospital says I know what I’m talking about.”
“Usamu, brother dearest.” Izuku had to suppress a chuckle at his mom’s lightly scolding tone. “You are a surgeon in training, and while I’m proud of you for getting into the accelerated course they were very clear about choosing you because of your Quirk. You have never worked with a child who wasn’t asleep.
“As a nurse with regular shifts in the Paediatric Ward, I can confidently say that kids don’t work like that—so please stop making a fool of yourself.”
Izuku poked his head out again. The adults were locked in a mild stare-off, and as usual, it was his uncle who relented first. “Fine, I’m not good with kids. Sasha can ‘work’ in America for all I care, as long as he keeps pretending to care. But I swear if he tries to hurt you two I will-!”
“Mom? Uncle? I need some help with a word!” Izuku called out before his uncle could start a new rant. Uncle Usamu had always been headstrong, and while Mom could usually talk him down it was easier to just distract him.
Mom and Uncle had a silent conversation with their eyes before Uncle Usamu put aside his knife and cutting board with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “Sure, Izuku. I’ll be right there.”
Izuku grinned, quickly scrolling back to the top of the article.
“What are you reading this time?” Uncle Usamu leaned over the back of the couch, reaching out for the tablet.
“It’s called, umm...” Izuku squinted at the text “Forced Quirk manifestations,” he pronounced slowly, before handing his uncle the tablet. “It’s a Quirk awakening study, but I don’t get it.”
“Okay...” Uncle Usamu scanned through the text. “I need you to be more specific, Izuku. What don’t you get?”
“All of it!”
“What?”
“I don’t get any of it—at all!” Izuku grinned, eyes sparkling with determination. Dad had told him that if something was difficult to understand, that usually meant it would be more interesting once he figured it out. That meant he would learn something new!
Uncle Usamu chuckled. “I suppose that’s fair. This does seem pretty high level. How about I just read and explain as I go?”
“Yes! Please! Thank you!”
“Here goes, then...” Uncle Usamu sat on the couch next to Izuku, tilting the tablet so they could read together.
“As our understanding of Quirks and their development increases, we also get more insight into outlier cases. In this study, we discuss a phenomenon called 'forced Quirk manifestations'—a rare scenario in which a Quirkless individual manifests a Quirk in response to a highly impactful, stressful, or traumatic event, similar to a Quirk awakening.
“Interestingly, even after such a manifestation the physical traits typically linked to Quirklessness—such as the additional pinkie toe joint, an appendix, or wisdom teeth—do not always change to match other Quirked individuals.”
Usamu sighed. He’d heard of the concept more often than he'd like, most recently through a series of cases where irresponsible parents tried to force their Quirkless children to manifest a Quirk. It never worked and the whole concept was dangerous and naïve, often leaving the kids scarred for life. But he couldn’t just say that to his starry-eyed nephew. “Izuku, this is some... high-level stuff.” He gave the boy a sceptical glance. “Why’d you think you’d be able to follow anything of this? How much out of that did you actually get?”
The kid looked completely lost but still starry-eyed. That was hard to say no to, even if the article was ignorant at best. “Basically, it’s a study on Quirk manifestations in people who were supposedly Quirkless,” Usamu explained.
Izuku’s face lit up like the sun before scrunching up again in thought as he looked back at the screen. Usamu quirked an eyebrow, “What part’s confusing you?”
“Umm… What’s an appan… an append…?” Izuku struggled to find the correct pronunciation.
“The appendix is an organ in the belly that only Quirkless people have.” Usamu poked Izuku’s stomach, making him giggle.
“Do I have an appendix?”
Usamu huffed with amusement. “Want me to have a look?”
Usamu couldn’t help a tiny chuckle as his nephew nodded so enthusiastically his whole body rocked with the movement. He wasn’t allowed to use his Quirk much outside the training at the hospital to avoid Quirk exhaustion. He rarely used it unless Izuku or Katsuki were ill—so the boy always got excited when he did.
“Just sit still for a second, I need to focus.” When Izuku nodded, Usamu rested his fingertips on the boy’s abdomen. Softly sparkling green light spread from his fingertips to Izuku’s body. Information flooded his mind as his Quirk, Diagnosis, revealed the body’s internal workings and energy flow. With a frown he tried to locate the organ. Unfortunately, his Quirk didn’t actually diagnose anything—he still needed to study for years to make sense of the information and what it meant.
After a moment, Usamu smiled proudly. “There it is. That’s definitely a healthy-looking appendix.”
“Oh.” Izuku’s face fell a little, as if he wasn’t sure whether to be happy that the organ he hadn’t known existed was healthy—or disappointed that he had yet another marker of Quirklessness.
“It’s actually the first time I’ve seen one with my Quirk,” Usamu admitted, taking his hand back. “They never invite Quirkless patients to our classes, but we covered it in class once.”
“O-okay, thanks… Can we read the rest?” Izuku asked, a bit more subdued than earlier.
“Are you sure? This forced manifestation nonsense is really not worth looking into.”
“It’s for my research.”
“You don’t need a Quirk. Sometimes it’s better not to have one—”
“Please?”
Usamu looked to Inko for support, but she only shot him an encouraging nod and kept stirring the pot.
"Fine, let’s see..." He grumbled.
“Our current hypothesis is that forced Quirk manifestations may be tied to a latent Quirk–one which was either insufficient or too unstable to develop a cohesive Quirk naturally.
“In rare cases, extreme stress or survival instincts may activate this dormant potential, restructuring it into a functional Quirk to protect the individual. These forced Quirks are often aberrant and unstable, reflecting the triggering situation more than the user’s genetics.
“However, due to the rarity of these cases and ethical concerns with reproducing them, this research remains speculative and should never be pursued further through experimentation.”
Usamu sighed, relieved. “So it’s just speculative research... Who even wrote this?” he muttered, scrolling to the bottom.
It was a stupid article. Quirkless people didn’t magically gain Quirks. It wasn’t this easy. Sure, aberrant Quirks that didn’t match the parents existed—but those kids were still Quirked.
You’d need a freakishly high level of latent Quirk factor to get anything resembling a proper Quirk. Nothing a Quirkless body could naturally develop, and Usamu didn't want to think about the unnatural ways it could happen. Most of these cases were probably just late bloomers—kids with mutations that looked Quirkless but weren’t.
“The authors are... some Dr. Kousuko and...” Of course it was the rat. That damn rodent stuck his nose into everything.
“But what does it mean?” Izuku was looking at him with those hopeful puppy-dog eyes again.
Usamu put the tablet down. He didn’t want to give his nephew false hope—but if he refused to explain it further Inko would scold him again for being bad with kids.
And while she was right about that part, he didn’t see why he should have to play along with something this dangerously naïve, just to spare the kid’s feelings. Especially when he knew he was right.
“Well...” he drawled. “They think something big or traumatic might trigger a Quirk—even in Quirkless people. But that’s stupid. Even if someone had enough latent Quirk factor, it’d be super unlikely. And super dangerous too! The writers couldn’t even properly study it. So you really shouldn’t trust it.”
There, done. He explained it and discouraged him from trying anything weird. That was good, right? He threw a proud glance at Inko. He was great with kids and she was wrong.
He looked back at Izuku.
Nope, nope, he was wrong. The kid’s eyes were shining even brighter, fingers twitching like he was about to write a thesis.
Damn it. The kid was definitely going to try to get himself one of those dangerous, fake Quirk manifestation things now, wasn’t he?
“Don’t try this Izuku.” Usamu said, his voice sharper than he meant. “It’s unproven. Even if it were possible—which I’m not saying it is—it’d be unstable and worse than not having a Quirk at all. You’re not going to get a Quirk. Just forget about this stupid article—”
Izuku wasn’t listening.
He couldn’t wait to try this!
~°~°~
From that point onwards, Izuku started to experiment. He began by looking through his Hero Analysis notebook. The original notebook he had gotten from his dad was almost full, so he decided to start two new notebooks: the first would be for heroes and the second one about Quirks and theories on how to get them. That way he could keep it a secret from Mom and Uncle Usamu.
Next, he made a list of Quirks and how he thought he could trigger them. He tried little tests first, gradually building up to more dangerous experiments. After almost drowning himself in the bath one time and swearing off trying to get water Quirks, he decided he wanted to try to get a flight Quirk. That would be useful, right? He would be super evasive and get to the people in need first!
Izuku started jumping from a small bench in the schoolyard hoping he would learn to fly. When that didn’t work, he tried jumping from a half-wall and eventually the top of the climbing rack, going higher and higher. After two days of Kacchan laughing at him for being bad at climbing, Izuku landed badly and cracked his arm.
“Be careful next time, okay?” Mom insisted. Izuku and his mom were seated at the table at home while Uncle Usamu paced the kitchen and talked animatedly on the phone to try and find a doctor with a healing Quirk who would make time. They had both rushed to the school when the teachers called about the injury. “And please tell me who keeps being so rough... I promise I’ll talk to your teachers and get them to stop.”
Izuku avoided her eyes, keeping his eyes locked on where she was trying to draw All Might on his cast. Mom had tried to visit the school three times already, but nothing ever changed.
“Izuku, you know you can tell me anything, right?”
“It’s fine, Mom,” Izuku waved his hands around in reassurance. The movement caused the yellow marker to skid over the cast, giving All Might a comically long and crooked hair antenna. “I swear it was an a-accident! No one pushed me!”
Inko smiled warmly and ruffled Izuku’s green curls. “Okay then, but if anyone ever does push you I’ll always be on your side. And if you keep having trouble with falling from places, I can teach you how to land in a way that you won’t get hurt. If you want.”
“What? No!” Usamu squawked covering his phone’s speaker with his hand. “He’s six! Don’t encourage children to fall on purpose!”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Usamu. It’s a useful skill,” Inko chuckled. “Besides, Izuku can decide for himself what he wants to do.”
Izuku felt guilty as his mom looked at him with expectation. He did want to learn how to fall, that would be so useful for being a hero, and he wanted to tell her about trying to get a Quirk, but... “A-aren’t you worried I’d just hurt myself again? I’m Q-Quirkless, so...
“Oh, sunshine... No... Your arm won’t break from learning to land because you’re Quirkless.” She hugged him tightly. “One of the strongest people I’ve ever known was Quirkless. You may not be able to do some of the things others can do, but that doesn’t mean you’re any more or less fragile than anyone without a physical Quirk.”
“If anyone gives you a hard time for being Quirkless, just tell us their names and I’ll make sure they never try anything like this again.” Usamu threatened with a dark look.
“Please tell me you’re not planning on beating up some kids.” Inko gave her brother a half-hearted glare, already knowing the answer.
“If they hurt him then yes, I will. They can’t just gang up on the Quirkless kid, that’s unfair.” The thin man gestured wildly.
“How heroic of you, truly a great example.” Inko sighed dramatically, cracking a smile as Izuku giggled. Happy to have improved his mood, she turned back to Izuku. “In all seriousness though, if you want I can help you learn how to land better if you keep falling, and I’ll tell off anyone giving you a hard time about it.”
“Thank you!” Izuku smiled brightly.
“Maybe don’t tell your uncle, okay sunshine? We don’t need anyone to get beaten up.” Inko mock whispered with a conspiratorial wink.
“Hey! I heard that!” Usamu protested.
~°~°~
Even though he told his Mom he’d talk to her, Izuku never told her about Kacchan or his attempts to get a Quirk. Kacchan wasn’t even going that far.
And even if he was, maybe he would get a Quirk out of it.
Perhaps he would learn how to camouflage himself since he hid from Kacchan so often. Or he could get a Quirk that warned him when he noticed too late that everyone was annoyed at him for being a Quirkless Deku? Maybe if he tried enough he could make friends with all the pigeons on the playground if he tried hard enough to talk to them? There were so many possibilities!
What if he stuck a fork into a socket and-? No, that was too dangerous. He had told his mom he’d be careful.
Izuku shook his head as he scrapped electricity Quirks from the notebook.
No matter how much he failed and how often everyone said it was impossible, Izuku always kept trying. He’d run out of his initial list of ideas by the end of the year, but it had become a routine to find a cool Quirk, analyse it and think of ways he might be able to trigger it. He wasn’t even sure if he still believed it was possible, but stopping felt like giving up and he wasn’t ready to let his wish go.
In the end, it would take nearly a year for his wish to come true—by accident, and all wrong.
~°~°~
It started with a fear he couldn’t place—a cold hollowness that settled in his chest, and a lingering ache that clung to him like static.
Izuku jolted awake, digging his nails into his scalp. Fragmented voices and echoed in his skull:
“…something fun…”
“…autograph…!”
A scream.
A crash.
“Stop moving…!”
Izuku writhed, clawing at his blanket as the panic surged through him.
Bam!
He hit the floor, the thud snapping him out of it.
The noise, the static, the voices—all of it scattered from his mind, slipping away like most dreams do.
“Ouch...” Izuku groaned, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he tried to orient himself. It felt as if he had just been tossed around in a washing machine—a very cold one. He shivered, the empty coldness still clinging to him as the remnants of sleep disappeared.
Gradually, everything started to come back to him. He was in his room. Early morning sunlight filtered through the window, but didn’t bring him any warmth. Today was Sunday—the first day in a while he and Mom would have an opportunity to go out. He had been looking forward it for weeks.
But still, Izuku felt strangely out of place. Despite only just waking up, he was so cold and drained he couldn’t even sit up. And though he didn’t know why, he found himself looking for... something. Loud voices trying to tell him something. The acrid smell of smoke. Something wet and warm.
He was forgetting something important.
The door opened.
“Izuku, sunshine, are you okay?” Mom asked softly, as if not to wake him if he was still asleep. “I heard something fall and—oh, Kami, did you fall out of bed?!”
She hurried into the room, helping him him up and guiding him back onto the bed. When she noticed him shivering, she wrapped him in his All Might themed comforter. Izuku leaned into her touch; her hands radiated warmth.
“’m cold...” he murmured.
“You’re freezing,” she whispered, pulling him onto her lap and rubbing his back through the blanket. “It’s been getting colder, maybe we should turn the heater up a bit more?”
She brushed back his green curls, her voice gentle and careful. “Did you have a nightmare, sweetheart?”
Izuku tried to remember. It was like reaching for something he could feel was there, but that slipped away the moment he tried to examine it—like water dripping though his fingers, leaving him with nothing but the empty, cold static.
“Mhm...” he hummed eventually. “B-bad dream...”
“You too, huh? Don’t worry, I’m here now.” Mom wrapped her arms around him. She was warm—reassuring.
Izuku sniffled as he buried his face into her side. She gently rocked them, running her hand through his hair and murmuring soft reassurances.
“The nightmares aren’t real. They can’t hurt you.” She paused, glancing at the desk with a small smile. “Look.”
Izuku peeked up as his mom made a series of slow pulling motion towards his desk. One of the All Might figures gently lifted up and floated towards them as her Quirk pulled it along.
“Here,” she settled it on his head, “All Might will keep you safe from any bad dreams trying to sneak in.”
“He will?” Izuku took the figure carefully, his eyes wide with awe. No matter how often his mom used her Quirk to make his figurines fly like the real All Might, it never stopped amazing him.
He clutched the figure tightly to his chest. “Of course he will! All Might is the best!” Izuku smiled, small but genuine. For a moment, the static haze of coldness, tiredness, and sense that something was wrong felt just a little further away.
They stayed like that for a while longer, until the smell of burnt food started to drift over from the kitchen. Mom shifted, brushing her hand over Izuku’s hair one more time. “Hey, sunshine,” She said softly, her voice carrying a playful lilt. “Do you want to know what works best against bad dreams?”
Izuku blinked up at her, his eyes still red from the tears. The brief energy boost the flying figurine had given him was already fading, and his body felt heavy with cold and exhaustion. Still, not wanting to worry her, he tilted his head questioningly.
Mom’s smile grew, warm and reassuring. “Doing something fun!”
“S-something... fun?” Izuku blinked slowly, his head filled with static. She’d said that before... when?
The bright smile on Mom’s face almost made the dark circles under her eyes disappear. “Yup! Super fun!” She stood slowly, brushing her hands over the blanket around him. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll grab you a heating pack and I have a little surprise that I think might help you feel better.”
As his mom left the room, Izuku shut his eyes tightly. The static was getting worse. Echo’s of voices and noise pierced his skull. He couldn’t make out the words, just a swirl of emotions he didn’t remember the cause of.
“I know things have been hard lately, so I asked some friends and we managed to get you a super special gift!”
Mom was back. Izuku hadn’t even heard her enter the room. Izuku tried to look up, his vision was swimming. A gift? The voices repeated the words. It felt like memories he shouldn’t have.
“…something fun…”
“…I got you a gift…”
“…get All Might’s autograph… for your hero books…”
Izuku breathily repeated the memory. “All Might’s autograph...?”
“Ta-da! I got us tickets to the All Might signing event!” Mom enthusiastically said at the same time, holding up three tickets.
Izuku flinched at the words, his eyes wide with both surprise at the voices being correct and excitement at the idea of getting All Might’s autograph.
“H-how did you know?” Mom tilted her head slightly, a surprised and worried look crossing her face as she noticed his reaction. Her smile faltered for just a moment. “I thought I’d help you get All Might’s autograph for your hero books... Did Usamu spoil it again?”
“N-no, I- He didn’t, but I—!” Izuku shook his head sluggishly, trying to clear the sharp noise and flashes of images flickering behind his eyes despite the paralysing tiredness.
A memory in the living room. “We can get All Might’s autograph for your hero books!” He had been so happy. Mom had laughed as he did his little dance of joy.
Izuku covered his ears squeezed his eyes shut. It was a vivid dream. Nothing more.
Uncle’s car.
Mom and Uncle discussing something about Dad.
Light—blinding.
The feeling of a washing machine.
Loud, then silent.
Acrid smoke.
Something wet and warm.
Izuku was shaking.
The memory of pain.
Cold.
Voices. “Stop moving.”
Then—dragged back into the static.
Again.
And again.
And again.
“Izuku, please, what’s wrong?!” Izuku blinked—Mom was right in front of him, kneeling by the bed. Her face was blurry. He was crying again. Sobs shook his tiny frame, sharp and breathless.
“M-mom, I can’t—I don’t know–I’m so cold, and tired, and—We can’t go! Because the car and, and...”
“It's okay, shh... easy,” she whispered, hugging him close. Izuku clung to her warmth, trying to push the memories away. “I know you wanted to get All Might’s autograph, sunshine, but you’re not feeling well right now. It’s okay. We’ll figure something out, I promise.”
“No...” Izuku murmured again. His energy was draining even faster now. “We can’t go...”
“I know, sunshine...” Inko laid him down in the bed, placed the heating pad beside him and tucked him in with the blankets and comforter. “But you know what? Even if you can’t go, I could go get them for you. I bet you’d feel better in no time if All Might wrote you his well wishes! I’d be in and out—an hour tops.
Izuku, nearly asleep, felt sudden dread flood through him. No! That’s not it! He wanted All Might’s autograph but she couldn’t go! He wanted to scream, but he felt so weak. Too tired.
“D-Don’t... go...” he managed to croak.
“It’s going to be okay,” Mom murmured, gently brushing his curls out of his face. “You won’t be alone. Uncle Usamu is going to be here any minute and he’ll make sure you get nice and toasty. So don’t worry about the autograph—just rest. When you wake up, you’ll be...”
Izuku didn’t hear the rest his mom’s soft reassurances. He was slipping. His body was heavy. His eyes wouldn’t stay open. He couldn’t move.
His mom faded from view as sleep took him.
~°~°~
Inko lingered in the hallway, one hand resting on the handle of the front door as she glanced at the door of her son’s room. She was speaking softly to her brother, updating him on Izuku’s nightmare, how exhausted he’d seemed and the strange coldness that still hadn’t improving.
She knew Izuku would be in good hands—Usamu may not have any idea of how kids thought and how to interact with them, but he was still a very capable doctor—yet she still didn’t want to leave.
Something about today felt... wrong somehow.
She’d tried to talk herself out of it at first. She hadn’t slept well—a strange sense of unease had clung to her from the moment she had woken up—so maybe it was just that. Maybe she was tired, imagining things.
Cooking breakfast, quieting the anxiety for a short while. But then came Izuku’s breakdown. He’d been sobbing in her arms, shivering, cold and not warming up—and the feeling flared again, worse than before.
“Are you okay?” Usamu asked quietly, eyes flicking between her and Izuku’s door.
Inko didn’t answer right away.
“Yeah, just... I don’t know.” She rubbed her arm. “I don’t want to leave him like this, but I won’t be gone long—and you’ll be here to take care of him, right?”
“Obviously.” The lanky man gave a short nod. “But it’s just an autograph. If you’re that unnerved by him having a nightmare, you don’t have to go. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s All Might’s autograph,” she said, a fond little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Izuku adores that man. It would mean everything for him and if I don’t go after telling him we would have gone he’ll be devastated. And I don’t know when I’ll be able to afford tickets again.”
She exhaled slowly, “I know she said it’s fine, but I owe Hyou and the other nurses so much for helping me get these already.”
“Once I pay off my course loans, I could get you new tickets.”
Inko shook her head as she opened the door. “Thank you, really. But that would take us at least another year.”
“You’ve made up your mind, then?”
Inko glanced at her brother. He looked resigned—with anyone else, he probably would’ve been far more stubborn.
“Yeah,” she paused, then forced a smile. “I’ll call you when I get there.”
The rolling feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong still lodged in her gut, but she pushed it down. “Take care of him for me, okay?”
“Of course.” He nodded with a sigh.
With a final “Thank you,” Inko stepped out and quietly closed the door behind her.
~°~°~
Izuku woke up slowly.
Everything was hazy.
He didn’t remember much of what had happened that day—just disjointed pieces. His uncle sitting by the bed, flipping through a textbook. Being asked if he felt any warmer. A warm hand pressed his forehead. His uncle’s voice—too loud, panicked—on the phone. A wave of nausea and sleep. Trying to sit up but not being able to. The feeling of steady hands, the swaying motion of being moved, guided. Sirens?
Was he in a hospital? He wasn’t sure, what happened?
The first thing he recalled clearly was that Mom had left. All Might’s autograph! She was going to get it for him—she promised that—but she’d be alone. That felt important. Too important. Why?
He tried to push through the fog, he had to remember. Something was wrong-!
The static returned. Stronger, echoing in his skull like broken speakers. Voices, images, noise. This time, it didn’t just hurt. It shifted—began to take form.
It shaped into memories—scenes that shouldn’t make sense, that didn’t fit with today, or yesterday, or any other day. His chest clenched, strangely hollow. It felt as if his mind was trying to reject it, trying to block out what didn’t make sense—
—but the memories kept forming.
A car crash.
Izuku wasn’t sure how many times it repeated. Three? Maybe four? Every time they had left to get the autograph, the car had crashed. And every time, it was like he’d been pulled back, into the static. As if the time rewound when the moment the pain became too much.
But this time... Mom had gone alone.
He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t remembered—not really—and he hadn’t been strong enough to tell her.
She was alone in that car. She’d be alone when it crashed.
Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to the warmth of her hug that morning. Her comforting smile. Her soft voice, reassuring everything would be okay.
Maybe this time it wouldn’t happen?
Maybe him and Uncle Usamu staying home was different enough and she was safe. Maybe it had changed the outcome.
He clung to that hope, as tightly as his trembling hands could. Desperately wishing for it as the world around him started to become clearer.
But deep down, beneath the hope and the fog, he already knew.
He knew she’d be gone.
“Oh Izuku... Sunshine...”
Izuku’s breath caught. That was Mom’s voice. Thick and raspy with emotions, but still familiar and warm.
Mom was here. Mom was okay!
He tried to sit up, he had to see her. Every movement felt like dragging his limbs through molasses, but Mom didn’t come help him up.
He blinked, trying to push the haziness away.
The room was unfamiliar—white, clinical, but softened with here and there with pastel curtains and some flowers on a table. A large machine next to him beeped rhythmically, displaying his heartbeat.
Mom was sitting in a plush chair beside the bed. Her face was buried in her hands as tears flowed like waterfalls.
“Mom...” he croaked out.
“Izuku, I’m so sorry...” Her voice trembled.
Izuku squinted through the fog in his head. For a moment, she looked strange. Her cardigan—the soft pink one loved to wear—was ragged and soaked in a dark, blotchy red. Her legs bent oddly. When she looked up, the left side of her face was darkly bruised.
Izuku blinked, and she looked normal again.
Or at least, close to normal. She was translucent—he could almost see the plush chair she sat on through her—and her pupils had an odd, white sheen. Her lip trembled, eyes overflowing with tears as she looked at him—utter devastation etched onto her face.
“Mom? W-what’s wrong? Are you okay—” Izuku reached out, trying to touch her shoulder, to get her attention.
He went through her.
Izuku gasped. Sharp, freezing pain shot through his arm.
Mom jumped to her feet, panic flaring across her face.
“Izuku?! What happened, are you okay?!”
“Mom, I, I...!” Desperately, he reached out again. And again and again. Every attempt sent another jolt of icy pain through him, but he couldn’t stop.
“Izuku, I—how?” She stammered, eyes wide, reflexively trying to reach back for him as his breathing grew rapid and shallow—to offer the comfort and warmth she always gave so freely. “Hey, shh, Izuku... You’re going to be fine, okay? J-just breathe—I’ll, I’ll-”
Izuku was gasping through panicked sobs as she tried to calm him—ground him with a touch—but couldn’t connect. Even as she tried to wrap her arms around him, she was cold and it hurt but Izuku couldn’t stop trying to reach back.
The heart monitor’s beeped faster, louder.
She was right there!
It was supposed to be okay now!
“Please, Mom!” He screamed, the panic cracking his voice. “Please!”
“I’m sorry! Izuku, I can’t—I’m so sorry-!”
Her voice raised in panic, breaking. She tried to hold him, comfort him, be his mom—
—the cold only worsened.
“Izuku!”
The door slammed open.
Uncle Usamu stood in the doorway, out of breath, several people behind him. His eyes scanned eyes the room before locking on Izuku.
“Izuku,” he repeated breathlessly, rushing over and dropping to his knees beside the bed. His arms—warm, real—around wrapped around the boy as he continued to struggle.
“You’re okay, shh, calm down.”
“N-no! Mom!”
Izuku squirmed, trying to reach her, but his uncle’s grip was too tight. He didn’t want Uncle Osamu’s hugs. He needed Mom!
“I’m sorry, Izuku, she can’t come.”
Izuku froze.
Can’t... come?
She was right there! Couldn’t he see her too?!
“There was an accident. On the way to the event.” Uncle Usamu continued, voice thick. “A car collided with her car. Izuku... I’m sorry... She didn’t make it.”
Izuku stared blankly, uncomprehending of the information.
Yes, the repeating memories were about a car crash, and yes, he had feared it would happen this time. But that couldn’t be right. She was here, she couldn’t be—
“Izuku...” her voice was softer than before. She looked away as if unable to face him. Her pupils have become white, Izuku thought absently—unable to process her words—like she’s blind.
“I-I died”
She let out another sob. “I-I died, and I’m a ghost, and, and I don’t know how you can see me but, but I...” she broke down crying again.
Oh. Oh... Izuku’s mind stalled. Mom was... dead?
The staticky memories were real after all?
How? Why?
What was the static...?
The static came when he was injured, it pulled him back—made him relive the same morning again... Seeing people that were supposed to be gone...
The only explanation was... a Quirk?
He hadn’t been in danger this time, but if he had been in the crash before... maybe that was it.
A forced Quirk manifestation.
Maybe he really had just manifested a Quirk—just like he’d wished for the last four years.
...
If this was how he fulfilled his promise to Kacchan, he could finally be a hero—only to lose Mom.
Maybe it would have been better if he’d have stayed Quirkless.