Chapter Text
The first life lesson Izuku ever learned was that the world was an unfair and lonely place.
Izuku knew that the world was unfair from his earliest memories when his father would paint his mother in colorful bruises. Her skin was an ever-changing canvas of purples and yellows. Izuku didn’t know what a normal family was supposed to look like, but he was smart enough to know it certainly wasn’t this.
Izuku knew that the world was unfair at age 4 when the doctors apathetically diagnosed Izuku as quirkless. The population of quirkless people being 20% worldwide with the percentage dropping further with every generation. There were only ten people in all of Musutafu who were publicly quirkless. Nine of them were elderly, quirklessness being much more common in their generation. Izuku was the tenth.
Izuku knew the world was unfair at age 5 when his father spent a year trying to force a quirk out of his pathetic son. From locking Izuku in a closet for days at a time to withholding meals. His mother was either unaware of his father’s actions or she was simply too scared to stop him.
Izuku knew the world was unfair at age 6 when his father finally gave up on him. Hisashi Midoriya took a job overseas without hesitation. At first, Izuku was relieved, eager for him and his mother to live a life without constant pain and worry. That is until his mother was forced to take on more hours at the hospital in order to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. Izuku didn’t see his mom much as her shifts usually lasted late into the night. It was during this time that Izuku learned what freedom felt like. No one to scold him or make him do chores. No one to stop him from eating candy for breakfast or staying up late to watch cartoons. Though it wasn’t long until he learned that the freedom he was given came at a cost. Loneliness. Forced self-sustainability. With no one to take care of him, Izuku had to learn to take care of himself. From cooking his own meals to walking himself to school.
Izuku knew the world was unfair at age 7 when Kacchan’s verbal bullying turned physical. When small, starburst burns littered his torso and arms. When scratches from the boy with long fingers raked down his back. When bruises on his ribs from being cornered in the bathroom during lunch blotted his skinny frame.
Izuku knew the world was unfair at age 10 when his mother was killed during a villain attack while driving to work. She just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when a group of villains in a getaway truck ran a red light and slammed into the side of Inko’s car. She died on impact.
Izuku was all too familiar with how unfair the world was. After all, not all men are created equal and who was Izuku to think he would ever be anyone’s equal? No, his place in the world was at the bottom. Only a fool would think otherwise and Izuku was no fool.
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Izuku wasn’t given any time to process his mother’s untimely death. It was soon after another lunchtime beating from Kacchan and his lackeys that Izuku was escorted to the principles office. At first, he thought he was once again about to be reprimanded for instigating a fight that he did not cause. Instead, he was met with a tall women in a charcoal blazer and a matching pencil skirt, a sour expression on her face and a tablet clutched in her hands. She wasted no time (and no empathy) in explaining to Izuku that he was now motherless, Inko having died the day before and it was only now that Izuku was being informed. Before he could even gather his thoughts on the matter, she barreled on to tell him he was now in the custody of his father who was already on his way back to Japan via plane. Without any more explanation and leaving no room for the boy to ask questions, he was sent back to class in a daze.
Izuku had no recollection of how the rest of his classes went. The only thing he could even think about was the static feeling in his head that made him feel detached from the rest of his body. The world around him looked like a low-definition video game and he couldn’t escape the feeling that he was playing with a broken controller. Izuku hadn’t even realized that the day was over until he stood in front of the door to his house. His foggy vision turned into a sharp focus as he stared at the chipped paint that peeled from the door’s wooden frame. He wasn’t entirely sure how long he stood there, memorizing the peeling colors on the door. If it was seconds or an hour, he had no clue. His trance only broke when the door he was focused on suddenly pulled open.
Seeing his father again after years of absence and zero communication Izuku expected to feel a lot of things. Anger, sadness, fear, something. But at that moment, he felt absolutely nothing. An emptiness that nestled in the pit of his stomach and seeped into his bones like it was making a permanent home for itself.
Wordlessly, his father stepped aside and let Izuku into the house, and closed the door behind him. For a moment, the two remaining Medoriyas just stood there stewing in uncomfortable silence. Clearing his throat, the older of the two decided to take lead on the nonexistent conversation.
“Look, kid. This is a fucked up situation. I’m sure you’re all sad and shit but we need to figure out where to go from here,” Hisashi began, his eyes darting to everywhere around the house except to Izuku. “Honestly, I don’t wanna be here and I’m sure as shit you don’t want me here. I’m missing out on a couple of business meetings by taking the time to come here already so let's get this over with quick, yeah?”
Hisashi finally spared a glance down at his son who silently stared back at the man with unnerving, empty eyes.
“Right. So, uh, here are your options. You can either come back to America with me and I’ll set you up at some boarding school or something or you can stay here.”
For the first time since lunch that day, Izuku spoke in a cracked whisper. “Stay…here?”
“Yeah, you know. Stay here in Musutafu or whatever. I can set you up in a cheap apartment using Inko’s life insurance or somethin’ and send you some money for food. You’re practically all grown up anyway. You can look after yourself. How old are you again? 12?”
“…10.”
“Yeah, close enough. So whatdya say? If you decide to stay here you can’t tell no one. I don’t want CPS barking up my ass. So I’ll probably enroll you in an online school or some shit to avoid unwanted questions or snooping teachers. You cool with that, kid?” Hisashi crossed his arms, glancing down at Izuku with a slight sniff.
Izuku didn’t have to think about his answer. Leaving everything behind to go to America and be thrown into a random boarding school where he’ll definitely be bullied for being both quirkless and foreign? Not to mention he’d probably have to stay with his shitty father during holidays. Or continue with his life here where he was already raising himself anyway? The thought of switching to an online school also sounded appealing if he was being honest.
“I-I’ll stay here…please,” he muttered. Hisashi snorted at his answer.
“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. Sending you food money will be cheaper than shipping you off to school anyhow,” his father said with a slight shrug. “Right, then. Give me a couple of days to set you up. Go start packing your shit and I’ll call around for a cheap apartment or something and sign you up for those free online classes.” Without another word, Hisashi grabbed his laptop from his bag and set to work on the kitchen table.
Once again, Izuku’s head was filled with static. He didn’t even have the mental energy to pretend that this was all a dream.
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It wasn’t until days later, with all of his belongings—which wasn’t much, to begin with—were packed into boxes and stacked into his new home that the world snapped into focus again. Izuku’s eyes wandered around the small studio apartment. Cracks in the walls, water-damaged ceiling, and scratched-up vinyl flooring caught his attention. The kitchen, the living room, and the bedroom were all in the same space, Izuku noted. It was no more than a box with basic kitchen appliances, a cheap wooden table, and a futon on the floor. The bathroom was, thankfully, separate. The newest looking thing in the entire apartment was the laptop for his schooling his father bought him with some of the money left over from his mother’s savings. Izuku had no access to this money but his father had promised to take care of the rent until he was at least 16 before the man promptly left to presumably head back to the airport.
The world was an unfair and lonely place. Thankfully, Izuku had plenty of experience to deal with it.