Chapter Text
The wind howled over the city, whipping at Midoriya Izuku’s hair as he clutched the edge of the rooftop with trembling hands. His green notebook flapped wildly in the breeze, the pages filled with messy notes and crude sketches of heroes he admired — notes that felt useless now.
Across from him, All Might stood tall, arms crossed, the smile gone from his face. The sunlight caught on his golden hair, making him look like a god descending from the heavens. But his words... they cut deeper than any blade.
“I’m sorry, young man,” All Might said, voice tight. “You can’t become a hero without a Quirk. It’s dangerous. Reckless. You’d be putting yourself — and others — at risk.”
Izuku opened his mouth. Closed it again. His breath caught in his throat, like something sharp was lodged there. He’d spent years imagining this moment, obsessing over every possible response. He’d rehearsed his speech in the mirror, in bed, during school. But none of that mattered now. None of it would change this.
“But... but I could train!” Izuku blurted, desperation leaking into every syllable. “I — I could use gadgets, support gear, maybe — maybe even work harder than everyone else! Isn’t that enough?”
All Might shook his head slowly. Regret weighed heavily on his broad shoulders. “You’ve got the heart, kid. But this world isn’t fair. Heart doesn’t save people from villains. Power does.”
Silence stretched between them, the distant honking of cars and chatter of pedestrians far below sounding alien, surreal. Izuku’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. His palms stung from the tension, but he didn’t notice. Couldn’t.
“So... that’s it,” Izuku whispered. “I can’t be a hero. Not even with you... Not even with All Might.”
All Might’s smile flickered on for a brief second, forced and hollow. “There are other ways to help people. Careers that are just as important — law enforcement, rescue, firefighting, even education. Heroism isn’t limited to the battlefield.”
It sounded hollow. Empty. Like a consolation prize for someone too weak to play the real game.
Izuku stared at the city skyline. All those buildings, so tall and proud. People walked down there, laughing, living — some with the power to change the world, others just lucky enough to exist in it without question.
He wasn’t one of them.
All Might placed a hand on his shoulder — strong, warm. “I know it hurts, young man. But reality... it doesn’t care about dreams.”
Then, with a gust of wind and a leap, the Symbol of Peace vanished from the rooftop, leaving Izuku alone with the echo of broken hopes.
Hours passed. Izuku didn’t move.
The sun dipped low, casting the city in gold and shadow. His legs ached, but he didn’t care. His eyes burned, but the tears wouldn’t fall anymore.
In his mind, Kacchan’s words echoed: “If you wanna be a hero so bad, take a swan dive off the roof and pray for a Quirk in your next life.”
For the first time, he wondered if that wasn’t such a bad idea. And yet, he wasn't there yet. He still wanted to try, just like he'd told Kacchan, he had the right to try, didn't he? He applied for all UA courses — Hero, Support, Business, and even General Studies. A wide net. A safe bet. He couldn’t face the idea of rejection, not completely. Not yet.
No Quirk. No gadgets. Just knowledge and instinct. Izuku watched the robots roll out and thought of Kacchan’s explosions, the jeers, the constant beat-downs. He was scared — terrified — but his feet moved anyway.
Run. Run like hell.
He darted through the chaos, not destroying robots but saving people — yanking a girl out of the path of falling rubble, and dragging another out of the danger zone. His body screamed in protest, but he kept moving. He barely remembered the start and end of the exam, or the several others that followed. He was just tired, and a little proud that he'd made the effort. He'd show them all!
His mother and he both cried when the acceptance letter came. “UA... the Hero Course? Baby, are you sure that it's wise for you to accept?” she’d whispered, eyes wide.
Izuku had nodded, forcing a smile.
“I’m... I’m going to be a hero, Mom.”
She didn’t smile back.
Shouta Aizawa is a logical man, he knows what makes good heroes, he's expelled numerous students with more ego than talent, and he knows that the entrance exam is a joke. He knows he'd tried to get Nedzu to change this part of the exam so many times, and yet, every year the same excuse.
"The HPSC sets the rules for the entrance exams. I had to fight just to add in the rescue points! I wish things were different, but I can't do anything. You know that."
And he'd grumble, but he knew Nedzu was telling the truth, even if it wasn't the whole truth. He always suspected his employer had blackmail material on the HPSC, on everyone really that he kept close to his chest to use in the 'right' situation. The right situation is dictated by Nedzu's quirk. And he got it, he did, because as smart as he was, he could admit that Nedzu was smarter, and most of the time, he was right. If Nedzu said he couldn't change the exam, then he couldn't and that was that.
But it irked him. It irked him because this year, his own protege, a boy that he'd stumbled across on one of his patrols, had failed spectacularly. And he knew the only reason the boy failed was that his quirk was not effective on robots. He'd tried to get Shinso's body ready, but there was only so much he was able to do with having only met the kid two months before the exam. He hoped that one of two things would happen. Either he'd get lucky and this class of incoming kids would be just as hopeless as the last, or one of the kids would do so poorly on his practical examination that he could expel them and transfer Shinso in early instead of having to wait until the sports festival.
His first glance at his incoming class does what it always does, he watches, and waits, to see if anyone will notice him, and if he can write off anyone just with this first glance. Sometimes, he wonders if it would be easier if he read the incoming students' files any closer than just a glance at their names and quirks, but he didn't want to be biased against a student by any doctored files. He remembers well that schools often pad the files of those with heroic quirks like Sensoji, or make up things that the person never did, like in his own case. It had always served him in the past, and he always thought it would continue to serve him.
His eyes narrowed as they fell on a pair of red shoes. As an underground hero, he instantly recognized their significance. The quirkless kid who'd somehow passed the exam. Aizawa's jaw clenched imperceptibly.
During the entrance exam, Aizawa had observed with growing frustration that the quirkless boy, Midoriya, displayed unexpected resourcefulness. The kid's performance was impressive, racking up rescue points through quick thinking and selfless actions. But logic nagged at Aizawa - without a quirk, how could Midoriya hope to survive as a hero?
Aizawa's thoughts drifted to Shinso, his protégé who'd failed spectacularly due to the exam's bias against non-combat quirks. The unfairness of it all gnawed at him. He respected the rescue point system, but the harsh reality was that even with training and support items, a quirkless hero would always be at a severe disadvantage.
With a heavy sigh, Aizawa made his decision. He wouldn't send a kid to his death, no matter how noble their intentions. Carefully, he adjusted Midoriya's scores on the quirk assessment, ensuring the boy would fall just short of passing. It felt cruel, but Aizawa convinced himself it was for the best.
As he finalized the results, a nagging doubt crept in. How much could he truly judge these kids based on a single day? People could improve, surprise you. But Aizawa pushed the thought aside. He had to trust his judgment and his experience. It was the logical choice.
Wasn't it?
"Midoriya Izuku, you came in last in the exam. You have been deemed to have no potential. You are hereby expelled from UA high." He almost winced as he said the words, but logic took over, it was for the best.
He ignored how the expelled student looked at him with dead eyes, he ignored everything he knew about the quirkless. He ignored how he'd seen far too many of those red shoes on roofs. He ignored everything that said this might be the worst thing he could do, and made a mental note to check Midoriya's file for his address later. He'd check, to make sure that there wouldn't be another pair of empty red shoes.
Izuku came home to silence.
The apartment was dark, and cold. On the table — a note.
"Izuku, I can’t do this anymore. You need to be realistic. You won’t listen to anyone and you won't face that the world isn't a fantasy novel where you're the protagonist who magically gets what they want. I can't stay and watch you die. I can't. I’m sorry. — Mom”
His knees buckled. The paper fluttered to the floor, joining shattered dreams.
Slowly he made his way out of the apartment and up the old, rickety stairs to the roof, Kacchan's words echoing in his head 'Take a swan dive off of the roof and hope for a quirk in your next life."
Would the apartment be tall enough? He wondered as he thought of the eight stories. He'd read somewhere that a person could survive a fall if it wasn't a far fall. Would eight stories be enough? He wondered if there was a god out there that he could pray to specifically for a quirk for his next life. He'd take any quirk even if it was useless- even if it was as simple as Old Lady Tanaka's nail color-changing quirk. He wondered who would have to clean up the mess. He wondered if he should leave a note, but why bother? Kacchan would be happy he took his advice, even if it took far too long to do so, no one at UA would care, why would they? he clearly wasn't enough to pass a stupid quirk exam, a biased quirk exam at that. He thinks he remembers doing better than the invisible girl at some of the parts of the exam, but then she had a quirk, a quirk that wasn't very useful in all situations but would be perfect for an underground hero, just like his former teacher was.
He nearly paused thinking about it, was UA it? He could try at other schools, couldn't he? And then he remembered that being expelled from UA, no matter the reason would put all other schools off of his application due to the black mark. He'd be booted before he could even try. He almost paused again as his mind went over All Might's advice, and yet, he'd looked before, quirkless need not apply when a quirked person could do the job so much better.
The climb seemed to take an eternity, and yet, no time at all before he was at the rooftop gardens his mom had loved so much. If he was going to do this, and he hoped he still had the courage to do this, he wanted to see something pretty one last time. His feet reached the edge. The city stretched out before him, uncaring. Lights twinkled like stars, like hope he didn’t deserve. His toes curled over the edge.
Then — a voice.
“Hey, kid. You alright?”
He turned, he hadn't realized he wasn't alone. It was the old man from down the hall from him. The one that everyone said to stay away from, the one they said was a 'serial killer' who had never been caught. For a moment, his breath caught in his throat. What did the old man want? Did he want to kill him? Did he want that?
"I can't believe that rumor is still going around."
Izuku flushed as he realized he'd been talking aloud,
"Look, kid, I don't know what brought you up here, but based on those shoes, I can make an educated guess. Before you take that leap, will you lend an old man your ears? Will you hear my story?"
Izuku shrugged, what did he have to lose? If the rumors were true, maybe he could ask the old man to make his death quick. If not, well it wasn't like the roof was going anywhere.
The apartment was small, cluttered, and smelled faintly of smoke and old paper. Izuku paused at the entrance, eyes drawn immediately to the framed Fire Chief jacket hanging on the wall. It was worn, the colors faded, but the pride it radiated was palpable. Beneath it, a nameplate read:
Hoshino Takeya
Fire Chief, Musutafu Department (Retired)
Izuku blinked. “You were... a firefighter?”
The old man — Hoshino — chuckled, his gravelly voice echoing softly.
“Wasn’t always an old ghost people whispered about. Once upon a time, I ran into burning buildings for a living.” He gestured to a wall covered in news articles, some yellowed with age:
- “Quirkless Hero Saves Ten in Apartment Blaze”
- “Fire Chief Commended for Bravery, No Quirk, No Problem”
- “Hoshino: The Man Who Beat the Flame”
Izuku stared, wide-eyed. “You’re... quirkless?”
Hoshino nodded. “Always was. Never bothered me. Fire doesn’t care if you’ve got laser eyes or stretchy arms. It just burns. And people need saving regardless.”
Izuku’s fists clenched. “But I tried... I tried so hard. UA still kicked me out. Said I was a liability.”
Hoshino sat and motioned for Izuku to do the same. His eyes, sharp despite the wrinkles, met Izuku’s.
“You know how many fires I’ve been in? Hundreds. I lost count. You know how many times I got told I’d die without a Quirk?”
He raised a scarred hand. “Every damn time. But I didn’t. You know why?”
His hand clenched into a fist.
“Training. Strategy. Heart. And this.” He tapped his head. “Thinking two steps ahead. Planning for the worst. Being the calm in the storm.”
Izuku swallowed hard, eyes burning.
“I had to build my tools, my strategies. No one handed me power. But I still saved lives. Heroes come in all forms, kid. Not all of them wear capes or blast holes in walls.”
Silence stretched between them. Hoshino leaned back.
“Now I see kids like you, looking down from rooftops, thinking there’s no place for them. I get it. The world’s loud about who ‘counts.’ But that’s the world’s problem, not yours. You wanna save people? Find your way. Make your own damn place.”
Izuku nodded slowly, standing. His heart still felt heavy, but the weight had shifted — no longer despair, but something else.“Thank you... Hoshino-san.”
Hoshino smiled faintly. “Any time, kid. Just don’t let the world decide your worth.”
Back in his tiny, silent apartment, Izuku sat on his bed, staring at the worn notebook that once brimmed with hero stats and dreams. Now it felt like a relic — of a boy who thought power was everything.
All Might’s words echoed again, clearer now.
“There are other ways to help people. Careers that are just as important — law enforcement, rescue, firefighting, even education. Heroism isn’t limited to the battlefield.”
He glanced around the empty room, eyes drifting to the window. The city lights twinkled outside — so many people, so many quirks... but how many were truly happy? He thought about school. The kids who barely used their Quirks. The ones who never got into UA. The villain who stole a purse — was that desperation? Poverty? A failed dream?
Izuku frowned, fingers drumming against his knee.
“Why does UA get to decide who becomes a hero? Why does Quirk power mean everything?”
He opened his laptop, typing slowly: “How to become a teacher in Japan.”
No mention of needing a Quirk.
“You don’t need a Quirk to teach,” he muttered, eyes widening. “No one ever said you had to have one.”
Then it hit him. Hard.
UA had other courses: Business, Support, and General. But who from those programs ever made headlines? Maybe a mention in a hero’s thank-you speech — at best.
And the quirkless? People like him?
“No schools for us. No programs. No one cares.”
He stood abruptly, heart racing.
“I’m not the only one,” he whispered. “I can’t be.”
His mind whirled. All the kids who never got into hero schools, who didn’t have flashy quirks, who fell through the cracks.
“UA’s the best, but even they screw people over. What about everyone else? What if someone stood up for them?”
A plan was forming — messy, chaotic, alive.
“What if I became a hero for the ones who don’t get heroes?”
He smiled for the first time since his expulsion. It was small, wobbly, broken, but it was real. He could do this. He could be a different sort of hero. No, he would be a different sort of hero.