Chapter Text
It was a slow buildup of things. It wasn’t one moment or anything, there was no real tipping point. Just a lot of little things. Little injustices done to little people who know no better.
And Izuku decided, not that he couldn’t take it anymore, but that he wouldn’t.
At first, these things were easier to ignore.
Momo’s internship had clearly been awkward for her, but she told the class that she had learned valuable lessons about promoting your hero image, so it was probably fine. Even if the hero image that Momo’s internship had taught her about was so far from what Momo wanted her own image to be, so far from what Momo, at just fifteen, was comfortable with.
There were lots of questions, sure, about how boys like Mineta and Monoma and Bakugo even got through to hero courses. Monoma was only ever interested in tearing people down. No matter how cool your quirk is, if you aren’t interested in helping people then why are you in hero training courses? And Mineta… nobody was ever comfortable with how Mineta behaved. Whether it was riding someone else’s coattails to the finish line, being cowardly or lazy, or acting like a scummy pervert to the girls. And how had Kacchan, who was more sadistic than a few of the villains Izuku had met, gotten into hero courses by pure aspiration and power alone? It didn’t seem right to be earnestly working toward saving people’s lives side by side with the boy who had beat him black and blue and told him to jump off a building. But, these people had to have some redeeming qualities, right? Something. Izuku had been sure (he’s not sure anymore).
Conversely, how could people like Shinsou, with amazing quirks and drive, be left behind in general education, even though they could outperform someone like Mineta in any test, and had the cooperative skills that Monoma didn’t, and the desire to save people that Bakugo lacked. It didn’t make any sense! And, of course, there are always All Might’s wise words on that rooftop: I won’t tell you that you can become a hero. Who said that the quirkless couldn’t fight? Who said they can’t be ready to lay their lives down? Who said they can’t protect those they love? What was an entrance test to tell Shinsou that he wasn’t as qualified as Mineta? Or Monoma? Or Bakugo? Hell, there’s probably all sorts of kids out there that could have crushed even some of the better hero students had the test been designed to fairly assess different types of power. But it wasn’t, and that’s now a dull jade set into the hearts of tens of kids that were, deep down, probably not very different from Izuku, doing their best in a world set against them.
That’s just the school, and not even all of it– just the tip of the iceberg in an arctic sea. You also have to look at the favoritism of the teachers, the lack of security for students from threats both external and internal, the blatant disregard for student learning in many classes, the unfair quirk bias, all of the loopholes in rules that were only too easy to exploit if a person really wanted to, the unnecessary tension between hero schools, and the lack of cohesion and collaboration amongst the staff.
That’s. Just. The School.
Then there’s the pros too. All Might: fighting a terminal illness with little help until he eventually collapsed, and he should never have received a teaching license to begin with. Eraserhead: an underground hero whose whole fighting style relies on ignorance in his targets, and he was nearly killed trying to defend his students… on multiple occasions. Vlad King: usually unable to work with others. Best Jeanist: clearly using the spotlight he receives as a hero almost solely to promote his clothing brand. And Endeavor: the number one hero who beats his children.
And you’ve got to remember what happened with Stain, and about how what he’d said was clearly deranged, but every lunatic has a seed of truth that sprouted the crazy tree. A lot of heroes aren’t heroes. They’re celebrities who put on fancy costumes and parade around town. Sometimes they help people, but usually they sell action figures of themselves and promote politicians they like.
But it’s all so wrong, all of it. And there’s so much wrong that it’s nearly impossible to tell where to start with it. So you see Izuku’s dilemma.
He’s got great hero friends, like Uravity and Red Riot and Froppy and Anima, that inspire him. They’re rational and good and heroic.
He’s got classmates that he can’t understand, like Ground Zero and Grape Juice and Phantom Thief, that make him doubt. They’re uncooperative and bad and the opposite of what a hero should be.
He’s got friends like Shouto and Creati and Shinsou Hitoshi without so much as a hero name– and they’ve been hurt by this system as much as he has.
It was his mom who gave him the idea. He’d been home for the weekend, trying to chew through the problem over dinner. His mom had caught Shouto up in some conversation– she didn’t know about Endeavor, she just knew that Izuku said that Shouto didn’t want to go to his house for the weekends and that Izuku had asked if he could spend weekends at their house and that she had said of course and that she had been overjoyed that her son had a friend who trusted him this much– and they were going back and forth right over Izuku’s head. He was hardly hearing a word, mostly he was just muttering to himself about how bad things had really gotten. The girls had, at this point, decided to take showers all at the same time, with alternations of who was bathing and who was watching the door, so they wouldn’t have to be afraid of Mineta by themselves. Kacchan had given Tsu a mild concussion earlier in the week, and he told everyone it was her fault for getting in the way. Everyone had shrugged his violence off, even All Might ignored how overboard Kacchan had gone in a training exercise, and he had sent Tsu to Recovery Girl with a mild warning to be more aware of her surroundings. Izuku had met up with Shinsou to train for a bit on Thursday, and the General Ed teachers were feeding them the same old diatribe of “do better” and “not good enough.” Izuku couldn’t see the way to fix any of it– he was just one kid.
And then the conversation paused, clearly Izuku missed a question directed at him, and Mom laughed and said to Shouto, “See, that’s exactly what I was telling you, Shoucchan!” And Shouto smiled too. And Izuku asked what they had said. And Mom said, “I was just telling Shouto you’ve got too much going on in there for you to hear any other answers but your own– the answers you know are right, no matter who they come from.” And Izuku had blushed and squawked at that, and Shouto had laughed a little, and Mom had teased him.
But when they were washing the dishes later, Shouto in the shower, just Izuku and his mom, she sighed softly. “Izuku,” she told him sternly, “you know I’ll love you no matter what path you take, don’t you?” He nodded. She continued, “I doubted you more than I ever should have, when you were younger, but now I’m certain that even if you do the things that make you seem crazy and reckless, you’re never going to go down a wrong path.” He nodded much slower the second time. She laughed over the ceramic plate she was scrubbing, “Even if you became a villain, I’m just sure that you’d be doing the right thing.”
Izuku smiled, “Thanks, Mom.”
That weekend, Izuku went to the convenience store and bought the cheapest notebook on the shelf, 50 yen. Even he could afford that with his own money. It was the simplest notebook, with a spiral binding and a blank red cover, and he bought some snacks to share with his family before going home. He told them only about the snacks, not about the notebook. Late that night, with everyone asleep, he started writing.
Before the next weekend, he had filled the notebook. Every front and back of every page. Even the margins had notes and doodles and scribbles. In a word, the notebook was finished. And Izuku had a plan.
While creating the Notebook, Izuku behaved as normal. He talked animatedly with his friends. He went on runs with Shinsou in the mornings. He avoided Kacchan. He answered questions in class and participated in all events. The moment it was finished, he began to get his ducks in a row.
But it was Friday morning when he finished, so there wasn’t much to be done yet. He went back to his house with Shouto. They ate dinner and talked and laughed. On Sunday afternoon, when Shouto went to take care of some homework, Izuku sat down on the couch across from his mom.
“Mom,” and she turned from her book. When she saw her son’s face, she put the book down entirely. She didn’t even bother to mark the page. “Mom, you remember how you said you trusted me to do the right thing? Even if it doesn’t look right to other people?”
Her mouth twisted into an expression that might be a grimace if it wasn’t so worried. “I remember. I trust you, Izuku– why do you ask?” She doesn’t want to jump the gun. Her son can be an unnaturally tense kid, she doesn’t want to make something out of nothing if he’s just in a mood.
Izuku swallowed thickly. “I, uh… I might have to do something that won’t look right, Mom. I-It’s for my friends, and for everyone else too, really, but it isn’t gonna look that way. I don’t want you to be scared, or think that I’ve gone totally nuts, or hate me–”
“Baby, I would never hate you!” Inko insists fervently. “Now, whatever it is, I’m sure that you’ve got everyone’s best interests at heart. I don’t want you doing it alone though, Izuku. Even if you can’t tell me, tell someone. Let one of your hero friends help you– I’m sure Shoucchan could help, he’s a nice boy.”
Chuckling, Izuku nodded obediently, assuring her, “I won’t be alone, Mom, I promise.”
“That’s all I ask. As long as you come home, Izuku.”
“I will. I promise I will.”
So, with his mother’s permission, Izuku began to set the plan into motion.