Chapter Text
The rain hadn’t stopped in three days.
It dripped through the cracks in the tin roof, slid down moldy walls, and pooled into the corners of the one-room shack they called home. Inko Midoriya sat cross-legged on the floor, stitching the torn side of a too-small coat while her five-year-old son curled beside her, asleep on a thin mat. His green curls were damp from the leak above, but he didn’t stir. He was used to it by now. Too used to things a child shouldn’t be.
Outside, the slums breathed quietly—an eerie silence between waves of unrest. Inko knew that stillness didn’t mean safety. It only meant something was building.
They’d been living there for years now, ever since her family’s rejection had turned from cold shoulders to closed doors. Her father had called newborn Izuku a stain, a reminder of a mistake Inko refused to erase. Her brother hadn’t even looked at her when she’d begged for help.
Still, she had no regrets. Not when she looked at her son’s peaceful face.
But tonight, something was wrong.
Inko paused mid-stitch. A sound broke the rain’s rhythm—a heavy boot in a puddle. Then another. And another.
Voices followed. Slurred. Laughing. Close.
Her blood went cold.
She stood quickly, gently nudging Izuku. “Baby,” she whispered. “Wake up.”
He stirred, groggy. “Mama?”
“We’re playing a game, okay? Hide and stay quiet.” She kissed his forehead, heart pounding. “Just like we practiced.”
Izuku blinked up at her with wide, trusting eyes. “Okay.”
She guided him behind the broken dresser, pulling a frayed curtain down to drape over him. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.
Then she turned back to the door.
A fist slammed into it.
Inko’s breath caught.
“Oi!” a voice barked. “We know someone’s in there.”
She looked back once more at the dresser, then stepped forward and opened the door.
Three men stood in the downpour, soaked and smiling like wolves. Their eyes raked over her, gleaming with cruel interest.
“Evening, sweetheart,” the tallest said. “Heard you’ve been hiding out here.”
“I live alone,” Inko said calmly. “There’s nothing here for you.”
The smallest one snorted. “Liar.”
The third stepped forward, hand reaching for the doorframe. “Bet she’s hiding something sweet inside.”
Panic gripped her chest—but she didn’t show it.
“Fine,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “You want something? Come get it.”
And then she turned and ran.
Not into the shack. Out. Into the rain. Into the dark alleys winding behind their home.
She didn’t look back.
The sound of footsteps crashing behind her told her everything she needed—they were following.
She didn’t need to win. She just needed to last long enough.
Just long enough for Izuku to stay hidden.
⸻
The storm passed by morning.
The neighbors found her body in a narrow alley, arms bruised, face bloodied, but eyes open and empty—like she’d died staring down the fear.
They found Izuku the next afternoon.
Still hiding. Still silent. Still waiting for his mother’s voice to tell him the game was over.
But she never came.
And something in him knew she never would.
He didn’t cry, not then.
He just looked at the sky through the hole in the roof, and listened to the rain start all over again.