Chapter Text
"You dare call yourself a Midoriya?!"
The voice boomed across the dining room, vibrating in the fine china set on the table. It was a daily ritual, a prayer of hatred recited by Hisashi Midoriya.
Izuku sat at the far end of the table, his head bowed low. He stared at his plate—a mismatch of leftovers while the others enjoyed fresh katsudon. He was six years old, but his eyes held the hollow, haunted look of an old man waiting for the end.
"I'm sorry, Father," Izuku whispered, the words automatic. He didn't know what he was apologizing for this time. Breathing too loud? Existing in the same room? Being quirkless?
"Don't call me that," Hisashi spat. He stood up, his hand glowing with the heat of his fire-breathing quirk, not enough to burn the house down, but enough to blister skin. "I don't consider a quirkless defect my son."
Izuku flinched as the heat wave washed over him. He looked to his mother, Inko. She was obsessively arranging her napkin, refusing to make eye contact. She cared more about her public image as the wife of a powerful hero than the child shivering at the end of her table.
Across from him sat his siblings. Yuki, the youngest girl, and his two older brothers, Kenzo and Daiki. They were smiling. It wasn't a happy smile; it was the cruel, expectant grin of an audience waiting for the show to start. They were strong. They had quirks. They were Midoriya.
"He's trembling," Kenzo laughed, creating a small spark of lightning between his fingers. "Look at him. He's pathetic."
"Maybe if we scare him enough, a quirk will pop out," Daiki sneered.
"Or maybe he'll just disappear," Yuki added, her voice innocent but her eyes cold.
The laughter that followed cut deeper than any physical blow. Izuku felt something inside him—a taut, fraying wire—begin to vibrate. He had endured this for three years. Three years of being the punching bag. Three years of being the stain on a perfect family portrait.
Hisashi walked over, grabbing Izuku by the collar of his shirt. He lifted the boy effortlessly, the heat radiating from his hand singing the fabric.
"You are a stain on this family," Hisashi growled, his face inches from Izuku's. "Every time the cameras flash, I worry they'll see you in the background. You make us look weak."
I hate you, Izuku thought. The thought was so loud it drowned out the ringing in his ears.
Hisashi raised a hand, wreathed in flame.
I want you to stop. I want you to hurt.
Hisashi's hand came down. The impact sent Izuku sprawling across the hardwood floor. He tasted copper. Blood.
I want you dead.
The world seemed to pause. The sound of his siblings laughing sounded distorted, like audio played underwater. The pain in his cheek throbbed, but it felt distant.
In the center of Izuku's vision, a translucent blue window appeared. It didn't look like a quirk. It looked like a command prompt.
[Condition Met: Absolute Hatred.] [Condition Met: Desire for Death.]
[System Initializing...]
Izuku blinked, thinking it was a concussion. But the text remained, glowing softly in the dim light of the dining room.
[Welcome, Player.] [Class Selection: Automatic.] [Class: Reaper assigned.]
[Quest Generated: The First Harvest.] [Objective: Sever the ties that bind.]
"Get up!" Hisashi roared, stepping forward for another kick.
Izuku looked up. He didn't see his father anymore. He saw a red bar floating above the man's head. It was a health bar. And for the first time in his life, Izuku realized that the invincible hero Hisashi Midoriya was just a collection of numbers.
And numbers could be reduced to zero.
Izuku stood up. He didn't tremble. The fear that had defined his existence for three years evaporated, replaced by a cold, numbing void.
"What's with that look?" Kenzo stopped laughing. "Dad, look at his eyes."
Hisashi sneered. "Rebellious phase? I'll beat it out of—"
Izuku raised his hand. He didn't know what he was doing, but the System guided him. It felt like remembering a skill he had practiced a thousand times in a past life.
[Skill Activated: Reaper's Touch (Lvl 1)]
A shadowy, ethereal substance leaked from Izuku's small hand. It coalesced, forming a jagged, spectral blade that extended from his forearm.
Hisashi froze, his eyes widening. "A quirk? You... you have a quirk?"
"No," Izuku said. His voice was flat, devoid of the childish pitch it usually held. "This isn't a quirk."
He swung.
It wasn't a graceful strike. It was a clumsy, desperate slash. But the spectral blade ignored the durability of Hisashi's skin. It passed through his neck with zero resistance, like smoke passing through water.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then, the red bar above Hisashi's head vanished.
Hisashi Midoriya, the Pro Hero, the tyrant of the household, collapsed. There was no blood spray, no dramatic wound. His soul had simply been severed from his body.
"Hisashi!" Inko screamed, finally looking up from her napkin.
Izuku turned to his mother. The woman who watched. The woman who ignored him.
[Objective Update: 1/2 Targets Eliminated.]
Inko scrambled back, her telekinesis flaring in panic, throwing chairs and plates at him. A heavy porcelain dish smashed into Izuku's shoulder, but he didn't feel it. The adrenaline and the strange, cold energy of the System numbed everything.
He walked through the debris.
"Stay back!" Inko shrieked. "You monster! Stay back!"
"Monster..." Izuku tested the word. It felt right. "Yes."
He reached out. Inko tried to push him back with her quirk, but the shadow energy around Izuku seemed to eat her telekinetic hold. He touched her chest.
[Skill Activated: Reaper's Touch.]
Inko gasped, her eyes rolling back, and she slumped over the table, face landing in her pristine dinner.
Silence descended on the room.
Izuku stood there, his chest heaving. A strange sensation washed over him. It wasn't guilt. It wasn't horror. It was... relief. It was the feeling of a heavy weight being lifted off his chest. He felt good.
[Quest Complete: The First Harvest.] [Level Up!] [Level Up!] [Level Up!]
He turned slowly to the side.
Huddled in the corner of the room were Yuki, Kenzo, and Daiki. They were clutching each other, their faces pale, eyes wide with absolute terror. They stared at the bodies of their parents, then at the small, bloodless boy standing over them.
Izuku raised his hand again. The shadows flickered.
Yuki let out a high-pitched, broken sob.
Izuku paused. He looked at the red bars above their heads. They were low. So low. He could end it all right here. He could wipe the slate clean.
But as he looked at Yuki's terrified face, a memory surfaced. A memory of playing with her in the park before the diagnosis. Before the hell started.
The shadow blade dissipated.
"Don't," Izuku whispered. It was a warning. A command. A goodbye.
He turned and walked out the front door, leaving the door wide open to the cold night air, leaving his siblings alone with the corpses of the parents they had worshipped.
The rain was freezing.
Izuku had been walking for hours. Or maybe days. The adrenaline had faded, replaced by a gnawing hunger and a bone-deep chill. He was curled up in an alleyway, shivering under a damp cardboard box.
The euphoria of the kill was gone. Now, there was only the crushing reality. He was six. He was alone. He was a murderer.
People walked past the alleyway, ignoring the bundle of rags that was a child. Heroes patrolled the skies, flashing their smiles for the cameras, oblivious to the darkness rotting in the alley below.
"I'm going to die here," Izuku mumbled, his teeth chattering.
[HP: 15/50] [Status: Hypothermia (Mild), Starvation.]
The blue box mocked him. It gave him information, but no food. No warmth.
"Hello there, little one."
The voice was smooth, deep, and carried a strange resonance.
Izuku flinched, trying to push himself deeper into the corner. He looked up. A man stood at the mouth of the alley. He was tall, wearing a pristine suit that seemed to repel the rain. He held a black umbrella, shielding himself from the downpour.
"Go away," Izuku croaked.
The man didn't leave. He stepped closer, the heels of his shoes clicking on the wet pavement. He crouched down, extending the umbrella so it covered Izuku, shielding him from the freezing rain.
"You have the eyes of someone who has seen the abyss," the man said softly. He smiled, but it wasn't the fake smile of a hero. It was a smile that promised power. "And I believe the abyss blinked first."
"Who... who are you?"
"A friend to the castaways," the man said. He extended a large hand. "My name is All For One. And I believe you and I have much to discuss, Izuku Midoriya."
Izuku stared at the hand. He knew he shouldn't trust strangers. He knew this man felt dangerous—the System was flashing a red warning sign in the corner of his vision.
[Warning: High-Level Entity Detected.] [Level: ???]
But Izuku looked at the warnings, then at the cold, wet street behind him. He looked at the hand offering him warmth.
He reached out and took it.
"I have nowhere to go," Izuku whispered.
All For One's grin widened. "On the contrary, young Izuku. You have everywhere to go."
As the man helped him up, a final notification chimed in Izuku's mind, unseen by the villain.
[System Linked.] [Welcome to the Game.]