Chapter Text
If he hadn’t been definitively diagnosed as quirkless when he was four, Izuku would have suspected that he had some sort of trouble-attracting quirk. Or that his quirk made him a literal villain magnet. After all, why else would he happen to be in a tunnel at the exact second a person (at least he thought it was a person) made out of slime oozed out of a sewer grate? He wasn’t even sure how he had gotten to this area, he hadn’t been near Aldera since he took his graduation tests a year ago. He’d just been wandering, lost in thought, until a voice said something about using him as a puppet, and thick slime started to force its way down his throat.
Then All Might had saved him. All Might, the number one hero! He had practically buzzed with excitement, over the moon as he saw the man’s signature in his notebook. He’d barely cared for the man’s breach in protocol (although, really, slapping him awake? That was horribly unprofessional and could have caused even more damage, but this was All Might, he could let a little bit of unprofessionalism slide this time) panicking instead when he went to jump away, focusing only on the one question he had always desperately wanted answered.
He had blurted it out, enthused at finally meeting his hero. So naïve and happy, completely unsuspecting.
“Can someone quirkless be a hero?”
Then came the words that completely changed his life, that cut into the very core of who he was and twisted everything he knew about himself into knots:
“Without a quirk? I think not. Hero work is dangerous, best to go into the police force instead Maybe become a doctor, if you want to help people that badly.”
And without a thought to what he’d done, without contacting anyone to tend to him (he had sewer gunk in his lungs, who knew what sort of infections that might cause!) All Might jumped away, still smiling. Thankfully the villain had been firmly secured, locked into a carrying case that seemed to be specifically made for intangible opponents- one saving grace for the man. Izuku barely had the energy to mentally note that fact, the one thing keeping him from fully losing his faith in the hero, before his brain caught up to the man’s words.
“Be realistic.”
Really, what was realism supposed to be? If All Might had done any research, if he had ever backed up his ‘everyone can be a hero!’ speeches, he would know how few schools accepted quirkless students. UA was one of the only hero schools that did, and there were only a handful more that offered regular classes that weren’t specifically tailored for the quirkless population. He would never even be allowed to apply for the police academy- a quirk was required for admittance. It was the same with most medical schools, and almost all front-line jobs. Was All Might so removed from their community that he didn’t know these things?
But of course he was. He had a strong quirk- a quirk that ensured he didn’t need to rely on anything other than brute strength for the majority of his work. He would have never been bullied, never felt powerless, not with his powerhouse of a quirk. He had the perfect 'heroic' quirk- no matter that it was as destructive as it was powerful and flashy. It was unlikely he even remembered quirkless people existed. Most people didn’t, they were always surprised to hear that there were still some quirkless people born into their generation. What purpose did it have, after all, for All Might to think of them? Such a small, useless minority population, a burden not worth shouldering.
Izuku rubbed his eyes, grimacing as slime smeared over his face. He should really get his lungs checked out, maybe he could go to that clinic nearby. There was that nurse with a quirkless aunt, she was always super nice, never turning him away for his status, always taking his issues seriously. Yes, he would go there. It was a far enough walk to ponder, to consider his next moves. All Might said he couldn’t be a hero. Told him to be ‘realistic,’ to find other ways to help people where he wouldn't be a liability. How could he help people though? After all, he didn’t have a quirk.
His first thought was to become an analyst. UA soffered courses in support paths, not just heroics, and their support course was almost as prestigious as their hero course. He had almost a decade’s worth of accumulated skills and knowledge, without mentioning his multitude of notebooks. He’d done small analysis jobs in the past for those who needed new insights on their quirks-but couldn’t afford to go to a professional, either because of money or possible legal concerns-and he’d only gotten positive feedback from those.
However, his consultations had always been through a screen, the closest to contact he’d gotten was from emails and text messages. No one would trust a quirkless person with analyzing quirks, even if he graduated from a prestigious university. Even if he managed to gain a name for himself, build a positive reputation for his insights, well, people would only take it as more proof that quirkless people couldn’t be heroes. He’d be living proof that the closest they could get to hero work was support, behind the front lines, that they couldn’t do any of the heavy lifting. It would be like giving up all of his beliefs, so close to being a hero yet so far away. He’d be in UA’s halls, but not like he’d always dreamed.
No, he couldn’t rely on his analysis. He couldn’t go to UA either, he didn’t think he could bear it. Even with the scant possibility of acknowledgement during the sports festival, it wasn’t worth feeling the crushing pain of seeing the hero students and knowing that he could never be like them. That he could never be a Hero, just a helpful sidepiece. No, he would have to find some other way to help people.
But what other way was there? He couldn’t do anything on the front lines, be it law enforcement, medical services, even counseling for victims was out. Almost everything was barred to him, he had checked. And checked. Every possible avenue had been scavenged, picked over for any openings that he could finagle through- and yet quirks remained a barrier every time.
During his lowest points, he considered that the most ‘heroic’ path he could take would be one that led him off of the edge of a building, or into the path of a bullet. Gone, no longer a nuisance for the world to deal with. It seemed the only path left, sometimes. The world didn't open doors for him, only offered a pitch-black hole at the base of a sloping floor.
But killing himself would be giving up, and if there was one thing Izuku didn’t do, it was give up.
The answer didn’t come to him that day, too busy with over-the-counter antibiotics and mouthwash. Instead, it came to him a few days later, as he wandered in search of somewhere to spend his time. He’d found himself on the shadier side of town, where the alleyways held lost kids in tattered clothes. He gave five hundred yen to a girl with no shoes, and she held the money like it was precious, darting away as if she were scared he would take it back.
It was on the side of one of these streets that he saw it. A small house, odd looking in the middle of a city street. It had traditional features, with a peaked, multi-tiered roof, and a walkway that wrapped around the building. It had windows in the front, instead of traditional shoji, but he could see the sliding panels along its sides. At the top hung a crooked sign, the words long illegible, only the faint picture of a cupcake still remaining, pink paint curled at its bottom.
His mother was at work today, thankfully. He had been worried she would try to stay home again. She was in one of her protective moods, worried about her baby getting hurt. She would insist on cooking for him, so she could cut everything into bite-sized pieces. It was if he were a toddler again, constantly liable to hurt himself on even the most innocent things. She had been too worried to let him go out, almost confiscating his notebooks in fear that he’d give himself a papercut.
He wasn’t sure which was better, the overprotectiveness or the isolation, when she would stay away from home for weeks at a time without so much as a text. Sometimes she’d forget to leave him money for groceries, and he’d have to scrape by on whatever meagre funds he could collect from his analyses. He loved his mother, he did, but he was often struck by how grateful he was that quirkless people could become emancipated with little effort, and how often they slid under the eyes of the law in legal matters- like work, schooling, and needing parental permission for things.
With her absence, he found the motivation to explore. He needed to make the most of his time, and so he approached the house. If nothing else, he would have a story to ponder as he thought of his next steps.
A sign hanging on the door read ‘Open,’ so he didn't hesitate long before poking his head in. A soft chime rang throughout the shop as the door opened, although Izuku couldn’t find the source.
The place was almost entirely empty, but it looked like the sort of place people could spend time in. It had a calm energy, light filtering through the front windows and the panels on each side of the house. There were small tables throughout the space, and a few booths along the walls. each one featured a different design, intricate swirls running just above his head.
“Hello dearie. I haven’t had anyone come in here in a while. I don’t suppose you’re looking to own a café?”
Izuku startled, despite the sweetness of the voice. He hadn’t noticed her at first, too absorbed in the building, but an older lady sat at the back of the room. She had a steaming cup in front of her, a teapot on the table, and an empty teacup across from her.
“Take off your shoes and come join me, young man.” She poured him a cup of tea as he followed her directions, padding over to take the seat across from her. She smiled at him a bit vacantly, eyes glazed with cataracts. Izuku noticed she was missing one of her front teeth, the others slightly yellowed and a bit crooked.
She gestured for him to drink and he took a small sip, instantly soothed by the warmth on his chest.
“We used to have all sorts come in here, but now it’s a bit hard for me to take care of the place on my own. I was worried I’d have to close, sell it off to one of those bastards who want to tear down our family home. they've been trying, but now you’re here. I knew someone would come, and you feel like you’re searching for a purpose, honey.”
Izuku’s mind was spinning. He had no idea what she was talking about, and focused on the one thing that always held stable for him: quirks. She said he felt like he was searching for a purpose, was that her quirk? It could be an intention-determining quirk, or some type of aura-reading. Perhaps she was like a seer, considering that she had implied that she had expected him, had said that she knew someone was coming. But future seeing quirks were so rare, it was highly unlikely, she’d be sought after by all sorts of agencies and with this place being so quiet-
“Ah, and a fast mind too. You’ll do nicely, I think. And no, no quirks needed, just an old lady’s intuition. No quirks here.” Her grin turned mischievous, and she brought her leg up to waggle her foot at him. He cocked his head, then his eyes widened.
“You’re quirkless?” He breathed.
“Yep! Have been since the day I was born. Now, I needed to find someone I could trust to take care of this place. It’s been in the hands of the quirkless for generations, and that ain’t gonna stop now.” She tossed a set of keys at him, which he barely caught, clutching them against his chest.
“All ya gotta do, sonny, is sign a few papers. Don’t need your mamma or nothing. We’re quirkless after all, we can slide under the law.”
“Sign a few papers for what?” His mind was spinning too fast to bring any coherency to her words.
“For you to own the place, haven't you been listening? It’s always been a haven, and a haven it’ll stay. The structure is perfectly fine, will be for another hundred years at least. You’ve got furniture and some basic appliances in the back, and the kitchen’s a beaut if I do say so myself. You'll probably need some new gadgets to keep up with all those other places, although that part shouldn't be your focus. I’ll leave you a bit to start you off, but you gotta make the place your own. I’ll leave the logistics up to you, I’m too old to worry about that sort of thing.”
“You’re…. giving me this place? Why?” His voice pitched up, catching and breaking with a squeak. He winced as the lady laughed, holding a hand splayed over her stomach.
“Oh, sonny. Call it the whim of an old lady- I just want this place to go to someone who will uphold it. You’ll do nicely, I think. Strong spirit, to make it this far, you’re perky and young. Motivated, if subdued by the world. This place will do you good, and you’ll do it good in return. I’m sure you want to be a hero, we all did at one point. You've got a good heart, so let me tell you a secret.” She leaned in until her nose was inches away from touching his. “Saving people is more than just saving their lives. Saving people means saving their souls. You gotta make them feel safe to keep them safe. A body is nothing without it's personality. Saving a body isn't important.”
She leaned back, still grinning, although tears shone in the corners of her eyes, one slipping down her cheek. “You remind me of my grandson. He was quirkless too, always blamed me for contaminating his genes. Ha! This place was supposed to go to him, but he didn’t make it. I can feel his spirit with you, though, such a brave young man. Take the keys, sign the deeds, and let me go in peace. I couldn’t leave before I saw this place move on as it should.”
This woman had seen much in her life. Despite the cloudiness in her eyes, the vacancy, her perception was crystal clear. She might not actually be able to see the future, but there was something in her that knew how things would go. How this decision would go. It was the certainty of a woman who knew that she was soon going to die, but had lived her life in a way that she would not feel ashamed of. Not magic, not a quirk, just learned wisdom.
Izuku took a pen from the table, the lady pulling out a small folder. Inside were only three sheets, held together with a tiny pink paperclip.
She handed the papers to him, and he read them over. They were almost criminally simple, the transition from one quirkless person to another practically invisible in the eyes of the law. She was right, they were essentially nothing, one quirkless the same as another in any legal matter. And even as that hurt them, as that let them be hurt, it also let them live. They lived in the loopholes, in the in-betweens, and he wouldn't want that to change.
His pen made dark streaks on the paper, scratching against the surface in practiced motions. The whole transaction was finished within ten minutes, the lady placing the papers back into their folder. Happiness radiated off of her as she waved the folder in his face, ruffling his hair with the breeze.
“Thank you. Take care of this place, and be the hero you need you to be.”
With that she was gone, the chime absent as she exited the building, still barefoot. Izuku watched her until she faded from view, then stared up at the ceiling.
This was not how he had expected his day to go. He had expected to go home empty-handed to a quiet apartment, to spend another night alone other than the smiling faces of his heroes. Instead, he had a café to get up and running. He’d sell some of his hero merch-All Might’s smile had been looking faker and faker, and he wouldn’t mind getting rid of it entirely. He could keep some of his other merch, maybe add that as a personal touch to the café.
Either way, he needed to get home and get to work.
He locked up as he left, making it only a couple of steps before the sign fell down behind him with a loud crash. It had splintered, completely beyond repair. He still couldn’t make out the words that had been imprinted on it, even at this distance. The cupcake had managed to survive intact, however, and he picked up the jagged piece.
He unlocked the door and set it inside, before re-locking the door. That sign had been part of the lady’s haven, and he would keep at least part of it to remember her, to remember the first person who had put their trust in him. Who had believed in his abilities, even if she had barely known him. Her last act here had been to soothe his soul- her own heroic deed. She had made him feel safe, given him a place to make safe.
She'd managed to give him a purpose. He had come in looking for guidance, for a path to follow. He didn't know how she had realized, but she had given him that. Given him a way to feel useful, something he could do without regard to his status. He would make sure this place was safe. He could still be a hero, just not in the way he had always imagined. This was how he could help people- by giving them a place where everyone could feel safe and welcomed.
“Haven,” He said, kicking aside the rest of the splintered sign and turning towards home, “I think I'll name it Haven.”