Chapter Text
“That ends homeroom today. Yaoyorozu, Midoriya, please come with me. Representatives from the Hero Commission want to speak with you. The rest of you, continue on to math.”
Izuku stood. So did Yaoyorozu.
Aizawa led them through hallway after hallway. It took long enough for Izuku to get properly anxious, to worry about every last thing he had done in the past few months, to wonder if they were about to get expelled, and—
Aizawa on, face blank with repressed anger. He stopped before a large pair of double doors. “No matter what the Commissioners say,” Aizawa said, looking both of them in the eye, “hold your tempers. You are both on thin ice from your actions at Kamino.”
That did nothing to soothe Izuku’s nerves.
The doors opened.
Two people sat inside, dressed in business clothes. There was an exchange of formalities that Izuku was too nervous to register, then Izuku found himself settling onto a stiff, leather couch beside Yaoyorozu.
The doors opened again, and in came Monoma and another boy Izuku didn’t recognize. They, too, exchanged brief formalities and sat, Monoma glaring at Izuku from his chair.
There was a moment of silence before the woman commissioner picked up a stack of folders from her lap and started speaking. “This morning, Hawks caught sight of someone believed to be a League of Villains operative.”
That was—what? He wasn’t in trouble? No longer sure what to expect, Izuku nodded, back tense.
“The operative wore a hoodie and had their back to Hawks, so we have very little information on the operative. However, they held a male uniform for Ryloth High School.”
Okay, but why were they telling him this, and why didn’t Hawks apprehend the person, or couldn’t he—
“Hawks attempted to approach,” the woman said, cutting across his thoughts, “and found himself back at his apartment. We don’t know the Quirk at work.”
The male Commissioner nodded. “The Hero Commission has prioritized League-related activity. We have scanned Ryloth High School for all Quirks that could have produced such an effect. Unfortunately, people lie about Quirk functions, and there are no obvious Quirk matchups. That is where you four come in.”
Yaoyorozu raised her hand. “With all due respect, this is sensitive information. What can four first year students do about it?”
“You four have been selected to attend Ryloth High School and identify the League operative,” said the man, and oh.
Oh.
Okay, Izuku could work with this.
(He wasn’t in trouble. That was a relief.)
“Second and third years are too well-known to go undercover,” said the woman. “Of the first years, your teachers report you four are capable and able to operate independently.”
His gaze transferred over to Izuku. “You were nearly not selected, given your unauthorized presence in Hosu and Kamino. Given the exceptional nature of both incidents, we are giving you one last chance to prove your worth. Fail us now, and you’re out as a hero forever.”
Izuku swallowed, throat squeezing, tears prickling at his eyes. “Understood. Sir.”
“He’s a child,” Aizawa said, the words tense. “He’s only a first year student, and the League has already expressed specific interest in him. His selection is illogical.”
“One more objection,” the woman said, “and we will charge you for obstruction of a mission. He is trained enough, unless you are calling your own teaching into doubt, and there is minimal risk of League contact.”
“Excuse me,” Izuku said, only barely not interrupting, “but when does this mission start?” With relief, he saw the woman turn her attention toward him and away from Aizawa.
“Tomorrow.”
That was—fast.
“There is little you four need to prepare,” the man said, taking the folders from the woman and handing them out. “These folders contain your instructions. The key information is as follows. Each of you must take measures to disguise your appearance and Quirks. Furthermore, you must each adjust your persona to something appropriate for this mission.”
His gaze transferred to Monoma. “You must reduce your contempt for others, or you will never integrate yourself into the peer network. Yaoyorozu, you must be more assertive.” He then turned to the boy Izuku didn’t recognize. “Shishida, you must remain calm under pressure. Finally—“ he looked Izuku up and down “—your Sports Festival fight was memorable in its ferocity.”
With half-shame, half-pride, Izuku remembered the screaming mess he had become to win the obstacle race, to fight in teams, to defeat Todoroki. The Commissioners were right; that day had been far from his normal.
“You may act normally, as your teachers report your ‘normal’ is meek, so long as your ‘normal’ never approaches behavior in the Sports Festival,” the man continued. “You will all, however, need a new name. Please consult your folder for details.”
Izuku flipped open the folder with trembling hands. Inside, in bold letters, were the words RYO TAGUCHI.
“From tomorrow onwards, you will respond only to these names,” the man said. “Your homeroom teachers will complete your briefings. Please consider them your handlers, and avoid contact with each other. Thank you for your cooperation in this matter.”
He stood, and the woman stood with him. They walked out, leaving everyone staring blankly at each other.
Aizawa nodded. “Shishida, Monoma, please head to the teacher’s lounge. Kan will continue your briefing there.”
Shishida nodded. Monoma sent Izuku and Yaoyorozu a poisonous look before following Shishida out the door.
Settling into Monoma’s chair, Aizawa paused for several uncomfortable seconds before speaking. “You two both have a good head on your shoulders. Use it. We need to talk about your Quirks. Yaoyorozu.”
“Yes, sensei?”
“You were selected partially because of your Quirk. Use it. Don’t let other students see it. On paper, your Quirk is now the ability to summon glass from your palms.”
Yaoyorozu nodded, glancing down at her hands. “Understood.”
“Midoriya, the Hero Commission says your Quirk is too distinctive to hide. Furthermore, your mission is about befriending a social outcast that may be the League operative. Your target won’t approach someone with a socially acceptable Quirk like yours. To that end, you are now Quirkless on paper.”
Izuku’s stomach froze over. He forced out a nod.
Aizawa said more things, after that. Izuku distantly thought to hope that everything Aizawa said was summarized in his folder, because his ability to pay attention was shattered by the word Quirkless .
At last, the meeting ended. At last, Izuku could leave.
Aizawa stopped him on the way out. “Midoriya, what is it?”
“Nothing.”
“You look ill. Do you have information that will compromise your ability to complete this mission?”
“No,” Izuku mumbled. “Nothing. I’m just surprised at the assignment. I’ll be fine.”
“Midoriya—“
“I’ll be fine,” Izuku repeated, forceful with intent.
The rest of the day was a blur. Izuku read the folder of information front to back, which was how he learned that each UA student was assigned to a specific suspect, and would be placed in that suspect’s classroom. Izuku was assigned to Kimi Suko, a girl whose Quirk sent targets to the nearest safe place.
Then Izuku went from class to class, asking for take-home work to replace his class work. He was going to miss so many classes, and the Cultural Festival—
Eri. His stomach froze over again as he thought about Eri. He had promised to take her to the Cultural Festival. He broke down then and there, right in front of Present Mic.
“You okay there, listener?” Present Mic asked, patting his back. “You’ve got a crazy assignment—“
“I need to see Eri,” Izuku gasped, and ran out of the room.
Eri took his explanation with a blank face. “You’re going away?” she asked, voice small.
“Only for a while,” Izuku promised, kneeling at her side, heart breaking. “I promise I’ll be back.”
“You promise,” she echoed, sounding lost, and Izuku vowed to take down the League operative as fast as possible in order to return to her side. She needed him right now. It stung, deep down, to abandon a hurting child, and he never would have done it if he hadn’t been under orders.
He took a moment to breathe, then, and found himself falling apart all over. Quirkless, Aizawa had said. He was Quirkless again.
Izuku had grown past the ridicule and contempt of middle school, but he knew himself well enough to see that the growth was fragile, and would probably collapse when he was dumped back into things all over again.
He couldn’t think of that, otherwise he wouldn’t get ready in time. He had to focus on other things. He had to.
The file said he needed to change his appearance, so he borrowed hair dye from Aoyama and asked Mina for a haircut. Fifteen minutes later, he was staring at a pile of green fluff on the floor, not quite daring to look at his reflection. Twenty minutes later, he was calling to explain all this to his mom.
“Izuku,” she whispered. “I’m not happy that you’re doing this.”
Heart sinking, Izuku selected the words that had worked in the past. “I’m doing this so I can be qualified to help people, mom. You can pull me out of UA if you want, but I’m not going to stop helping people.”
“When did my baby get so grown up?” she murmured. “Izuku, be safe.”
“Also, I got a haircut,” Izuku said, for lack of anything else to say. “It’s nice. I think.” He glanced in the mirror and winced. He didn’t much like it, but it did change the shape of his face quite a lot. “Um, yeah. Bye mom!”
Yeah, that was awkward.
Yeah.
“—transfer student,” said his new teacher. “Please welcome Taguchi to our classroom.”
Izuku bowed, feeling the new uniform rub against his skin at the movement. It was looser and darker than UA’s stiff, formal uniform.
“Taguchi is Quirkless,” his teacher added, and immediately, the mood of the room shifted to something colder, nastier. “Please take special care of him! Taguchi, your seat is in the back right.”
Izuku hadn’t anticipated how much this would hurt. When the Commissioner had said
Quirkless, he had thought of a past filled with old pain. This was new pain. This was the story of how his life would have gone without All Might.
This was the story of a Quirkless boy that no one wanted, and already Izuku wanted to flee back to UA.
He shuffled to his seat, slipping with weary ease back into the body language of the Quirkless: shoulders in, head down, feet quiet on the floor. The idea was to not get noticed, and if he weren’t a new transfer student, it might have worked.
As it was, he sat down to something squishy. It was gum. Fresh gum, soft with spittle.
Welcome to Ryloth.
Suko, his target, didn’t do much during class. She had a tendency to flip her hair off her shoulders, and huddle over her desk, and only speak rarely. That was about all Izuku noticed by the time class let out.
People surrounded his desk after class. Some looked curious; more looked unkind. This was all par for the course, minus the curiosity. Izuku clutched his near-empty notebook to his chest. That was always the first thing to go.
“So,” said a boy with a long neck. “Quirkless, right?”
Izuku sat quietly, head bowed. It was best, he’d found, to stay silent and wait for the bullying to pass.
“Hey,” said someone outside the circle. “Shove off.”
The room fell silent, just like that.
“Nothing to say, huh?” mocked the speaker, with an undercurrent of pain. “Well, then, get moving.”
And they all did.
Izuku met eyes with a purple-haired boy as the crowd dissipated. “Thanks,” he said, hating how his voice wobbled. He had faced down villains—faced down the League of Villains—and yet a bit of not-even-quite-bullying had him shaken.
The boy snorted, and left.
A girl lingered in the room. “You shouldn’t talk to him,” she whispered, packing away the last of her books. “He can brainwash you if you do.”
Izuku sucked in a breath, still angry at himself for being rattled. “Who are you?”
“Yui Fujito. Listen, if you come with me, I can show you who to avoid.”
“I—“ Izuku hesitated. “—Okay.”
Izuku spent his lunch having people pointed out to him. A black-eyed girl. A girl glowing sickly green. A boy with white hair. Izuku rubbed his own hair, dyed white with Ashido’s help (All Might had done a spit-take and gone pale at the sight, so it didn’t suit Izuku well). Fujito pointed out even more people, almost enough that Izuku lost track.
“—and then there’s Shinsou. You already met him. He’s—not bad. He won’t try to hurt you, anyways. But it’s social suicide to talk to him.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “I’m Quirkless. Um. Look. Why are you even talking to me? No one wants to hang out with the Quirkless kid.”
“My brother is Quirkless,” she murmured back. “I’ve seen how people mess with him. I can’t help you much beyond this. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks anyways,” Izuku said, and they split ways.
More classes. More glances from his peers. Shinsou sat by the window, spacing out, while Izuku watched Suko out of the corner of his eyes. She stared down at her desk and, as he watched, she jerked her head to the side, flipping her hair back over her shoulders.
Time wore on. Izuku started a sketch of Suko, fist clenched around the pencil to keep his hand steady.
“—answer to question seven, Taguchi?”
Izuku kept drawing.
“Taguchi!
Oh. He was Taguchi. This would take some getting used to.
He glanced at the board. “The indefinite pronoun is in the wrong place,” he said. He had known UA’s courses were intense, but he hadn’t realized how far ahead of normal high school curriculum he was until he got here. They had covered everything from each class months ago.
“Correct. Suko, what—“
Izuku returned to drawing. He missed UA. He missed having friends. He missed Aizawa’s style of trusting his students to do the work assigned instead of monitoring every tiny step.
He shut his notebook with a snap as class let out. He was Izuku Midoriya. He was stronger than this wallowing.
Shinsou, apparently, wasn’t. He wallowed with vigor, eyes glassy and distant, and Izuku couldn’t help but feel sympathetic. Suko left the room with everyone else, but Izuku stayed, determined. He set a course for Shinsou, who was still in his seat, scowling at his desk.
Shinsou looked tired.
“Hi,” Izuku said. “Thanks for saving me, earlier.”
Shinsou grunted.
“I really appreciate it,” Izuku said, biting the inside of his cheek to control his nervousness. “I—“
“Look,” Shinsou said, turning to face Izuku. “I’m sure you’ve already been warned about my Quirk, so why don’t we just leave each other alone?”
Izuku blinked, taken aback.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Shinsou said, dry as dust. “Move, new kid. It’s time for me to go.”
Izuku stepped to the side, numb with the shock of rejection.
It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with rejection. It was just that his peers tended to accept, or at least tolerate, him after UA.
But this wasn’t UA, he had to keep reminding himself. This was his Quirkless high school.
By the time he gathered himself enough to respond, Shinsou was out the door.
He went home to a blank apartment. He couldn’t go to the UA dorms, for obvious reasons, but neither could he go home to his mother since Ryloth High School was on the opposite side of town. The Hero Commission had therefore arranged for this apartment, small and impersonal, while he attended school.
Aizawa was there when he walked in the door. “Any news?” the man asked, blunt and to the point.
“None,” Izuku sighed, slithering off his backpack. “It was just a normal first day.”
Aizawa glanced at him. “The Quirkless don’t get normal days.”
Izuku nearly burst into tears and told Aizawa about his Quirkless history right then and there, undone by compassion, but he kept it together. “No one was that mean,” he muttered. Not compared to middle school, anyways.
“Midoriya,” Aizawa started, sounding exhausted, “you have to let people help you.”
This was a fair point, and something Izuku was working on getting better at, but it was also a demand that was impossible to meet when Izuku was so locked in memories of middle school, of abusive peers, of indifferent teachers.
“Midoriya.”
“I know,” Izuku said, tracing the carpet pattern with his foot. “I’m fine.”
Aizawa crouched down so he was eye-level with Izuku. “The Quirkless have it cruel. You’re Quirkless now. Don’t pretend everything’s normal.”
“It’s for the mission,” Izuku said, almost believing it.
“You—“ Aizawa stood up, raking his hand through his hair. “Midoriya, you’re a child. You shouldn’t be put in this position without far more maturity and psychological training.”
“I’m mature enough,” Izuku said, quiet, firm.
“Your immaturity isn’t an insult. It’s a fact. You’re sixteen, Midoriya. The government shouldn’t be treating you like an adult.”
“I’m mature enough,” Izuku repeated, holding back bubbling tears.
“Look,” Aizawa said, shoulders slumping. “I trust you. You can handle yourself well. I’m just worried about you.”
Izuku sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He pressed the tears away, folded then up deep inside him, before speaking. “I’m fine, sensei. I promise.”
Aizawa looked—upset? Disappointed?
Shame curdled in Izuku’s stomach. This wasn’t how he had wanted this conversation to go.
“It’s hard,” he admitted, shuddering at the understatement. “But I’ve done harder.”
“You shouldn’t have had to,” Aizawa murmured. “Midoriya, I understand not wanting to talk to me. But you have to talk to someone. Call your mother. Call All Might. I don’t care, just talk to someone.”
“Okay,” Izuku lied.
“Problem child,” Aizawa said, exhaling. “Alright. I’ll check back in with you in a week. Call me if you need it.”
“Okay,” Izuku lied again.
Aizawa looked sharply at him. “Midoriya, even the best heroes ask for help.”
“I know,” Izuku said, and he did know. He just couldn’t bear to burden his friends and family with something so ugly.
Sighing, Aizawa padded to the door. “You’re smarter than this, Midoriya. I’m ready when you are.”
“Of course,” Izuku said, the words hollow even to his ears, and watched the door slam shut.