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Izuku’s learned a lot of things ever since he’s started attending U.A. He’s learned how to control One for All and use it in ways he never thought possible. He’s learned that pro heroes are just as human as the everyone else, no matter what the news might lead the public to believe. He’s learned how to help others, even if they don’t quite know they need helping yet. Most importantly, he’s learned just how good it feels to have and be surrounded by real friends for the first time in his life.
Unfortunately, he’s also learned that just because his friends are good people, that does not make them incapable of hurting him. There are many areas this lesson is applicable, but none encapsulate it quite as well as the way they talk about Quirklessness.
It’s not that his peers are inherently cruel to the Quirkless. Izuku firmly believes that, if the truth ever got out to his classmates, they would still welcome him with open arms. At the same time though, acceptance does not necessarily mean they are well-informed on the subject. His classmates might be well-intentioned, but sometimes the words that come out of their mouths cut deeper than even he could have ever expected.
Like right now for example.
“Hey, did you guys know that U.A. allows Quirkless students to apply to all its courses?” Hagakure starts, voice bubbly with excitement over this apparently new tidbit of information she’s discovered.
“Really?” Kirishima asks, rising to her bait. “Where’d ya hear that?”
“It was in an article I read this morning! I fell down a Tweeter rabbithole and I was in this one thread about U.A. activism that linked to this article from, like, two years ago? Or maybe it was three? I don’t know, not important! But what is important is that a couple years ago U.A. passed this policy to get rid of Quirkless discrimination in the application process. So far it’s the only school in Japan to actually have, like, an actual, explicit rule about it! Isn’t that super cool?! We’re the first!” Hagakure gushes, the sleeves of her uniform gesticulating wildly as if to emphasize just how amazing she thinks it is.
Izuku knows exactly what rule change she’s talking about. He remembers seeing the news on one of his favorite hero sites back in his second year of junior high. The link to the article had almost been hidden, sitting at the bottom of the daily updates page as if the moderators hadn’t thought anyone would actually be interested in it. Izuku certainly was, though. He remembers crying just reading the headline because even if the chances he could get into U.A. were still slim, this at least meant he had a chance. He printed out the article immediately, practically shoved it in his mom’s face while rambling, and then later hung it on the fridge. He finds himself grinning at the memory.
“Hell yeah, that is pretty manly!” Kirishima exclaims. “I don’t see why Quirkless kids shouldn’t be let into stuff like the Gen Ed or Business courses. It’s not like those courses require you to use a Quirk or anything, so it only makes sense to let Quirkless kids in too.”
“But it’s not just those courses. In theory they could even apply to the hero course if they wanted to.” Hagakure responds.
It’s here that Izuku senses a shift in his classmates.
“The hero course…? So, they would take the same entrance exam that we did?” Sato asks carefully, almost as if he’s digesting this new information. Izuku, meanwhile, is focusing hard on not showing any kind of visible reaction to this seeming “twist” that’s presented itself to 1-A.
“Yep yep!”
“Isn’t that, I don’t know, kinda irresponsible on the part of U.A.?” Kirishima asks, shifting slightly. “I mean, those robots were huge! And dangerous! It was hard enough for some of us to take them on, but without a Quirk to attack them with…”
“Hagakure doesn’t have an offensive Quirk at all.” Izuku finds himself jumping into the conversation. Before he can regret speaking, he barrels onto his next sentence. “I mean, she essentially had to fight the robots Quirkless if you think about it.”
“Hmmm I get what you’re trying to say, Midoriya, but it’s not really the same.” He can hear the mischievous undertone in Hagakure’s voice. “I stripped as soon as the exam started which kept the robots from targeting me. From there it was just a matter of tripping a few of them with some rubble and wires. I really don’t think I could’ve gotten so many if I wasn’t invisible.”
“Yes, but in theory…” Midoriya’s voice dies when he notices how many of his classmates are staring at him quizzically. “I’m just saying it’s technically possible.” He finishes weakly before turning his gaze to the top of his desk. His classmates shrug off the odd behavior and continue their discussion.
They debate how many points a Quirkless point could get with the highest estimate being around fifteen total if the person was ridiculously in shape. They discuss whether or not there are actually any Quirkless students attending the school in other courses, the answer to which Izuku knows is a firm no. They run through how exactly a Quirkless hero would function, if one could at all.
They talk about Quirkless people, Izuku realizes, as if they’re a hypothetical. It’s not malicious. It isn’t that Quirkless people are the scum of society, as so many others seem to believe. Rather, the group of classmates who are talking just have never had to encounter an actual Quirkless person before. They don’t think there’s reason to believe that anyone in their presence would have a personal stake in the issue and thus treat it as a fun debate.
Izuku can’t fault them for the assumption. After all, for all they know he has a strong, albeit volatile, Quirk. Still though, unease curls inside of him and all he wants to do is either challenge them on their bias against Quirkless people or flee the room altogether. Maybe even one right after the other.
Before he can do anything, though, Aizawa--who at some point must have entered the classroom without anyone knowing--drops his lesson planner on his desk, getting everyone’s attention.
“Class is starting. You can socialize on your own time.” The teacher gives a pointed look to the group gathered around Izuku as they scurry to their seats, but thankfully misses making eye contact with Izuku himself. Once everyone is seated, a sadistic grin forms on his face as he pulls out a stack of papers from the top drawer of his desk. “Now, I hope you all did the reading for today because it’s time for a pop quiz.”
Izuku groans with the rest of the class, his emotions returning mostly to normal. There’s a certain weight, however, that follows him for the next two days that he just can’t seem to shake.
“It’s starting!” Ashido yells as she launches herself over the back of one of the common room couches. Kaminari winces, having not been able to completely avoid her feet kicking him on the landing.
“Yeah, we know. You don’t have to shout it loud enough for the whole school to hear.”
“Doesn’t stop you from doing the same thing every time “Shock Static” is on.”
“Okay but that’s different! You know-” Kaminari starts before being interrupted.
“Shut up! We’re going to miss the beginning of the episode!” Jirou grumbles. Both classmates fall silent, though Kaminari misses the way Ashido sticks out her tongue at him in victory, instead becoming enthralled in the opening sequence of “Hero Patrol: New Generation.”
It’s a franchise that Izuku--and evidently quite a few other classmates as well--has been watching since he was a child. The premise is fairly simple, with a small up-and-coming hero agency and a colorful cast of pro-heroes being the focus in the show’s original series. Each time the show is rebooted, it introduces new recruits to the agency, often implying that old characters have either retired or switched agencies for one reason or another. It was definitely cool whenever characters from a past iteration of the show made a cameo, even if it was only for a few minutes.
Izuku doesn’t like to show it, but Hero Patrol makes him excited. Every week he and a few of his classmates gather to watch the newest episode as it airs. “New Generation,” the newest series in the show, is only a few episodes into its run. As such, it’s still introducing some characters to the audience and getting its bearings, but he’s really liking the direction its heading so far. There’s one character in particular that’s caught his eye: Nakamura Kou.
Hero Patrol never really holds back in showing its characters’ Quirks unless there’s something particularly shocking about them, like back in season two of the original series when two characters had the same exact Quirk because they were secretly twins who had been separated at birth. With Kou, however, they haven’t even given any hints as to what this hero intern’s Quirk is. It’s probably nothing, but Izuku can’t help but just get this feeling that it’s because he doesn’t have one. He hasn’t told his theory to any of his friends, but he likes to hope.
And so when halfway through this week’s episode when another hero investigates Kou’s file and the camera zooms into the words “Quirk: N/A,” it takes almost everything in Izuku to not scream out in delight.
Because there it is. Hero Patrol, one of the most popular series among kids as well as adults just confirmed that one of the main characters is Quirkless. Most Quirkless characters in TV and movies are either super old or living some miserable existence that ends in a tragic death for them 95% of the time. But then here’s Kou. He’s young, vibrant, witty, and able to kick some serious butt alongside the rest of the agency, despite the fact he doesn’t have a Quirk. Instead he relies on a capture weapon and some awesome parkour skills.
If he weren’t surrounded by his classmates, he’d probably be crying tears of joy right now.
“So… he’s Quirkless?” Kaminari asks, the commercial break having just started. Izuku is snapped out of his train of thought by the comment.
“Maybe? I don’t know, it wasn’t very clear.” Jirou responds, using her Quirk to scratch the top of her head.
“Nah, I think N/A might mean that the agency just doesn’t know his Quirk!” Ashido pipes up with her own theory. “Like, he’s trying to keep it a secret and so he hasn’t told anyone what it is or shown it. Oooh or maybe his mentor Lightner knows, but they haven’t recorded it officially because if someone knew, then it could put him in danger! That’d be interesting!”
“Good thinking!”
“I don’t know,” Izuku starts, trying for casual and unsure if he completely succeeds. “I think he might actually just be Quirkless.”
“Really? You think so Midoriya?” Ashido turns to him with large, inquisitive eyes. “What makes you say that?”
“Oh, well um,” He can’t very well say ‘Because I know that’s exactly how they mark Quirkless people in official records’ or ‘Even in a fictional universe, nobody would simply pretend to be Quirkless because in the end they’d suffer way more than if they just lied about having a minor, imperceptible emitter Quirk.’ Instead he settles for “That just seems like something the writers would do. They always like to try new things that haven’t really been done on television before!”
“Hmm, I guess you’re right.”
“Is that really responsible of the writers if that’s the case?” Kaminari questions, cracking open a soda can and taking a sip.
“What do you mean?” Izuku asks, already dreading the answer he knows is coming.
“I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but is it really a good idea to be showing Quirkless kids that it’s okay for them to be jumping into battles like these? Kou will be okay of course ‘cuz he’s not real, but kids might not understand all that yet. I just don’t want a Quirkless kid to get hurt because they think they’ll be okay doing this kind of stuff without a Quirk.”
Izuku has so many replies to that line of thinking. First, most kids aren’t dumb enough, Quirk or no, to jump into danger just because a character on their favorite show does. Nobody’s concerned about kids with illumination Quirks deciding to explore abandoned mines just like Lightner does on the show. No one thinks that kids who can manipulate earth are going to start trying to create craters just like old fan favorite Mr. Meteor. So why is there a different standard when Quirkless kids are involved?
Additionally, Quirkless kids are constantly told that they won’t be able to do well for themselves without a Quirk. They hear it ever since they’re given the official diagnosis of Quirklessness. It’s present in the way that well-meaning adults treat them like a piece of glass that will break at any moment. It’s screamed at them in the way that fellow students hit and kick and try to beat the idea that they’re weaker than everyone else into them. It’s reinforced in the way there are no major role models for Quirkless children to look up to in practically any field. In the end, it ends up so ingrained in a child’s head that by the time they grow up they too believe themself to be too weak, too useless to ever be okay without a Quirk in a Quirk-filled world. If representation in a piece of media like Hero Patrol could help to dispel some of these doubts, if even by a little bit, then surely it would be worth it.
Lastly, it’s a kid’s show. Even if it were impossible for a Quirkless hero such as Kou to exist, why should that keep the show from exploring the idea? Unlike real life, the heroes of Hero Patrol often inexplicably defy the laws of physics and even limitations referenced directly within the show itself. (Yes, Izuku still remembers when the writers specifically stated that Captain Capricorn could only use his Quirk in the dark and then a season later showed him using it on a perfectly sunny day on the beach. No, he’s not still bitter about it.) The idea that a Quirkless character helping to fight crime is where the line for realism needs to be drawn is, quite frankly, laughable.
Before Izuku can say any of this though, the show’s back on.
It turns out Kou really is Quirkless, like Izuku said, but it doesn’t really matter. A month and a half later, Nakamura Kou is unceremoniously killed off in a minor battle at the end of an episode. Izuku later reads that it was a hastily made decision from head executives at the studio after receiving a great deal of public backlash and enough people writing into the studio to formally complain. It definitely shows. The other characters hardly even acknowledge the loss except for a short line from hero Lightner about her fallen apprentice and a quick shot of a memorial set up on Kou’s desk. Izuku doubts that same shrine will even be there come next episode. The Quirkless intern has been written out of the script and will never affect the plot ever again.
Izuku can’t help but think how much the episode hurts him. Even more than that, he thinks of how much the episode would have hurt seven-year old Izuku glued to the TV, no doubt thrilled to finally see someone Quirkless--someone like him-- living a fun and heroic life, only to have it snatched away in the blink of an eye. He thinks of all the kids that’s currently happening to, and he feels his heart squeeze in his chest.
His classmates think nothing of it. They love the episode and though a few remark about how disappointing it is to see Kou killed off--”Aww I really liked where his and Mikami’s relationship was heading”--none of them seem too upset about the loss. None of them comment about how unfair it is that they killed off the only Quirkless character in the entire cast.
So Izuku doesn’t either. He doesn’t say much of anything really. He instead dismisses himself early with an excuse of having to get up early for special training the next day. And if he cries a couple tears over a fictional character as soon as he gets back to his room, he doesn’t think his classmates need to know.
“Hyuga-san if you’d just let my explain-”
“Shut your mouth! I don’t want to hear any so-called ‘explanations’ from a Quirkless freak like you!” The voices of the two teenage boys are close, Izuku can tell. Despite the hustle and bustle typical of Musutafu in the late afternoon, the insult is muffled but the subsequent sound of something knocking into a trashcan rings loud and clear. Izuku isn’t the only one who hears the metal clang as to his left Iida visibly stiffens and Uraraka looks them at them both as if to confirm her ears aren’t playing tricks on her.
After a few seconds there’s another crash accompanied by a slight cry of pain and without saying anything to each other, the trio of friends are rushing towards the noise. It doesn’t take long for them to enter into an alley. It’s not physically dark, as cliches would suggest the setting should be, but the sight in front of them is certainly not an uplifting one.
There, on the ground, lays a blue haired boy around Izuku’s age curled up on his side. He’s wincing in pain and there isn’t much doubt as to what’s caused the expression. Another male towers over him, his foot still planted in the boy’s stomach. His back is towards the opening of the alley, so Izuku can’t see his face, but based on the laugh he lets out he must be grinning. A third teen stands by and watches, seeming almost bored with the situation. He’s not actively participating in the beating, but certainly won’t be stopping it any time soon.
“You need to learn your place Bakada,” The aggressor, who he now recognizes as the one addressed as Hyuga before, spits the insulting nickname at the boy on the ground. Or, well, Izuku hopes that’s a nickname because who in their right mind would essentially name their child idiot? “And your place is under my heel!” Hyuga pulls back for another kick, but before he can land the hit, Iida calls out.
“Cease and desist at once!” It’s authoritarian and shocks Hyuga enough to make him stumble before whipping around to see who dare interrupt him. Upon seeing students rather than the adult he was probably expecting though, he relaxes again. The bystander also seems intrigued, pushing off the alley wall he’s leaning against and turning his attention to the U.A. heroes in training.
“Or what? You’ll call my mom on me?” Hyuga scoffs. “Now scram, this has got nothing to do with you.”
“Actually, the correct course of action for us to take upon seeing displays of violence such as these is to immediately call the police.” Iida explains, the attempt at an insult going over his head. “This is at the very least third degree assault and battery, the penalty of which can be up to one year jail time.”
“Pft, they don’t give serious jail time like that to minors, stupid.” Hyuga rolls his eyes, though his face does look a bit paler at the mention of the police becoming involved.
“Maybe so, but reports like this can also go on your permanent record. I can see by your school uniforms that you attend the illustrious Yokosuka High School and as such are probably aiming for university afterwards. A noble pursuit for sure, but being a bully in high school will hardly help you in this endeavor.”
“Well it won’t go on my record then, dumbass. You wanna know why? Because it’s my word,” Hyuga proudly points to himself using his thumb. “Against some useless nobody’s.” He punctuates his sentence by jabbing his finger towards the boy on the ground, who’s slowly beginning to get to his feet. “Even if he made something up about me ‘bullying him’ or whatever, who do you think they’re going to believe?”
“Such as thing would never happen! Of course they would believe him, especially since you have presumably already left quite a few bruises on him.” Iida explains and it takes everything in Izuku’s power to contain the grimace he wants to make. His friend means well with a statement like that, but it’s simply not true. As much as he hates it, Hyuga’s right in his assessment of the situation. He should know; it’s the same story as the one Izuku experienced in elementary and junior high time and time again. If this boy really is Quirkless, like Izuku overheard earlier, then no matter how much evidence he comes up with, it will never be enough to persuade his teachers to take action.
“And even then, he’ll also have us backing him up.” Uraraka adds. “That should even the playing field, right?” She smiles sweetly, though there’s a distinct thread of fierce determination running through it. Uraraka can be pretty intimidating when she wants to be.
“You guys are from U.A.” The bystander finally speaks up, though his tone is flat.
“Yup.” Uraraka lets the sentence hang, letting her lack of words do the talking for her. There’s tension mounting in the air and a fight is probably the last thing any of the U.A. students want. Izuku decides to interrupt and insert himself into the conflict before it can escalate.
“We really don’t mean to cause any trouble. If you two want to leave now we promise we won’t report this or anything. Just go home and we can forget this every happened, okay?”
“Deku-” Uraraka hisses under her breath, obviously upset at his reassurance of dropping the issue.
“...Very well, let’s go. This was getting pretty boring anyway.” Hyuga looks like he wants to protest at his friends’ words, but then thinks better of it. The two walk past the group, brushing shoulders with Izuku as they exit the alleyway. After taking a few moments to make sure the bullies are truly gone, the trio approaches the student, who dusts off his messenger bag before slinging it across his body.
“Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you too badly, did they?” Uraraka asks, her fierceness from before replaced now with worry.
“Ah, no I’m okay. He only got a couple hits in before you guys showed up.” The student smiles, showing off his crooked grin and a small chip in his front tooth. It’s not from this altercation, but Izuku knows just how likely it is that it’s from a similar one in the past. He decides not to think about that too much.
“We apologize for not being able to intervene earlier.” Iida bows, bending a full 90 degrees.
“Really, there’s no need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault at all. Actually, it’s probably mine if we’re being honest. I’m usually able to avoid them after school, but I guess today just wasn’t my lucky day, huh?” He laughs, but it seems forced. “I’m very thankful for your help…”
“Oh, where are my manners? I never introduced myself! My name is Iida Tenya and these are my friends and classmates Uraraka Ochaco and Midoriya Izuku.” Both Izuku and Uraraka give small smiles and waves at their introductions. “We are all first years attending U.A High, though I suppose that was already made clear to you before.”
“Nice to meet you Iida-san. My name’s Takeda Junichi and I’m a second year over at Yokosuka High.” Ah, so that’s where the derogatory nickname Bakada came from then. It was a play on the teen’s family name.
“Second year at Yokosuka High? Alright then, we know exactly who we can report this incident to!” Iida proclaims. Before Takeda can say anything, Izuku pipes up for him.
“Ah, that won’t be necessary Iida-kun.”
“What?! You can’t seriously be thinking to just let this go, Deku!”
“Uraraka is right! I am all for keeping one’s word, but I believe that notifying the proper authorities takes precedence in this situation.”
“I understand that, but there’s a reason that Takeda-san here hasn’t reported it already, right?” Izuku is all too familiar with some of those reasons: fear of retaliation, fear of worrying his mother, fear of being responsible for ruining someone else’s future. The list could go on. “Why don’t we let Takeda-san decide what he wants to do and support his decision, okay?” Izuku sends what he hopes is a reassuring smile towards the older teen. It must work because he nods and returns it.
“I’d rather not file an official statement or anything.” Izuku can practically hear the “It’s not like it would matter much anyway.” There are so many ways this could be brushed off, the first of many being that it happened outside of school hours and off school property and thus the administration could do nothing about it.
Uraraka and Iida exchange careful looks before hesitantly agreeing. Izuku doubts that leaving the situation open like this sits well with them, but they also know they can’t force the issue.
“If you don’t mind us asking Takeda-kun, what caused all of this in the first place? From how you talk it doesn’t seem like this was a one time deal…” Doubt creeps into the end of Uraraka’s statement. The smile doesn’t fall off the boy’s face, but his nervousness becomes a lot more obvious.
“I, well, I don’t have a Quirk.” Sadly, this one sentence is more than enough of an explanation for his treatment.
“Oh?” Iida says, clearly shocked by this development. He must not have heard the exchange occurring before they reached the alley like Izuku had, then. That or he hadn’t processed it until just now.
“Wow, I never would have thought you were Quirkless!” Uraraka adds, probably thinking this is a compliment. Some might take it as such, but Izuku never has. “I thought for sure that the blue in your hair was related to a water Quirk of some sort. It looks just like a wave!”
“Ah, I never thought of it that way, but no. This is just some hair dye. Sorry to disappoint…”
“Nonsense! It’s still super cool!” The group starts walking out of the alley and back onto the street. Uraraka chats happily about her own adventures in hair dying in junior high while Iida agrees emphatically with certain points she makes. Izuku nods along and before long they come to a stop at a corner of the sidewalk. Uraraka and Iida are still debating the merit of banning dyed hair in schools (“If you and Deku can have ‘unnatural’ hair colors since you were born with them, what makes it so different if I were to go out and dye my hair to match yours, huh Iida-kun?”) when Izuku casts a glance over at Takeda. He isn’t quite expecting what he sees.
The boy’s eyes have wandered down and are fixated on Izuku’s shoes, the bright red sneakers that he almost never leaves the house without. Izuku then notices that Takeda is wearing the exact same shoes on his own feet. When the two make eye contact, Izuku can see the relief wash over Takeda’s expression; it practically screams “I’m not alone. Thank God.” Izuku finds himself smiling as well. He’s never met a Quirkless person around his age in person before.
The silent exchange goes unnoticed by his friends. Even if they did see it, it’s doubtful that they would have any idea the true meaning behind it. Unless somebody is Quirkless, is close with someone Quirkless, or has bothered to do research on the subject, then they’re unlikely to be familiar with the leading theory of diagnosing Quirklessness, that is, the extra toe joint. Furthermore, they don’t know that this means Quirkless individuals need slightly different shoes from the majority of the population to accommodate this seemingly slight difference in in biology. There is only one brand which actually manufactures Quirkless shoes--the market segment for the product is fairly small and decreasing as time passes--and their sneakers only ever come in red with a white sole. The unintended effect--or perhaps intended if Izuku looks at it cynically enough--is that it is very easy to identify Quirkless people as long as one knows where to look.
Takeda stares at Izuku and for the first time this entire afternoon, he thinks the smile reaches his eyes.
“Where are you headed Takeda-san? We can accompany you if you would like.” Iida declares, interrupting the moment.
“Ah, I’m okay really!” He startles, drawing his attention back over to Iida. “I’m just heading over to the train station and it’s only a few blocks away.”
“Then it will be no trouble for us to go along with you!” Energy radiates off of him, determined to escort the other high schooler. The reason why is obvious, made even more so by the fact that Iida has never been known for his subtlety. He’s worried about what will happen to Takeda if left alone.
Izuku almost has to laugh at that thought. Sure it’s tough being Quirkless, but his friend is acting like a Quirkless person walking around by themself is an inherently risky situation. Like at any moment, a thug would jump out and attack Takeda for not having a Quirk. How would anybody be able to tell, though? If anything, the anonymity of walking through a crowd was one of the times Izuku had always felt the most safe, even during his junior high years. Nobody gave him a second glance and whenever he talked with other civilians while out hero watching, they all just assumed he had some type of emitter Quirk.
No, places like school and home are much more dangerous for the Quirkless. Izuku recalls reading a study conducted by a not-for profit organization in America concerning Quirkless discrimination a couple years ago. It found that Quirkless individuals were almost four times more likely to be bullied at school than their Quirk possessing counterparts. Approximately 80% of Quirkless people experienced some type of harassment while in school, and Izuku suspects that a majority of the remaining 20% were from the older generation where, while still a minority, Quirklessness was not quite so rare.
Unfortunately, many people’s home lives aren’t much better. Quirkless children are statistically overrepresented in the fostercare system and are much less likely to be adopted out of it. Additionally, many believe that instances of child abuse are much higher when it comes to Quirkless kids. It’s hard to gather concrete data for such a claim, but it isn’t much of a stretch, especially considering the fact that Quirkless adults are three times more likely to experience domestic abuse from a partner in their lifetime. It all paints a rather bleak picture.
If anything, Iida should be making sure Takeda has somewhere safe to go home to and shouldn’t be so worried about him getting there.
“Yeah it could be fun!” Uraraka joins in.
“Oh, um...” Takeda smiles, but Izuku can tell it’s forced. He really would prefer to just walk by himself, but it’s apparent he doesn’t want to be rude and outright decline the well-intentioned offer. Izuku gets it. The older teen quickly glances over toward him, a silent request for some help.
“Come on guys, Takeda-san said that he’ll be fine. Put a little faith in him, yeah?” Izuku intervenes, smile wide as he pats the backs of his friends. “Besides, Aizawa-sensei is expecting us back soon and we really can’t afford to be late or else we’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Ah, I suppose you are correct Midoriya-kun.” Iida turns his attention back to Takeda and bows again. “It was a pleasure to meet you Takeda-san. I wish you a safe journey home. Please be careful when traveling in the future!”
“Thank you very much Iida-san. And thank you for your help with Hyuga and Ito. I really appreciate it.” With that and a quick smile Takeda readjusts the strap of his messenger bag and begins walking in the direction of the train station.
“Poor guy…” Uraraka starts as they’re heading back to school. “I really hope he’s going to be alright.”
“I’m sure he will be.” Izuku answers automatically.
“I just wish there was something more we could do to help him.”
Izuku wants to tell them that there is. He wants to lay out all the facts and statistics regarding Quirklessness and explain the systemic issues and biases in place that make living as a Quirkless person much harder than it has any right to be. How there are Quirkless advocacy groups, but most are severely underfunded and thus can’t make any real headway in regards to change. He wants to explain how they can help bring attention to these issues and organizations and hopefully help make a difference this way.
But he says none of this, instead opting for a simple nod of his head. He knows that if he were to try and speak it would come out far more emotional than he wants it to. Right now, he doesn’t think his own mental and emotional health could handle such an impassioned tirade and the questions that would follow. He stays silent and allows Iida and Uraraka to steer the conversation until they make it back to U.A.
That night, while he’s lying in bed, he wishes he had said something. Even if it would have been exhausting and burdensome, it could have done a whole lot of good as well. Even more than that, he wishes he had given his number to Takeda. He doesn’t know the whole story of Takeda’s social life of course; he could have had great, caring friends for all Izuku knows. Still, it wouldn’t have hurt anyone for Izuku to reach out and offer a lifeline, a show of solidarity, and a message that someone else out there gets it.
It’s what he would have wanted someone to do for him.
“It’s crazy to think how only a couple hundred years ago Quirks didn’t even exist!” Kirishima exclaims. Today’s class focused on Quirk history and Izuku is excited that his classmates all seem to be as interested in the material as he is.
“Yeah! And it’s even more interesting how we still don’t know for sure what actually caused the first generation of Quirks to begin with! Most scientists agree with the theory of genetic mutation, but it still doesn’t explain how there was such a large variety of them within such a short period of time. Of course, there’s also a vocal minority who claim that Quirks are the result of confidential government experimentation projects…” Izuku trails off, mumbling under his breath about the probabilities of such a conspiracy remaining covered up even after all these years. Kirishima laughs and pats him on his back, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“Never change, Midoriya. Never change.” Izuku can feel his face heat up, but he’s smiling nonetheless.
“But it is interesting to see how Quirks have evolved, non?” Aoyama’s eyes twinkle as his clasps his hands and looks enamoured with the thought. “To think, if I were born in another era you all would not have been graced with my sparkling presence and Quirk.”
“Bro, we barely even see much of your Quirk as it is.”
“Yeah, no offense Aoyama, but don’t you still have some issues using Naval Laser for too long?” Yaoyorozu asks, not unkindly. Nonetheless, the French boy deflates at the comment.
“Well, yes, but…”
“Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” The vice class representative tentatively reaches as if to comfort the boy, but pulls back before actually touching him.
“Don’t worry Aoyama-kun”, Izuku shoots him a smile. “I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out a good control system for your Quirk soon. I noticed you trying out a few new things in training yesterday and you looked like you were onto something! I actually have a few observations and suggestions I could share with you, if you want some help?”
“Ah, merci beaucoup Midoriya! I would greatly appreciate that.” He looks genuinely happy about the offer. Pride blooms in Izuku’s chest at the thought that he’s the cause of such a sincere expression.
“Yeah, cheer up Aoyama! At least you have a Quirk!” Kirishima chimes in. It takes all of Izuku’s concentration to not let his smile slip. It’s meant as encouragement, Izuku can read the obvious intention behind his friend’s statement, but all he can hear in the words is “At least you aren’t completely useless.” Just like before, Izuku weighs the pros and cons of speaking up. Maybe he’ll actually be able to say something this time. Maybe-
“Really all of us should be thankful we have Quirks.” Sero speaks for the first time in the conversation. “It’s real hard for those who don’t. Take my aunt, for example. She’s actually Quirkless, y’know.” In this moment, Izuku swears that Sero is his own personal savior. Meanwhile, Kirishima, Aoyama, and Yaoyorozu freeze in their tracks, staring at him like he just revealed the world’s greatest secret instead of just a bit of information about his family. The boy continues on, “My mom tells me that growing up was one struggle after another for her, all because she didn’t have a Quirk. I’d say she came out pretty tough in the end, though, Quirk or not.”
It’s not the same as having a Quirkless person speak from personal experience, but it really doesn’t matter; Sero has a family member who’s Quirkless. Unlike the rest of his classmates, Quirklessness isn’t some arbitrary condition to Sero. It’s not something that apparently affects 20% of the population yet seems so rare and unfamiliar to the vast majority of young people that they can hardly comprehend its existence. Izuku doesn’t know to what extent his classmate knows about his aunt’s struggle but it doesn’t matter because someone else besides him has a personal stake in this conversation.
“Woah, bro… I had no idea.”
“I wouldn’t really expect you to. It’s not like I’ve mentioned it before, after all.” Sero laughs, trying to keep the tone light, but not shrugging the conversation off. It’s a great way to approach the conversation, Izuku thinks.
“Sero… I’m so sorry.” This time Yaoyorozu actually does place her hand on her classmate’s shoulder as a show of comfort. Izuku’s pretty sure he hears Kirishima make a reassurance about strength and endurance but he can’t hear it. All he can hear is the apology.
“I’m sorry, Izuku. I’m so sorry.” Suddenly he’s four again with his mom hugging him and apologizing over and over again. Instead of encouraging him and telling him he can do anything he wants, even without a Quirk, she’s unintentionally creating cracks in his confidence and shaking his previously unfaltering determination. Over the years she would apologize for a lot of things. Every bruise, torn uniform, and tearstained notebook of Izuku’s was met with his mom’s own expression of remorse. With every “sorry” he remembers feeling like more and more of a burden on his mother, causing her so much guilt for actions neither of them could control.
He hates that “sorry” is an acceptable response to Quirklessness. Hates that people can say “sorry” and expect it to mean something when they then turn around and ignore everything they could be doing to help fix the larger problems that make living as a Quirkless person something to be “sorry” about. He shakes himself out of this line of thinking before he can get lost in it. It does him no good to dwell on it now. Later, when he’s alone, he’ll allow himself to spiral.
“Hey, no need for all that.” Sero says with an easy grin. “To me, she’s just my aunt really. She just so happens to be Quirkless too.”
“But still, like you said, it couldn’t have been easy for her.”
“It’s alright. She’s been doing pretty well for herself. She even moved to Australia by herself a few years back.” The move makes sense, Izuku thinks. While not a perfect paragon of anti-discrimination, there’s certainly more statewide legislation in place in Australia than there is in Japan. He doesn’t know Sero’s aunt personally, but he can imagine the employment opportunities are better for her there than they are in Japan, especially if she works in a highly competitive field. “We don’t get to talk with her as much as we used to, but what are you gonna do? We tried to convince her to stay in the country, but she was pretty adamant about relocating.”
“Huh, I wonder why she didn’t want to stay in Japan with you guys.” Yaoyorozu looks up in thought. Izuku’s ready for Sero to explain the same conclusion Izuku’s come to. He can explain Quirkless discrimination and how Japan--and frankly most other countries as well--still have work to do in regards to closing the inequality gap. Then, Izuku can jump in and fill in any missing information. Maybe he can say he had a Quirkless penpal or Internet friend when he was younger to justify why he knows so much about Quirklessness? Or maybe he can make up a Quirkless cousin and use that as a stand-in for his own experiences? He’ll think of something if they ask him. He’s just excited that his classmate has a prime opportunity to help educate others about an issue that’s much more sinister than people care to think.
Sero doesn’t say any of this, though. Instead, he half sighs. “I don’t know, man. She just kinda announced she was moving and by the end of the month she was on a one way trip to another continent. My mom was actually kinda upset about it for a good while there because my aunt didn’t really listen to any of her explanations and reasons she should stay here in Japan. She just kinda brushed it all off, saying that it’s what she needed to do.” At his classmates shocked expressions Sero seems to realize he’s probably overshared just a bit and quickly adds. “But like I said, we’re still on good terms. We just don’t really get to see each other in person anymore!”
“Oh that blows, bro. I would think that Quirkless people would want to stick with their families, but I guess that’s not always the case.”
“I mean, it is what it is.” Sero shrugs a bit and soon enough the conversation has transitioned into different, much less serious matters.
Izuku knows he shouldn’t be disappointed, but he can’t help the feeling from welling up in his chest. He thought that one of his classmates would finally get it. He knows there’s a distinct difference between directly experiencing discrimination like Izuku has and only being exposed via limited proximity through relationships as Sero has. He can’t be expected to completely understand the perspective of an actual Quirkless person since he’s never had to live it. Of course, it’s not Sero’s responsibility to know everything about Quirkless issues just because he has an extended family member who’s Quirkless. This is especially true as he’s still young and probably isn’t thinking much about social issues and their far-reaching implications. But still, he just wanted someone who understood and maybe if Sero had said something, Izuku could have worked up the courage to speak up as well.
But that’s not what happened and so Izuku keeps his mouth shut.
His classmates chat and Izuku nods whenever he feels it’s appropriate, but his mind sticks firmly on Sero’s Quirkless aunt. He can’t help but wonder if she’s ever felt as helpless as he does now.
In retrospect, it makes sense that all of his classmates unintentionally hurtful comments would eventually get to him. It was just a matter of time, really. Still, he doesn’t expect it to catch him so off guard when it actually happens. It’s a normal lunch period except for the fact that Ojiro’s joined the so called “Dekusquad” at their table today since Hagakure is out sick. Nobody minds having another classmate eat with them. There’s really no reason not to let him join. Besides, Ojiro isn’t particularly talkative, instead preferring to catch up on current events and only contribute to conversation when he has something of particular importance to say. Somehow this, of all things, is what proves to be the start of Izuku’s downfall.
“Oh that’s horrible...” Ojiro stops scrolling through his phone. His statement is not loud nor is it meant to catch the attention of the table, but it does just that.
“What is it?” Tsuyu, who is sitting next to him, leans over to check what exactly has caused such a reaction from her classmate. He turns the screen to her, letting her read while he explains to the rest of the lunch table.
“I just saw an article about a third year high school student from a small town in Hokkaido who committed suicide. Apparently she was Quirkless.” The words immediately have Izuku regretting the group’s decision to let Ojiro sit with them. He carefully sets his chopsticks down as he swallows the bit of rice already in his mouth. It hits his stomach like a rock. It’s only five minutes into the lunch period, but all hunger he had just a few minutes ago has suddenly vanished. The feeling is instead replaced with a creeping sense of dread beginning to burrow in his gut.
“That’s…That’s so awful...” Uraraka is at a loss for words, her hand instinctively pulled up to cover her mouth. Ojiro nods and pulls his phone back from Tsuyu.
“It is.” Tsuyu agrees in a tone those unfamiliar with the girl might call blunt. However, Izuku can hear the underlying empathy present as well as see it in her eyes. Still, she continues on, “I’m confused why this made the national news, though. It seems like something that would normally stay local, kero.”
“Well, there’s more to the article besides just that. There’s a transcript of the suicide note. It, well, it’s pretty long and I haven’t read much of it yet, but this Quirkless girl,” Izuku tries not to bristle at the way Ojiro’s addressing her as ‘the Quirkless girl’ instead of by her name or even just ‘the girl.’ Nobody would say ‘the girl with the sand Quirk’ or ‘the boy with the height Quirk’ if it was a Quirked kid who took their life, after all. “She outlined a lot of the harassment she received from her peers and teachers at school and even some other adults in her town. Her note is apparently helping to bring a lot of awareness to problems Quirkless people face.”
“If that’s the case, at least something beneficial, although ever so slightly, is coming out of this misfortune.” Iida says, an attempt to put a positive spin on the situation. Izuku can tell his heart isn’t truly in it, though.
“That’s what a lot of people are saying for the most part, at least.” Ojiro says.
“You said there’s a transcript of the note?” Todoroki asks. He’s not curious, rather just confirming what’s already been said.
“Yes, there is. Would you like for me to read it outloud? I understand that the subject matter is a bit dark, but I also feel that it is a good resource for us to educate ourselves about issues like these if we’re going to be heroes.”
Izuku wants to say no. He wants to stop the conversation right then and there and wipe it completely from his mind. But he can’t. He sees his friends nodding in agreement, even Todoroki gives one hesitant bob of his head. Besides, maybe this will be good for them. This is the perfect opportunity for them to learn about Quirkless discrimination, something he’s been too scared to speak up on for months now. If this girl wrote this note as a way to make society finally listen to her voice, a voice that he knows has probably been muted for her whole life, then who is he to deny her?
So he decides to stay silent while Ojiro starts.
“‘Dear Grandpa,
I’m sorry for what I’m about to do.’”
And with that first line alone he knows how much of a mistake this is.
Because this isn’t a letter addressed to the girl’s high school tormentors. This isn’t an open letter to those who have made her life hell, directly or indirectly. This is a goodbye and an attempt at an explanation to presumably one of the last people this girl had left who cared about her. It’s a personal letter and yet here they are reading it along with however many other millions of people across Japan who clicked on the article.
The thought makes his blood boil. Who decided that this was okay to share? Who let this be published in a national paper? None of his friends protest, though, and so Izuku can only try and block out as much of the letter as he can. He focuses on a grain of rice on the lunch table in front of him and hopes it will be enough. It’s not.
“-Still remember my sixth birthday party when nobody visited us except Auntie Sayaka because at that time all my classmates were sure I’d infect them with my Quirklessness. Not even mom wanted to come. That’s when I realized-”
Bits and pieces of the letter still filter in despite his best efforts. It hurts how even out of context, he can perfectly imagine the incident in question. He had practically lived it, after all.
“-Tachibana and Kikuchi constantly sticking gum in my hair until I had to cut off the long braids grandma and I loved-”
Izuku wants to squeeze his eyes shut, as if that will help him not have to hear more of the letter. He knows that will just draw undue suspicion on him, though, and so he settles for gripping his pant legs under the table instead.
“Everyone here is allowed to dream big except for me. And even then, my comparatively small dream of being a loving wife and mother, a given for most other girls, has been torn to pieces by everyone around me. My biology has made me inherently unlovable-”
Todoroki is shooting him a funny look. Izuku offers him a sad smile, hoping that his friend takes his discomfort as excess empathy for the girl rather than discomfort due to proximity of subject matter.
“I’m sorry. In my next life I hope I can make you proud.”
The group is silent after Ojiro finishes the last line. The lively background noise of the cafeteria seems misplaced after such a somber display. Ojiro shuts off his phone and shrinks back just a bit, now realizing just how much attention has been on him these past couple of minutes as he read.
“What was her name?” Izuku finally asks, his first contribution to the conversation.
“Oh, um, it didn’t say…” Ojiro says with a frown on his face.
It almost makes Izuku laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. So they can release her suicide note, but letting people know her name is just a bit too personal? Knowing that laughing would be highly inappropriate, however, he opts for a small “oh” instead.
“That is truly a tragedy.” Iida says. “If only she had talked about these problems with someone beforehand, maybe this could have been prevented.”
Uraraka, misty eyed adds, “She had so much to live for… you said she was a third year right? She could have moved out of that town in just a few months and left for the city. She could have left all those bullies behind for good.”
“Yes, unfortunately there seems to be much more prejudice towards these things out in the countryside than in larger cities, kero.” Tsuyu states, a finger on her chin. “As hard as it would have been to move away, she could have forged a happy life eventually on her own terms, I’m sure.”
The idea that the only reason this girl was unhappy is because she lived in a rural community is very naive to say the least. Case in point: Musufatsu. It’s a vibrant city, one of the largest in Japan in fact, and where Izuku has spent all his life. It is said to be a great urban hub for the country and is heralded for its relative levels of diversity. It is also the place where all of Izuku’s torment took place. Sure, the city allowed him some anonymity, something this girl probably couldn’t have in her small town, but he still experienced harassment. It ranged from small things like the clerk at the grocery store who knew about his condition always refusing to help him bag his groceries to Kacchan and his friends beating him outside of the school gates while teachers turned a blind eye. As easy as it might be to blame the discrimination the girl faced on small-minded, rural thinking, the truth is that the Quirkless suffer most anywhere they go.
Also, he doubts they mean to but… it sounds like his friends are blaming the girl for committing suicide. She just had to tough it out for these next few months until graduation, then she could go live her life in the city? That’s a good one. This girl had been living for nearly eighteen years already and for a good thirteen of those she was relentlessly tormented. It’s hard to believe the “it gets better” mantra when it’s never been true for you.
Izuku knows as much himself.
Midoriya remembers writing a note, back when he was twelve and in his first year of junior high. He had been so convinced that this year was going to be different, be better. People matured when they got to junior high, at least that’s what his mom had said, but it was the middle of the year and nothing had improved. In fact, everything seemed to have gotten much, much worse. Students were no longer content just calling him a loser and pushing him around in the halls. The insults and the violence escalated to the point he didn’t even feel safe coming to school anymore. The sheer amount of times he’d been told to throw himself off a roof or into a river was staggeringly high and so of course it got to him.
He wrote the note one night in October, but he didn’t necessarily have a plan to act on it. He carried it around with him for a couple of weeks, tucked deep within his bag just in case he needed it. Just in case everything became too much too quickly. In some way it offered a sick comfort of sorts, knowing that he had a so-called backup plan ready to go at a moment’s notice.
He eventually ripped the note up two months later, but only after he’d already cried himself to exhaustion and grappled with what exactly his death would mean. As he flushed the shreds down the toilet, he scolded himself for even considering leaving his mom all alone like that. That day he made a promise to stay strong, not for himself, not at first at least, but rather for his mother who sacrificed so much for him. Despite this commitment, it was still devastatingly hard for him many days.
Izuku is a lot better now. His life is like a fairytale with friends who like him, classes he actually looks forward to, and a future as a hero that’s finally within his reach. Still, he doesn’t like to think how easily he could have been like the girl in the article. If he never received One for All, how long could he have lasted? At what point would the resolve to live for someone else give way to the overwhelming wariness that comes from the rest of society bearing down on you?
The image comes to his mind, unbidden. His own suicide note--the words of which are permanently etched in his brain no matter how much he wants to leave them in the past--attached to an article much like the one Ojiro has just read. He sees his own regrets and apologies displayed for the whole world to see and feel bad about for an hour or so before they go on with their own lives. Millions of people looking at him, but not one knowing his name.
He can’t do this here. If he thinks about this anymore, he’s going to have a nervous breakdown. At the same time, he can’t shut his brain off from this line of thinking and so he knows he has to leave. He abruptly stands up from the lunch table, interrupting something that Iida is saying.
“Deku? Is everything alright?” Uraraka asks, her eyebrows knitting in concern.
“I-I’m good. I just realized that, um, well I remembered that Aizawa-sensei wanted to meet with me during lunch? Yeah, so I, um, I need to go see him! S-sorry guys!” Izuku bows quickly and picks up his tray of barely touched lunch. Todoroki and Tsuyu both give him curiously incredulous looks, but ultimately let him go without saying anything.
“Ah, you better hurry then! It would not reflect well on you to be tardy!”
“Thanks Iida-kun!” Izuku throws over his shoulder as he rushes out of the cafeteria in a way that he hopes looks purposeful rather than full of nerves. As soon as he hits the empty school halls, Izuku makes a beeline for classroom 1-A. Nobody is ever in there during lunch and so it makes it the perfect place for him to collect himself. He gives the room a quick once over to ensure he is truly alone before collapsing into his desk.
With tears already building in the corners his eyes, Izuku pulls his phone from his uniform pocket. He just needs to know her name. He just needs to know that she was real to somebody as more than a media tragedy piece.
He searches and sure enough, articles about the girl’s suicide are already trending in Japan. None of them include a name though. Izuku clicks through links, none of which yield any results. It’s only when he reaches the bottom of the fourth page of search results, right when he’s about to give up and try another set of key words, that he finally gets an answer.
It’s a link to a Tweeter post, posted about an hour before by someone with the screen name “Yama.” All it reads is “RIP Arata Aimi #QuirklessAwareness” with a semi-blurry yearbook photo of a girl with short hair underneath, but for Izuku it’s everything. He bursts into tears and buries his head in his arms.
“You did well, Arata-san.” He murmurs, the words practically incomprehensible between his sobbing and his sleeves muffling the sound. “You did well, so please please rest well.”
Approximately five minutes pass before the soft sliding of the classroom door accompanied by a perplexed “Problem child?” clues Izuku in to the fact he’s not alone anymore. He bolts upright, hastily rubbing the tears away from his eyes with his hands. He doubts it does much to hide his overall disheveled appearance, but it at least helps him feel a bit more put together.
“A-Aizawa-sensei! What are you doing here?”
“The teacher’s lounge was especially loud today. I need silence to sleep.” Aizawa fixes him with a flat look that Izuku still can’t decipher even after months with the hero as his homeroom teacher. “I could ask you the same thing. You don’t usually eat lunch in here.”
Izuku decidedly chooses not to focus on the bit of happiness that wells up within him at the knowledge that Aizawa pays enough attention to him to know his routines and habits. As a teacher of hero course students he probably has to, Izuku rationalizes, especially with the unprecedentedly dangerous year class 1-A has had so far.
Instead, Izuku pushes his seat back from his desk, hoping to hide the tremors running through him. “I’m so sorry sensei. I-I didn’t mean to impose. I was, um, I was just about to leave actually so please don’t worry about me interrupting your nap.” He scrambles for his bag, trying to avoid the way that Aizawa seems to be examining him.
“That won’t be necessary. Sit back down, Midoriya.” Izuku’s mouth clicks shut as he drops back into his seat. Aizawa shuts the door behind him and Izuku can’t help the way his shoulders tense as his teacher approaches his desk. Aizawa, calmly and without any real effort, pulls out the chair to Bakugou’s desk and flips it to face Izuku. He sits down, leans forward with his elbows resting on his thighs, and gives him a once over before speaking again in his typical steady tone.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ah, there’s nothing wrong Aizawa-sensei, I-”
“There is.” There’s no room for argument and Izuku doesn’t know what he was expecting. While not showing much emotion of his own, Eraserhead is terrific at reading others. It comes with being an underground hero who mostly engages in covert sting operations, he supposes. Knowing how to interact with others and play to their state of mind certainly makes it much easier for Aizawa to get close to targets and ultimately not blow his cover.
No matter how great the skill is for hero work, though, Izuku hates the fact it makes him so easy to see through. He’s never been amazing at hiding his emotions, wearing his heart on his sleeve more often than not. But at the same time nobody’s ever actively challenged his dismissals of concern before. It was probably easier for everyone to believe he was truly okay like he insisted rather than dwell on the uncomfortable truth him lying would mean.
“...There is.” Izuku concedes, sinking further into his chair and directing his gaze to his hands folded in his lap rather than at the expectant look his teacher is leveling at him. There are a few seconds where the ticking clock is the only noise present in the classroom, Aizawa becoming increasingly impatient waiting for further elaboration that is not coming.
“Mind cluing me in, then?”
“It’s not really a big deal. I’ll be fine before afternoon classes start, don’t worry.”
“Too late for that. When I find my student crying alone in a classroom rather than sitting with the friends he normally can’t get enough of, I’d say I’ve earned the right to worry.” He pauses, allowing the words to fully sink into Izuku’s skull. “So, do you want to try again?”
“I…” He struggles for words, for the best way to explain the situation without causing more undue worry or revealing too much about himself. “I don’t think I can...” It comes out weak, even though he really wishes it didn’t.
“That’s fine. I have a pretty strong hunch already, anyway. How about I venture a guess and you can tell me if my intuition is correct?” Izuku highly doubts Aizawa could possibly know the reason for his mini-breakdown, but doesn’t say as much. Instead he nods. It’ll be easier to lie if his teacher presents a plausible cover story that the man’s already at least half-convinced is true, after all.
Izuku glances back up and the expression that greets him is one that he recognizes. It’s the look he’s seen his teacher give Shinsou every time he’s too hard on himself for not making progress. It’s the look he gives Eri whenever she cowers away from someone’s hand. It’s a look of concern and understanding mixed together that would seem impossibly out of place on Eraserhead’s face to anyone not already familiar with the hero.
Izuku’s seen the look many times, but never has it been directed at him. It’s not a completely unpleasant experience, revelling in the feeling that someone can see him so upset and still want to be there for him. It almost makes him sorry that he’ll be lying to the man’s face in a few seconds.
“I saw an article about a girl’s suicide this morning. Apparently she suffered a lot of discrimination because she was Quirkless.” Izuku stiffens because how in the world did Aizawa know. No, he can’t freak out here. He has to stay calm. He can still spin this in a way that won’t make his teacher question him. The Quirkless cousin excuse would probably work here; it’s personal enough that it makes sense Izuku would feel sensitively about the topic, but not enough to make it an ongoing concern.
His teacher waits a few moments in case Izuku wants to respond before starting again. Aizawa searches his face and the next words that leave his mouth do so with slow and exacting precision.
“I’d imagine it’s hard to hear about, especially since you were also born Quirkless, weren’t you Midoriya?”
Izuku can feel his eyes widen and can’t think enough to suppress the full body flinch he instinctively makes. There’s no way his teacher just said that and meant it. Aizawa’s seen his Quirk. How in the world could he have arrived at that conclusion. He knows that All Might wouldn’t have told him either, not without at least consulting Izuku about it. The idea of Izuku being Quirkless should seem ludicrous to just about anyone, especially those he’s met only after entering U.A.
“Wh-what are you saying? That’s completely, well, that’s-!” He sputters. Aizawa just sighs and Izuku swears that in this moment the man seems much older than thirty.
“Your reaction just now confirms my suspicions.” A hush falls across the classroom.
“...How did you know?” Izuku whispers, tears already forming. He can’t meet Aizawa’s eyes, so he stares at the hero’s shoulder instead.
“I noticed your shoes on the first day of class.” Aizawa taps Izuku’s signature sneakers with his own foot underneath the desk. “At first I thought that I was just tired and not seeing straight. Surely someone would tell me if there was a Quirkless student in my class after all. Later, when I read through your file and saw you only registered your Quirk the day of the entrance exam, I began to put some pieces together.”
“You… you know about the red shoes for the Quirkless?” It’s definitely not the most important question Izuku should be asking, but it’s certainly one of the easiest.
“As an underground hero, I’ve had to do a lot of research, kid. Since I fight by cancelling out other people’s Quirks, it’s important for me to utilize any knowledge I can in figuring out what said Quirk might be before I ever engage the target. If I fight a Quirkless opponent, then I know not to even activate Erasure and instead focus solely on my hand-to-hand combat.” Izuku nods slowly. The explanation makes sense.
“Have you ever had to?” Izuku fidgets. “Fight someone who was Quirkless, I mean.”
“Yes, twice. It was the same man both times. The first time, he caught me completely unprepared. Many criminals rely so heavily on their Quirk that once I erase it I can take them down with little to no struggle on their part. This man didn’t have that handicap, though. He was obviously well-trained in martial arts and I was a young and inexperienced hero. He escaped because I underestimated him. Needless to say I never made that mistake again.”
“Wow…”
“I remember thinking ‘He could make a great underground hero with those skills. Why on earth would he decide to resort to burglary.’ Then I saw some of the employment statistics surrounding Quirkless people and his choice didn’t seem so absurd anymore.”
“I used to…” Izuku starts, voice low and eyes darting to Aizawa’s face before returning to his shoulder. “I used to think that the best job I would ever be able to get was as a street sweeper. As much as I wanted to be a hero or a Quirk analyst, some deep part of me knew that no college would accept someone like me… Someone who was Quirkless…” And there’s something freeing, Izuku realizes, about finally being able to admit his Quirklessness after trying to keep it hidden for so long.
“There aren’t enough protections against prejudice in education settings for students.” Aizawa states, though there’s an obvious underlying meaning that even Izuku can pick up. He’s asking whether this is true in his experience as well. ‘Was school before U.A. hard for you, Midoriya?’
“Yeah…” The one word confirms Aizawa’s unasked question. Yes, school was hard for him. Yes, he was bullied. Yes, the teachers did nothing to stop it. The answer to practically any question regarding discrimination in education for Izuku is a firm and resounding ‘yes.’
“You didn’t deserve that.” Aizawa places a hand on Izuku’s shoulder and it’s probably the closest thing to a hug that the man dares give his student. Still, it’s nice.
“I know.” He whispers.
“Nobody deserves that, Quirkless or not.”
“I know.” Izuku says with more certainty, though still hunched in on himself. “But… a lot of other people don’t...”
“Especially those born with strong Quirks.” Aizawa finishes and the words almost make Izuku begin bawling again despite the fact he’s just gotten his tears under control. Finally, somebody gets it. Finally someone sees the things that he’s been forced to his entire life just because of his lack of biological Quirk.
“Everyone here is so amazing. Most everyone has been told all their lives that their Quirk will take them wherever they want to go and… and they can’t understand what it’s like to not have that. They don’t mean to, I know they’re trying their best, but it still hurts. A-and,” He hates how his voice wavers in this moment, “Every time it happens I want to say something, I want to say something so bad, but I can’t. Despite the fact I’m not Quirkless anymore and actually have the ability to speak up on an even playing field, I can’t. Suddenly I’m just the worthless, useless deku I’ve been for ten years.”
The dam finally breaks. Izuku weeps uncontrollably, ineffectually rubbing at the tears streaming down his face only for them to be replaced a few seconds later. He sniffles and hiccups and if he weren’t so focused on sucking in air he’d have half a mind to be mortified that he’s having a breakdown in front of his homeroom teacher. At some point Aizawa must stand and come around the side of the desk because one moment he’s there in Izuku’s blurry vision and the next he isn’t. Instead, he feels a hand rubbing it’s way up and down his back while a voice instructs “Sync your breathing with mine.”
It’s hard, but Izuku tries his best. After a few minutes, his breath finally comes out in small shudders rather than audible gasps. He feels like a little kid, but he also feels a lot better as well. He doesn’t really know what to say now, though. Luckily, he doesn’t have to come up with anything as Aizawa speaks first.
“Listen here, Midoriya. It’s not your responsibility to educate others on the discrimination that you have faced. You can if you want, but there is no expectation for you to take this upon yourself.”
“Bu-but I can-”
“No buts. You are a child,” Izuku opens his mouth and Aizawa immediately shuts him down with a stern look. “You are a child and this does not fall on you. It falls on me and the rest of the U.A. staff to properly educate, equip, and encourage you all so that you can be the best heroes and members of society you possibly can be. I didn’t stop to consider how your previous Quirkless status might have affected you in your interactions with your classmates, and for that I apologize.”
“I-it’s alright, Aizawa-sensei! It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known. It’s not really a problem that anybody else really has experience with…” Izuku mumbles as he fiddles with his fingers. “Except maybe All Might, but…” At the name Aizawa sighs and pinches his nose.
“Of course he’s a part of this. Of course.” Izuku sinks in his seat because he definitely did not mean to say that out loud. He especially didn’t mean to make his teacher mad at his mentor, or, well, madder than he usually is at him anyway. Then an even bigger sense of dread dawns on him as he realizes that he just implied that All Might wasn’t born with his astonishing Quirk like everyone assumes. “Tell me just how Yagi is involved in all of this, Midoriya.”
Izuku’s first instinct is to lie. He should lie and say that he met All Might back when he was in junior high, before he had a Quirk. He should talk about how the hero encouraged him to pursue his dream. He should repeat the cover story that his mentor helped him concoct of how he was a late bloomer, his Quirk only manifesting once he built enough muscle mass to use it without completely blowing off his limbs. He should not under any circumstances tell Aizawa about One for All, especially without discussing it with All Might beforehand.
And yet that’s exactly what he does.
The logical part of his brain justifies it saying it’d be impossible to try and pull a fast one on Aizawa at this point. There would be too many holes. If Eraserhead knows about specialty Quirkless shoes, it follows that he knows the reason for such shoes in the first place. By wearing the sneakers Izuku admits that he has the extra toe joint and that there was never any possibility of a latent Quirk lying dormant within him until his teen years. He doesn’t want to insult his teacher’s intelligence by trying to lie about that.
Even stronger, though, is the urge to finally entrust this secret to someone on his own terms. Kacchan basically cornered him and tried to fight an explanation out of him after Kamino Ward. Despite his wishes, All Might then told his former bully about One for All, assuring his protege it was for the best. Izuku never got a say in any of it. It’s different with Aizawa, though. If he were to give some vague explanation, Izuku knows the hero wouldn’t push him to reveal anything, though he might go and confront All Might after the fact. Still, it’s this respect of his boundaries that makes Izuku want to let his teacher in.
He spills his guts. He explains everything, beginning at that fateful day in his last year of junior high. He details just how he came to meet All Might and how the man originally told him he couldn’t be a hero only to change his mind when Izuku blindly charged at a villain to save Kacchan. He tells stories from his ten months of training in preparation of receiving All Might’s Quirk. He recalls the morning of the entrance exam and the first time he used the Quirk, shocked and completely unprepared for the sheer power that flowed through him.
Most importantly, Izuku narrates the long history of One for All, just as All Might had to him. The explanation is lengthy, made longer by all the pausing and backtracking Izuku does. By the time he finishes, Izuku’s throat is sore from talking. Aizawa, whose attention hasn’t faltered the entirety of the explanation and who has only interrupted to ask clarifying questions when necessary, takes a few seconds to absorb the the story Izuku has just relayed. His face remains impassive until he finally closes his eyes, inhales, and calmly says:
“Yagi, you absolute idiot.”
“D-don’t blame him, sensei! He- we needed to keep it a secret to-”
“I understand both of your caution, especially due to the inherent danger that comes with this knowledge. However, considering the fact that Bakugou of all people knows about it, I would have hoped Yagi would have thought to inform me that not one, but two, of my students were at substantial risk of being targeted by notorious supervillains.”
“To be fair, I think just us being in 1-A puts us at substantial risk of being targeted by supervillains at this point.”
“Not my point, problem child.”
“Right, sorry!” Izuku squeeks.
“All Might’s lack of foresight aside, thank you for trusting me enough to tell me this. I know it couldn’t have been easy for you.” Aizawa’s hand makes a reappearance on his shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. “I’m proud of you.”
“You- you’re proud…?”
“That is what I just said, isn’t it?”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
“It takes a lot of bravery to be vulnerable, especially with secrets as big as yours. I’ll make sure that this confidence you’ve placed in me is not something you come to regret. Do you understand me?” Izuku’s breath hitches and he nods. Tears are forming in his eyes, though for the first time today they come from a place of joy rather than despair. “Good. Here’s the plan. In the coming weeks, I will make sure that Quirklessness and the societal issues that Quirkless people face are addressed properly during our lessons on Quirk history. I will not make any indication that this information has been added due to current events or personal matters concerning you. If you feel uncomfortable at any time during these lessons, get my attention and I will offer you an excuse to discretely leave. You can come to me after class and talk to me about it or we can pretend it never happened. Ball’s completely in your court. Sound good to you?”
And now Izuku really is crying. “Y-yes! Thank you, Aizawa-sensei. Nobody’s ever let me- nobody’s ever… thank you.”
“Don’t mention it kid.” Right then is when the bell chimes, signalling the end of the lunch period and that students should soon be making their way back to class. Aizawa stands and gives Izuku a quick pat to his shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have approximately five minutes before class starts to inform your mentor of his newfound level of stupidity.”
“Ah, sensei don’t be too hard on him. He-” Before Izuku can finish his sentence, though, his teacher is already out the door and presumably on his way to the teacher’s lounge to rip All Might a new one. He sends up a small prayer for the former pro’s safety; Aizawa can be scary when he means business. Izuku would know, he’s been on the receiving end of one of Eraserhead’s infamous scoldings more than a few times.
Thankfully, Izuku is able to recompose himself before any of his classmates start filing back into the room. He can’t be sure that his eyes aren’t puffy or that signs of him crying aren’t visible, but crying is pretty par for the course for him at this point. Nobody’s going to question him about it.
“Hey Deku!” Uraraka smiles as she, Iida, Todoroki, and Tsuyu approach his desk. “How did your meeting with Aizawa-sensei go? You never came back to lunch so we were a bit worried.”
“Ah, yeah, it went a bit longer than I was expecting.” Izuku almost forgot the excuse he had provided his friends at the beginning of the period. It’s ironic, he thinks, how his made up meeting with his teacher ended up becoming an unintentional reality. “It was great. It was really great.”
At Izuku’s genuine smile, his friends lose a lot of the tension they’ve been carrying since entering the room. Uraraka beams even brighter. “That’s wonderful! I’m glad it went well.”
“Yeah, me too.” As his friends find their seats, Izuku knows that his words are true.
There’s still a long way his classmates have to go in terms of Quirkless sensitivity, he knows. Heck, there’s still a long way Izuku has to go in terms of navigating his place in life as someone who has always been Quirkless and only recently isn’t. Now though… now he at least has another person in his corner, fighting for him and taking so much of the burden off of his still inexperienced shoulders.
To most, it might not seem like much, but to the small Quirkless boy who still resides in him, it’s enough.