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What is power?
In some universes, it is Bakugou Katsuki who gains the power of atomic bombs within his hands, forcing the world to bend to his knee. In other universes, it is a shy, freckled boy who plays Oppenheimer, scared of his own power, a kid who flinches from his own explosions as if it would ever mark his own quirked skin.
In both universes, men are not created equal.
(What if it was Bakugou Katsuki who was the quirkless one?)
Here’s how it goes: little Midoriya Izuku gets an explosion quirk, a mutation from his parents; one that’s already a poor, poor fit for a child like him, so soft and so very kind with such a very dangerous power. But I suppose all children must adapt eventually.
(An unlucky combination of Inko’s Attraction of Small Objects and Hisashi’s Fire-Breath. It is called Ignition. The ability to attract air and set subatomic air particles on fire. Oxygen and fire—the two ingredients for combustion. All it takes is the wrong bit of volatile fuel—which could be anything, really—for things to become explosive.
The day he got his quirk, Izuku cried and cried, having injured himself from his own blasts and yet, no scars mar his hands. Inko reassures him over and over again, that it is okay, but he cannot tear his eyes away from the bandage covering half of her face.)
Here’s how it goes: Bakugou Katsuki learns that life is unfair on his sixth birthday (two years, too late for a Quirk). His mother, Mitsuki, buys him an ice cream on the way home, the bandages still on his small tiny hands after he brought wrath upon the doctor’s office when the word was uttered: Quirkless.
(He may have not had a Quirk. But whoever needed a quirk to destroy things? Katsuki was born a destroyer. A label, a word, an insult, will change nothing.
This will become a reoccurring theme: who needs a quirk to be explosive?)
Izuku holds out his hand to a fallen Katsuki.
Katsuki slaps it away, although this time, for entirely different reasons.
He will help himself up, thank you very much.
(Izuku had stared at him with concern but he saw nothing more than disgusting pity in his eyes.)
This will be a misunderstanding that won’t be resolved for years to come.
The kind, green-haired boy is beloved. Straight-A student. A talented Quirk analyst. The talk of the whole school. Groupies and fans trail after him. Teachers praise and adore him. They coo after his quirk, oh won’t you show it to us? Won’t you? Won’t you?
Izuku tugs his long sleeves down (an oversized uniform he purposefully ordered on the school website, long after Mama had gone to sleep) and hides the gloves he wears.
(Inko started wearing her hair long sometime after Izuku’s fifth birthday, fashionably swooped over one eye, chosen from a catalogue of the latest fashionable heroes like Uwabami and Best Jeanist. She goes through all sorts of different styles. They can’t afford much but with a little bit of couponing and at-home-DIY, it is like she did it in a high-end salon.
It is stylish. It is practical. And no one sees the scar that covers her left eye.
Izuku, out of penance, of unwanted guilt, started wearing gloves soon after.)
Izuku is hounded by the teachers for his quirk that frankly, anyone can see he’s scared of using. But society is cruel as it is unfair. They think he’s just too meek, too shy. Teachers smile softly and book him counselling sessions with the school therapist. You’ll be a great someday, they say. He looks down at his own hands and sees nothing more than weapons of mass destruction.
Dekiru, they call him. You can do it! they all say. His teachers give him sympathetic looks. You can do it. You can use your quirk.
Dekiru. The name sticks.
Seventh birthday passes. Over half the school begged to attend his party. Izuku sits alone in his bed, in the empty silence of the house and wonders how can people see beauty in destruction. A quirk that does nothing more than hurt, than blow things up—and yet. Hero. Hero, is all they whisper.
What does this say about society? he dares to think.
(They all adore his power, encourages him to use it. It only makes Izuku more scared to use it, in the end. The fact that a small child can have empathy and a concept of care for others far beyond the capabilities of adults is astounding and saddening.)
The world, urging a child into violence.
By the time he finishes middle school, Izuku knows the concept of violence intimately.
What kind of society would encourage a child to be violent?
There is one boy who sits alone at lunch. Blond and spiked haired. Hated for his personality, hated for his quirk (or lack thereof) and most of all, hated for how he refuses pity. Refuses submission. Refuses to allow himself to be dehumanised.
He is bent and shaped in all the wrong ways. He is all the things a Quirkless person isn’t suppose to be and more.
He is not what people expect from a Quirkless person. Katsuki is not deferential. He is not thankful to exist. He is Bakugou Katsuki, a pain in the ass, a nightmare, someone weak who dares to be mean and cruel as if society has decided that only the powerful can be tyrants.
Here, they call him a delinquent. In another life, he would’ve been bullied. In an even further life, he would’ve been the bully.
In this life, bullies soon learn that Quirkless does not equate to weak, that his fists may not possess the power of explosives but nonetheless, contains years of martial arts and boxing. By the time he is seven, the other students leave him alone, giving him a wide six-feet berth in the hallways, even if they dare write shitty, shitty notes on his desk.
Katsuki scoffs. Cowards, the lot of them. Playing only where he can’t catch them. Writing notes on desks only when he’s out of the room. There is no bravery if you never risk your neck. He has never tolerated others looking down on him. He will force them to acknowledge him—force the world to bend to his will—with his raw power and his own two quirkless, quirkless hands.
(Izuku stares in deep concern at his best friend. Well, former best friend, as Katsuki would put it. But they’re still friends. Izuku knows that they’re still friends. And he cannot let anyone go bullied.
Izuku pulls aside some students—the crueler bullies—to speak with them, pleading for them to not hurt the spiky blond. Under the pressure of the most popular kid in school, the bullies back off on Izuku’s word.
It takes years for Katsuki to find out he did this.)
His classmates initially thought he was defenceless, helpless. Even meek. All because of his lack of a Quirk.
His classmates very quickly learn that is a wrong assumption to make. Katsuki has never been the definition of meek, not even in a quirkless world.
Every snub is fuel to the fire. Every whisper is gasoline onto the fire. A wildfire that doesn’t physically manifest in burns and explosions but is lethal nonetheless.
Bakugou Katsuki is full of rage, spite, and power.
He used to watch superhero cartoons as a child, you know? Fictional bright superheroes, all from the pre-Quirk era. Powerless main characters who become the strongest of all. Young, weak boys who become the heroes who save the day.
Katsuki flexes his hands (though explosions don’t come—it never does.)
He is powerless. He is the main character. Everyone else are extras.
The same day that Katsuki proclaimed that he was going to U.A. (and met with a round of hysterical, slightly nervous, laughter) was the same day that he got suspended for bashing his classmates’s heads into school desks, until they finally apologised for mockery.
The very next day, he printed a second copy of his U.A. application and taped it into the chalkboard, stark white paper against the pitch black background for all to see, daring for anyone to comment.
That same afternoon, Katsuki finds out what Izuku had done. And something in his world shatters.
(This entire time. This entire time, Katsuki thought he stopped the bullies with his own power. He thought he successfully defeated them. The one thing that he could claim for himself, the one instance of power that he has.
It turns out, power always belonged to the Quirked.
Izuku had good intentions, he’s sure. But it doesn’t remove Katsuki’s agency any less.)
In this world, Izuku is the one with the quirk.
Nonetheless, in this world, Izuku is the one that leaves with wounds up and down his arms (bruises, instead of burns, but wounds all the same.)
Izuku still gets harmed by the Slime Villain. Little, little Dekiru, he feels the power in his palms. You can do it!—except no he can’t no he can’t no he can’t—too afraid to use his powers, even against a villain. Thank God, All Might was there.
He clings to his favourite hero’s leg (though in this universe, his quirk had matured him fast and he no longer carries stars in his eyes but rather, a guilt that is far too old for his age) and—locking pleading, begging eyes—and asks whether someone can be a hero without a quirk.
(Izuku is not talking about Katsuki. He is talking about himself.)
(Can you be a hero without idolising destruction? Can hero society survive without glamourising violence?
The villains who die before being arrested, bashed too hard into walls. The heroes who retire in their thirties and forties, with joint problems, broken bones, and missing limbs. The morality rate that has skyrocketed for everyone alike. The villains who died a brutal death, the heroes who died in vain, the civilians who never needed to die in the first place.
The cruel, cruel world that marketed violence as a final solution.
Hero society is kind to no one and has naught mercy to spare. Those Quirkless and “villainous” are discriminated. Those powerful are trained into weapons, their entire existence to be a gun pointed and aimed. Villains, who are condemned to death and allowed no dignity nor mercy of rehabilitation or second chances. Heroes, who give up their youth and lives chasing an endless goal. Civilians, who die as the nameless casualties of everyone else.
Heroes are corrupt, fame-hungry, greedy, says Stain.
But it is a symptom, not a cause.
Heroes are people too—greedy, selfish, desperate, terribly human people. People who want to live, who want to have careers and jobs. It is easier, to pretend that heroes are some noble, untouchable, inhuman idols of pure goodness. That they are like angels, meant to be free from temptation.
It is hard to acknowledge that heroes are people. Terribly awful, terrible human people. That they’re no purer than the rest of us, born with the same sin that stains Adam and Eve. Perhaps it would all be easier, if we pretend that the impossible standard that heroes are held up to is achievable.
Perhaps it would all be easier, if we blame the symptom and not the root of the cause. That way, no one has to go through the effort of actually changing anything about society. If there’s one thing people hate more than inequality, it is actually going through the effort to take action.
Heroes are fake and fame-hungry. This is the common, universally known truth. But anybody else would be too, as anything less will not survive in a capitalistic world. Heroes sell themselves—but then again, don’t we all? Don’t we all sell something, whether it be our lives or our money or our time or our bodies to make a living in a world driven by money?
Heroes are only marketable if there’s a market for them.
Can you market a Quirk? How impressively can you throw a punch? These, are the questions that your sponsors and PR agents and advertisers will ask.)
“Can you be a hero without a Quirk?”
All Might—the Symbol of Peace (and look at what that has costed him)—had the decency to at least look apologetic before saying,
No.
Izuku’s nails dig into his gloves, sitting on that cold lonely rooftop. He wonders that if he jumps, would he be born without a Quirk in his next life?
Katsuki meets his match, green upon red. The Slime Villain gets him in this universe, too. From the corner of his eye, he sees Izuku (green eyes terrified of his own power—but terrified for Katsuki more) jump in, hands sparkling.
Ha. Like Hell, that’s going to happen.
Katsuki has never relied on anyone else for help. He is certainly not going to rely on perfectly powerful, perfectly cowardly Izuku now.
Whoever said that you needed a quirk to be a hero? Laughable, really.
The Slime Villain is defeated, by sheer determination, spite, and two blood quirkless fists.
(Izuku stares, stunned from the sidelines. He looks at his own palms for the first time in a long while. If someone with no power can be powerful—dangerous—then the categories that which binds us holds no meaning.
If Katsuki, quirkless, quirkless Katsuki, can defeat a villain. Then maybe, Izuku can too. The fate of hero society is not set in stone. With war and violence, will come peace.)
(There is no “right” or “wrong” powers, merely how you use them. Sometimes, a person has no powers at all.)
Here’s how it goes: All Might catches up to Katsuki, coughing blood, and offers him the most powerful quirk of all. The power of powers. The Number One Hero’s quirk itself.’
And Katsuki—
(remembers his classmates treating him like he’s weak—and getting burned for it; how power has never defined what is dangerous and honestly who has allowed society to decide what us powerful and what is not; how a quirk was person can still be the most dangerous person in class—how power does not mean having a quirk—
—and feels spite anger motivation rage and power—)
—and rejects it. Firmly. He laughs in the old man’s face.
A Quirk. Offered like Katsuki has somehow been found lacking.
Everyone in his life treats him like he lacks a fundamental piece of personhood, a sign that says you will never be like us, a glowing neon sign that says You Are Weak.
He had been judged and treated like he’s been found lacking.
Since he lacks a Quirk.
Well.
He’s the son of famous, rich fashion designers. He had need to want for anything. Bakugou Katsuki has never lacked anything in his life: not care, attention, wealth or want.
Bakugou Katsuki has certainly never lacked power.
Here’s how it goes: Izuku finds Katsuki after the villain fight and apologises. He had cared for Katsuki for all these years but Izuku understands now, that sometimes care may look like a form of oppression.
Izuku had been unknowingly Quirkist all these years. He saw his quirkless best friend and sought to protect him from bullies. But now, Izuku realises, staring up at glorious, victorious Katsuki, that sometimes, people can take care of themselves.
One does not need to be malicious to be harmful. This is a lesson Izuku carries with him.
Here’s how it goes: All Might finds a suitable if a little ill-fitted successor in a very happy Mirio.
Here’s how it goes: Katsuki passes first in the U.A. entrance exam with flying colours, boxer gloves, and one (1) lack of a quirk to speak of.
(He punched those robots hard enough until they failed, until his support equipment—bought by Bakugou money and commissioned just for him—failed, until those machines exploded and U.A. had to let him in.)
(Or else, he was going to through their metal doors anyways. If society has found him lacking power then he’ll seize the power straight from their hands. He’ll crown himself Murder Explosion King, but a King nonetheless.)
Once, when Katsuki was a child, he brute-forced his way through a video game stage. Not by cheat codes or tutorials but by forcing the same level over and over again until he beat it.
He has done nothing in life if not brute-force things. A mover and a shaker. Will put into action. He is power, destruction, and domination embodied. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And if the world isn’t going to give it to you, then you take it by force.
A man once said “doing the same things over and over again and expecting a different outcome is the definition of insanity”.
Katsuki thinks that whoever said that is an idiot and that clearly, you’re not punching hard enough.
Because that’s the thing with metal doors. They only break, wear down, tear and rip and dent after you punch it, once, twice, thrice. To wear it down. To thin the metal and break through.
If a metal door is locked, it always takes more than one hit to break it down.
Whoever said that having quirks equals to having power? Bakugou Katsuku was always going to be powerful, no matter what.
He was born to be powerful.
And he’ll prove it, the spiteful, angry, destructive, quirkless thing that he is.
Bakugou Katsuki, Japan’s first ever Quirkless hero.
(And when he steps out into the hero stage and sees the faces of his childhood classmates on adult pro heroes—the disbelief and dismissal and anger and righteous and bigotry—
Well.
He’s just going to have to prove them wrong, isn’t he?
Prove them wrong, just like how he did before, again and again and again and again and again and again. And again.)
Bakugou Katsuki grins, a smile full of sharp, sharp teeth.
Years later, a spiky blond will stand atop of the Sports Festival, medal in hand, grinning like a maniac.
A certain denim-clad hero will see him on television and be the first to send him an internship offer.
In this universe, Best Jeanist will frown at his profanity (and occasionally chides him for it) but will treat him just as strictly (just as equally) as any other Quirked intern.
Katsuki will come back from his internship (still spikey haired, for Best Jeanist respects his will and audacity—although still in jeans) claiming that it was the worst thing he had ever experienced.
But he will say it with a smile on his face.
Bakugou Katsuki has always gotten everything he’d ever wanted, as shown by the scars on his knuckles. He will succeed or die trying. There is no honour in living, kneeling. It matters not, whether people acknowledge his power. In the end, everyone will be forced into their knees.
Midoriya Izuku has never gotten anything he’s wanted. Not in this life or any other life. He has no scars on his knuckles but it proves everything. Just like how the scar on his mother’s eye proves too many things, too. But one thing stays the same: when he is fourteen, he will gain power for the first time in his life. Except in this life, he will not glorify the violence that broke his bones, the glory that costs lives to maintain.
Bakugou Katsuki will prove the world that Quirks does not equal power and Midoriya Izuku will prove that violence is not necessary.
(What is power? is the question asked.
Katsuki answers: “Equality.”
Izuku answers: “Peace.”)
Izuku will still inherit the title of Symbol of Peace, as he would in every other universe. Just not in the way most would expect.
There will come a day where those two dismantle the Hero Billboard Rankings side by side. A system that promotes violence at the cost of everyone involved. Violence that boosts popularity, which in turns promotes violence.
It’s no secret that that top ranking heroes are also the most flashy, the most powerful—the most violent. All Might may be all smiles but he is a forced to be reckoned with, much like everyone else.
The rankings have caused more pain and trouble than their worth, Izuku knows, glancing at Shouto out of the corner of his eye.
(Enji, violent hero, abusing his kids, terrorising his wife into insanity, all for the goal of a powerful quirk.
Yagi, coughing blood, who maintains the appearance of strength even at the cost of his own health.
Many other heroes who have lost limbs and years of their life and their mobility. Villains, who were killed when they could’ve been captured and rehabilitated.
Civilians, who died as casualties in unnecessarily violent but flashy battles.)
Katsuki—bold, confident, “I am Number One”—Katsuki Bakugou is the first to support Izuku, much to the surprise of everyone except Izuku.
But he knows, glancing down at his scarred wrists and knuckles, scars from the kids who bullied him and scars from the punches he used to fight back—that strength is who you are, not what you have nor what others think of you.
He is powerful—have always been powerful—long before anyone has recognised that. He had never cared for the opinions of other people, not for his quirkist classmates, not for anybody.
Katsuki was already Number One the day he threw a tantrum in the doctor’s office, a protest of his Quirkless diagnosis.
Katsuki is Number One now, regardless of any hero ranking.
And in it is ushered, the Era of Peace.
And perhaps, this is what power is.