Chapter Text
There were very few things that Izuku had figured out on his own, but it was absolutely pivotal that he never forgot them. There were exceptions to these laws (as he liked to call them), and Kacchan would always be one of them.
All ghosts wanted something. It was the reason they stuck around after death. When someone happens to be ripped from their lives suddenly they’ll have a pretty high chance of getting marooned as a ghost. Until they find closure. Sometimes all it would take was a favor for a quivering teenager to smile before fading into nothingness. Izuku wrote letters, fed cats, attended funerals, watched plays, found lost trinkets, and occasionally tipped off the police when a ghost could ID their perp.
There were some things he couldn't do himself, which was when he would dispense life. If a ghost wanted to eat something, say goodbye to a loved one in person, experience something one last time, he would grant them their wish.
He didn’t have to, not at this point in time, but he liked to.
So That was one thing. The second and most painful thing was that ghosts had ulterior motives. They stuck around due to confusion, regret, or revenge, (and occasionally love). They were supposed to move on. It was just something that Izuku knew . When he saw a spirit move on, there was a humming in his bones that told him it was right.
He’d also become privy to the fact that ghosts that had been around a long time were powerful. It didn’t matter if they were four or fifty nine when they died, if they’d been a ghost upwards of ten years, they were terrifying. It seemed that with age, spirits tended to lose sight of whatever it was tethering them to the living. That was the case with poltergeists; they weren’t all awful people, they were just angry and confused and lashing out. When you got to be that old, your mental faculties tended to take a turn for the worst.
They would start to forget.
Simple stuff like their birthday and their deathday. Sometimes they’d forget what happened to them, and others (the most heartbreaking cases) would forget that they were dead. They’d try to talk to people and reach out, only to slide through them and the wall they’d been standing by. The wails of the remembering-dead were always disturbing. (What was worse was that over the course of the next few days or weeks, they’d forget all over again. Their agony and fear would only shorten their memory until they were raging for reasons they couldn’t even comprehend.)
So finding old ghosts that had their wits about them was rare. (But Izuku had three of them, Kacchan, Shirakumo, and Nana.)
Nana was the oldest ghost. She was thirty seven. (Or at least, she was thirty seven in dead years, which was how most ghosts referred to themselves). Unafraid and always with a smile, she didn’t mind talking about her demise. She was a hero-- a great one at that-- who died in a historic battle with an age old evil she only ever called All for One. She expressed regret about leaving her young protege behind, but she was confident that he would turn out alright. It was her son that she had stayed for; she had put him up for adoption out of fear for his well being while she was a hero. Ultimately, it was the best decision because at least he wasn’t orphaned (though she doubted it hurt any less to hear the news). She stayed to watch over him and his family, only to have her attention be drawn to her grandson. His childhood was not kind. Nor was her son. She had drifted away one night to explore the city, only to return to an empty house-- her boy nowhere in sight.
She raged for a few years, she wasn’t afraid to admit. Their old house didn’t sell for three years because of her haunting.
From that day on she believed that her grandson had been kidnapped, her remaining family decimated in the process. She wanted to find her boy. (And maybe she wanted revenge on the person/people who took him. She wasn’t a hero anymore, so she could be selfish).
She never showed her injuries, and readily accepted life when Izuku went to give it; she never once asked for it though. She had shiny black hair that was styled much like his mother’s, and insisted upon wearing her hero costume like a badge of honor. Her yellow gloves were easy to spot in his peripheral vision, and her cape was exceptionally soft. Of all his ghosts, she liked being solid the most. She would help do laundry at home, pick up the groceries, and on one occasion, drove Inko home from work when she was too tired to function. Nana’s smile was infectious though, so once she got smiling, everyone else would follow suit.
Her quirk was where things got interesting. She told tales of a quirk, passed down from hero to hero, that grew stronger with every holder. She said it gave her immense power, yet was the greatest burden she ever had to bear. Her protege now had it, and was clearly alive (and heroing well) because Nana would beam when she spoke of him. Her biological quirk was a basic form of levitation. It was kind of a rough deal on her part, considering every ghost got the power to float, but she was never competitive like that.
Kacchan was the next oldest, being the ripe old age of twenty five. The boy was still unnecessarily tight lipped about his death (another Kacchan specific exception to the norm), but Izuku knew he hated hospitals, doctors, nurses, and pretty much everything that had to do with them. And as evidenced by his past transgressions, he had a distinct dislike for human traffickers of all kinds (more than any other type of criminal). Kacchan claimed that he stuck around because he’d wanted to be a hero that badly , but Izuku knew he wanted revenge. It was one of the things he just knew . The boy never wanted to see his grave, and he all but refused to send a message to his parents (though he insisted they were doing fine health-wise, just old as hell .)
He’d been with Izuku for about four years now, and it didn’t look like he was leaving any time soon. In his perpetually aged form he had rather lengthy blonde hair that sat like a crown of thorns atop his head. His baby-faced cheeks smoothed out into a sharp jaw with a thin nose, while his eyes stayed just as crimson as ever. Ever since Izuku’s mom took him to the mall a year ago, his wardrobe saw some variation. If he was going to be solid (which needed to be planned down to the minute , because somebody didn’t exactly enjoy the “exhausting” feeling of being alive) he would wear the stylish clothing she picked out for him. He liked joggers and sweatshirts and hero merch-- all in dark colors. It may have been his childish side showing through, but he loved skulls and explosions and the endlessly tacky clothes from the dollar store. He also hated the flip phone that Inko insisted (read: forced) him to carry when he was solid.
Kacchan liked to stick to Izuku’s side for as long as possible, always running a 24/7 commentary about everything around them. He was judgmental— and a bit jaded— but he had the uncanny skill of taking one look at a person and knowing-- instantly-- what made them tick.
He wasn’t big on smiles or comfort, but he could give one hell of a pep talk (or a right hook, depending on what the situation called for). His quirk was just like him, too, explosive. Kacchan told him that he sweated nitroglycerin, which he could detonate via his palms to create explosions of varying magnitudes. It was tricky, versatile, and dangerous, but it was incredible.
Shirakumo was next, sitting at a fun fourteen years of death. He was the middle child, teenager of the group and it suited him. His wild blue hair and blinding smiles told of an optimism he shouldn’t have had. He’d opened up more recently about how he died in his second year at UA while on his work study. He wasn’t as forthcoming as Nana with the details of his death, but the crack that split his head from crown to eyebrow when he introduced himself to Izuku had said plenty already. After the entrance exam he divulged that he’d been best friends with Present Mic, which was why he’d lashed out when Kacchan insulted him. He was-- apparently-- very protective of his former classmates. And of children, surprisingly enough. (Even though Kacchan was older in the metaphysical sense of the word, Shirakumou acted like it was his god given job to be his older brother.)
As for why he was still around? He said there was something wrong with his body. He was content with his death, he blamed no one and regretted nothing, but was utterly bent about not knowing where his body was. It wasn’t in his grave, he was adamant . Though no one particularly asked him to elaborate, his insistence that it’s violating an- and wrong and I can’t stand it, was enough to convince everyone to let the subject drop.
Shirakumo called his quirk cloud, and given the opportunity, he could create clouds so dense they could hold up concrete. It was an incredible defensive quirk that even worked offensively, if Izuku’s bruises from getting body slammed by one of them during training meant anything.
And then came the twins, Yuuya and Sayoko. They were babies-- infants. The duo were both two months old. They were vigilantes in their early twenties when they were killed, coincidentally while off duty. In their spare time the sisters played music to pay the bills, and after staying out too late one evening they were caught in the crossfire between a hero and a criminal. Though the girls were (nearly) identical twins, Izuku could always tell who was who, even when they coordinated their outfits.
The girls were tall, with strong legs and voices, and honestly looked like half the covers of the model magazines his mother frequently bought. They shared the same shade of snow white hair that reached their lower back, and were practically inseparable. Sayoko’s quirk let her control sound waves-- no one knew to what extent, but they did know that she was skilled. Her weapon of choice? A violin. Yuuya-- or Yuu as she insisted on being called-- had a voice quirk that she dubbed compulsion. Anyone who heard her demand would become subject to her will. She was bubbly and loved to talk and had a control over her quirk that had even Kacchan drooling. There was always a difference between when Yuu asked for the salt, and when she asked for the salt.
Sayoko was more bitter about death than her sister, though they agreed they wanted to see their killer brought to justice.
Despite the area being well into the Bad Part Of Town, Izuku still left flowers on the street corner where they perished. It garnered a few odd stares every time he propped them against the building, but the shopkeeper never had the heart to move them.
“Did you know them?” he asked once, his voice soft like he was sharing a secret.
“Does it matter?” Izuku said back. He met the man’s eyes with an expression that was neither sorrowful nor bitter. The man was clearly taken off guard.
“I just think the dead deserve to be remembered is all,” he added. “I didn’t have to know them to think that.”
The silence was filled with chittering from his friendlies, though the shopkeeper was none the wiser.
“If you ever felt so inclined to leave something too, Yuu likes sweets and Sayoko loves shiny things.”
And with that, Izuku turned on his heel and left. The man would’ve raised a brow at how the boy spoke as if the girls were still alive, but when that kid passed him by and he swore he saw two feminine shadows next to his shorter one, he kept his comments to himself.
The next time Izuku dropped off flowers there was a fruity smelling candle and a positively glinting silver ring in addition to his bouquet.
Though the girls never visited the site, they couldn’t stop smiling all week.
It was funny how the most mundane things brought up specific memories. Like right now, Izuku was remembering the shopkeeper’s deed because the man at the table adjacent to his had a ring as shiny as Sayoko’s. Before he could get too caught up in his head, he was getting his shoulder nudged by the bombshell blond to his right.
Kacchan was halfway through his ghost pepper rice when he noticed that the greenie was spacing out. He tried chewing noisily, hoping it would pull him from his daze (a tactic that would’ve worked on literally any other occasion). When it didn’t he resorted to physical violence-- as was the natural progression of things, of course.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he chided. “Don’t think, eat.”
The seriousness in his tone made Izuku crack a smile, because if there was one thing Kacchan was serious about, it was his diet and exercise plan.
“I’m not stressing about the entrance exam,” Izu immediately responded, his chopsticks practically appearing in his hand. (When did he get so hungry?)
“I didn’t say you were.”
It was a bit smug on Kacchan’s part, but he wasn’t lying either.
It was the day after Izuku had conked out after the physical exam, and his mom had taken them ( them , meaning: Inko, Izuku, and Kacchan) out to dinner to celebrate. They were at a modern little hole in the wall Indian joint, eating rice and curry til their hearts’ content. It was the only place in the province that would serve Katsuki as many spicy peppers as he wanted, and with their frequent appearances over the years, they’d become friends with the chef and owner.
The trio often found their drinks on the house, and more often than not got a private room to dine in. It made it easier for the whole gang (non-solid friendlies included) to talk without catching stares.
The owners named a challenge after Katsuki after witnessing him eat three Naga Viper peppers without breaking a sweat. If you can eat a Carolina Reaper without crying or drinking and eating anything, you get free food for a year. (Katsuki is the only person barred from competing.)
“We should be hearing back from UA next week, right?” Inko chirped. “Give him some time, Katsuki, he’ll be worrying before you know it.”
“Lies and slander!”
“Oh, if mom thinks you’re worrying over nothing you have to give it up!”
“He’s right, dear. I don’t doubt that you made it into the heroics course, you just need to enjoy yourself! Loosen up a bit!”
Both were met with an unattractive huff that screamed of Sulking Teenage Boy. His family responded with laughter.
The week waiting to hear back from UA was the worst week of izuku’s life.
The freckled boy had never been so nervous to open a letter in his life. He crawled onto the couch, numb to the world around him, as he fumbled with the flap. After two unsuccessful attempts at opening it like a normal person, he just ripped the damn thing in half. Instead of staring at a shorn letter, a hockey puck looking device dropped onto the living room table. Six heads leaned over the couch in anticipation for…. Something.
As if hearing their pleas, the puck whirred to life and started projecting.
All Might was laughing heartily, dressed in the ugliest yellow suit anyone had ever seen— Katsuki said as much— and was announcing that Izuku passed.
It was worthwhile to note that the poor kid didn’t hear the news at first because he was having an aneurysm at the fact that All Might said his name . It took rapid shaking from three ghosts (a living mother) and several moments of incomprehensible screaming before Izuku teared up. Inko was hugging him furiously, her arms slung over his shoulders and pulling Katsuki in as well.
“I’m so proud of you,” she sobbed. “My boys! Look at you! Heroes! ”
Nana had the foresight to pause the video before they celebrated through the entire thing. Once everyone settled down and was wiping their eyes, she started it up again.
“You scored an impossible 97% on the written exam— a new school record! And your practical scores were equally as impressive! Fifty nine villain points, combined with forty two rescue points for saving one of your fellow competitors and minimizing damage to the city, ended up giving you a whopping 101 points. Come, Young Midoriya, to your hero academia!”
By the end of the video, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. The second the picture froze and All Might’s voice halted, Kacchan and Shirakumo were whooping as loudly as possible. They celebrated all night long, excitement making them all too restless for sleep. For a single night Izuku strayed from his diet and work out plan, indulging in cake and sodas and movies. All night the Midoriyas’ apartment was live with the sound of music and celebration, even if there were only two people that flitted through the house. Not a single neighbor-- not even the angry old man that lived below them-- complained about the noise or the thundering footsteps. Something in the air told them to just let them have this one night, and after living in close proximity to that family, one learned not to question that feeling.
Elsewhere, an overly tired man glared at the screen before him. It had been replaying footage of one of his future students. Throughout the entirety of the exam, the boy moved with grace, precision, and power . It wasn’t some fluke that he’d scored the highest in UA history. What was interesting though, was the last two minutes of the exam. The kid had clearly been rattled by the zero pointer’s entrance, but he recovered unusually fast. A few moments were highlighted to him, which was the reason for even reviewing it to begin with. The first moment was the sight of the boy’s shoelaces being tied, despite there being no force to do so. The next highlighted the rocks and dust that were picked out from his hair, though there wasn’t a soul around to. The video showed the boy flinching as if he’d just been yelled at, while the clip was as silent as ever.
And then the kid spoke. To himself.
And while some people could rationalize this as the kid psyching himself up to take on the zero pointer, the man caught on to the way the boy was looking at something. He stared at specific places, as if he were seeing someone, or knew where someone was.
Nezu was right to point this out to him, since it looked as if the boy was cheating by getting external help. And there was something about the way the kid fell. An impact with the ground from that height and speed should’ve killed him, but the way the dust seemed to pulse when he made contact with it gave Aizawa reasonable certainty to assume something caught him.
“Midoriya Izuku, huh?” a voice called from behind the tired man’s perch. “Is he in your class this year, Aizawa?”
“Yes. Why, does he interest you, Toshinori?”
“Mm, not particularly. I happened to come across him and his brother amidst a villain attack. He didn’t fare too well during the incident, so his brother did most of the heavy lifting. The brother, uh… wasn’t what you’d call an All Might fan.”
For some reason, the information sat wrong with Aizawa. No, not the All Might thing-- but the brother thing. It had his eyes narrowing as he broke out Midoriya’s file. He leafed through the pages upon pages of information the family had surrendered, to finally pull out the few he was looking for. The front page held biographical information, with names, quirks, and descriptions.
“You said this kid had a brother?”
The confusion on his colleague’s face was clear as day. “Yeah? Tsukauchi accompanied them to the hospital until they were picked up by their mother. Is there something wrong? Tsukauchi mentioned having a bad feeling afterwards, if you know what I mean.”
“I just think it’s interesting that he said so, considering he doesn’t have a brother.”
And with that, Aizawa proffered the paper to Toshinori. Besides Izuku, the only other living family member listed was his mother. The paper detailed the fact that her late husband was an only child, whose parents had died rather young, and that Inko was an only daughter, whose parents had died only a few years beforehand. There were no extended cousins, no aunts or uncles; just Izuku, and his mother Inko.
No brother.
Toshinori seemed utterly taken aback, looking at the paper like it’d just told him the secret to life. For the first time, Aizawa saw him speechless.
“I have reason to believe he cheated on the exam, too. The kid was seen with at least two, but most likely three separate quirks.”
“Why let him in, if you think he’s cheating?”
“Because of this,” Aizawa groaned, showing the second paper he’d pulled out. “It was approved by the quirk registry the day before the kid turned fourteen. And while it isn’t technically illegal unless it’s submitted the day after, it’s still unusual to submit the paperwork so late. And take a look at the quirk listed, too.”
Imagination: The wielder has the ability to bring life to the things only they can see.
Neither man really knew what to say to that.
“What… does that even mean? What else does it say?” Toshinori asked, grabbing the paper.
“Absolutely nothing,” Aizawa nods. “It’s a random quirk in comparison to both his mother and father’s. According to the national quirk registry, his mother has a weak form of telekinesis, while his father had a latent form of psychometry. The kid is their biological child too, so there’s no adoption or surrogate throwing us off.”
“... so are you insinuating that Young Midoriya is either cheating, or that his quirk can… create other people?”
Aizawa shrugged noncommittally. “Pretty much. I’m only ninety percent sure he was cheating though. If I was entirely certain he’d already be expelled.”
“I see.”
Izuku found out about his entry into UA on a Friday, and by Monday morning he was on his way to the school. His uniforms had come in the mail Sunday, which gave him the entire day to fail at tying his tie. The whole weekend pretty much blended together until Izuku found himself stepping off of a train he couldn’t remember boarding. Kacchan was actually pulling on his sleeve as he guided him towards the school. Though they were still half a mile from the campus, the massive buildings towered above the landscape.
“I can’t believe we’re really here, Kacchan,” Izuku mused. “We did it!”
“Tch, you say that like you doubted us.”
Kacchan was smiling though. It was a soft thing, pointed towards the school, so Izuku could tell that it was genuine. It made a laugh bubble up from Izuku’s chest, as he stared at the rare show of glee on Kacchan’s face.
“The fuck do you think you’re laughing at?”
His aggression only made Izuku laugh harder, until he was belly laughing and stumbling in his step. It only made Kacchan pricklier, and it created a cycle of giggling and scowling that lasted all the way to the school gates.
Somewhere between the train and the gates Kacchan had gone incorporeal, but Izuku only noticed it when the boy phased through the wall instead of walking around it. All he did was raise an eyebrow in judgement before going back to their conversation. It was getting harder, lately, for Izuku to tell when Kacchan was visible and when he wasn’t. He assumed it was because of how much life the boy was stockpiling, but he was as good at understanding this ghost thing as anyone else-- which really meant fuck all. Kacchan ended up using life at the rate of once every four weeks or maybe every two, while Izuku always made it a habit to power him up before breakfast and before dinner daily. Doing that for four years was actually starting to have repercussions. Who would’ve thought?
He put it out of his mind, tabling it for when he was in bed later tonight. The only thing he could afford to have his mind on was UA, and frankly, it wouldn’t be that hard.
Unbeknownst to the duo, there was another kid following them to school. He’d gotten off the train at the same stop as them, just barely waking up in time to slip through the doors before they closed. He’d gotten on at the farthest stop, and had to endure the forty-five minute ride into Musutafu.
Shoving the phone’s charging cord in his mouth, Kaminari turned onto the side street that his phone showed was a shortcut towards the school. A cold gust of wind blew, and a few dead leaves rolled across his shoes. He figured he’d be alone on his walk, but the UA uniform and tuft of green hair ahead of him showed otherwise. In the distance, the siren of an ambulance rang out and disappeared behind the shorter boy’s one sided conversation. In the corner of Kaminari’s eyes, the light of a nearby house turned off the second the boy reached its property. The air in this particular street smelled of garbage and humidity, the static of what felt like an impending thunderstorm making Kaminari’s hair stand on end; it was odd though, because the sky was cloudless.
He let the surge of electricity buzz against his teeth loudly, just to break the slightly unnerving energy. He thought it was weird that the kid was talking to the open air, pausing to receive no audible response, and continuing the conversation unperturbed. He’d thought maybe he was walking with someone who had an invisibility quirk, but the sound of the green kid’s voice was the only thing echoing between the buildings. It was… unnerving to say the least.
Kaminari’s feet carried him easily through the streets though. It was as he crossed the gates into UA that he felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was like he was being watched-- stared down, even. The only person in the near vicinity was the other boy, whose conversation had all but ceased, and was walking with his back to him.
He whipped his head around, trying to spot the person who was making his skin crawl. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw a few people standing around the green kid, five different pairs of eyes boring into his figure. Kaminari felt exposed. For some reason his feet stopped walking, and he felt paralyzed. All he could do was trail his eyes back to the kid in front of him and pray whatever was happening would stop. The door to UA opened a couple seconds ahead of the short boy, yet there was no one there.
There was no crowd surrounding him, not a single trace of the eyes that had peered through his soul. The kid disappeared inside and Kaminari could finally breathe. He looked down at his phone, which shook gently in his hand.
128%
Okay… so maybe he’d shorted himself out. Maybe this whole crazy situation was his slowly frying brain trying to make him rationalize his anxiety. After all, it was his first day at UA of all places. It actually made him choke out a laugh, surprising himself. Well, it was one hell of a way to start the day. With a lopsided grin, he pocketed his phone and bounded up the stairs, pushing the scenario out of his mind. He had a classroom to find!
Izuku, on the other hand, was already sitting in class. Class 1A. The boy practically vibrated in his seat as he awaited the rest of his classmates. He was towards the back of the classroom, his feet tapping an excited staccato on the floor. Despite how inconvenient it was, Izuku had told the friendlies that while at school he would only respond in sign or written notes. Unless he was sure he was alone, he’d keep his rather meddlesome words to himself. The friendlies though, they were free to speak as frequently as they wanted, they just needed to stay quiet enough as to not distract him during lectures.
“Alright, Izuku, I’m gonna give the girls the grand tour of the campus. I know Kacchan’s not gonna leave you alone for a while, so I figured they ought’a know their way around as soon as possible,” Shirakumo announced.
He was met with the gentle nod of green curls, and a thumbs up from the blonde, so he drifted out of the room. A chorus of good luck ’s and see you later ’s sent off the twins and Nana, leaving just the two boys alone.
It took only a handful of quiet minutes before another student walked into class. Izuku’s face was open and bright at the sight of his (!!!) classmate until he recognized the face that was greeting him. It was austere, sharp, and adorned with pointed brows behind glasses. The beam that had lit up his freckles fell into somewhat of a sneer. It did nothing to deter the newcomer from approaching him and bowing.
“I’m Iida Tenya from Somei Academy! I would like to personally apologize for my uncouth actions during the entrance exam. I underestimated you and thus treated you unfairly. Please forgive me!”
The guy-- Iida, his mind supplied-- seemed to be painfully honest. The pure determination he used in his actions killed any doubt in Izuku’s mind that Iida was insincere. With a relaxed huff, Izuku released a breath he had no recollection of holding.
“You are forgiven, Iida,” he said easily, much to Kacchan’s chagrin. “I’m Midoriya Izuku-- I hope we can start off on a better foot?”
“Indeed! It would be in our best interest to become friends, in order to work more cohesively in class.”
Kacchan thought he was the title-holding champ of all work and no play , he had yet to have met the work-fiend that was Iida Tenya. Izuku wouldn’t hear the end of it, he was sure. Once Kacchan was the best at something, he loathed being usurped. Izuku was not at all prepared for his day to go like this, but it apparently was. What was there for him to do about it?
Slowly but surely kids streamed into class-- a few exchanging pleasantries, or reasking the names of kids they’d tested alongside-- until there was a steady hum of voices. Kids of all shapes and sizes passed by the doorway, until the warning bell chimed and everyone found their seats. A boy with box-blonde hair gave him an odd look when he’d walked in, but Izuku quickly found himself forgetting the feeling of the boy’s eyes on the side of his head. This wasn’t the first, nor last time, he’d be stared at. He was practically immune to it at this point.
It wasn’t until his teacher sauntered into the door, jelly packet hanging from his lips and clinging to his sleeping bag like it was the last good thing this world had to offer, that Izuku felt the excitement bubble up in his chest. Aizawa Shouta was his name, which set off several alarm bells in his head. The name was so familiar, but he just couldn't put his--
“--So this is Eraserhead,” Kacchan huffed. “I’m sure Yuu and Sayo would be flipping their shit if they knew he was your teacher.”
Ah, so that’s what it was. On their many patrols and interventions, the vigilante duo had found themselves inadvertently watching or coming across the man. They said he was cunning, crafty, and a no-holds-barred kind of guy. Fair, yet unyielding. Respectable, was what they called him. A real, old fashioned, hero. If a guy like that still existed.
Oh yeah, the girls would be losing their minds later, throwing a ghostly tantrum because they missed their favorite cryptid.
And suddenly everyone in class was rising to their feet-- only making Izuku flinch-- and causing him to realize he’d zoned out for most of Aizawa’s lecture. Before he could start to spiral down the unending path of oh god what did I miss , Katsuki was booming above the din.
“Grab your shitty case and get changed! Quirk apprehension test in ten minutes! You gonna make us late on our first day? Just like you spaced through the first lecture?”
He left no room for talking back. They were patronizing words spit from a mouth capable of bringing stronger men to their knees, but they were exactly what Izuku needed to hear.
This was the thing, Izuku tended to… get a little too caught up in his head sometimes. Yeah, he’d spent the last four years talking his heart out to the specters only his eyes could see, but those habits flew right the fuck out the window when people were involved. Every presence weighed on his being, making him hypersensitive to people and their (frequently too short) distance from him. With that being said, it made sense as to why the boy artfully ducked in between his fellow students when he went to retrieve his gym uniform. Of course, some people found it odd, but it was something that was easily forgotten in the grand scheme of things. After all, even if Momo’s eyes followed the boy just a second longer than usual, there was so much already happening that by the time she’d retrieved her own uniform the small boy had disappeared. It was curious.
She merely hummed, already focusing on trying to figure out how to get to “training ground B” without having been given any type of directions. As she and the rest of the class filtered out in the hallway, the same problem on all their minds, she once again noted the distinct lack of emerald hair. How curious, indeed.
Izuku, on the other hand, was making his way to the training ground with all the confidence of a UA third year. Katsuki had been filled in ahead of time by Shirakumo on where to go. While the older boy was still rather tight lipped about his experience at the school, he’d said that if Present Mic was on the staff, the duo would need to be ready for every kind of challenge.
What did Present Mic have to do with nefarious tasks and deceptive lesson plans? Who the hell knew. All Izuku knew was that he was grateful to be headed in the right direction. He found his way to the grounds and the adjacent locker room with ease, and soon enough he was standing in the field awaiting the arrival of his teacher. Eraserhead . How cool!
As the minutes passed, Izuku slowly started to become more restless. It started with him shifting his weight from one foot to the other. What if Kacchan accidentally took them to the wrong training ground? It seemed odd that none of the other students nor his teacher had arrived yet. Where was Eraserhead, actually? Kacchan had been floating around and getting a look at the place, but slowly settled in front of Izuku with crossed arms and an unimpressed glare.
“What’s got your panties in a twist now?” he glowered.
“Where is everyone?” Izuku squirmed. “Shouldn’t they have arrived by now?”
Kacchan scoffed. “Don’t doubt me, Izu. It’s a bad look on you.”
Izuku was preparing to respond when the sound of a footfall on gravel changed his mind. His head whipped around, eyes finding Eraserhead’s with ease. Let it be said that Izuku had not known the man for long, but from the five (?) -ish minutes he’d known him for, he could tell the other man’s expression was impressed. Or surprised. Disbelieving, perhaps? Maybe it was a mix of all three-- who knew? The real question was why he was making that kind of face.
“Midoriya Izuku,” Eraserhead drawled. His voice had Izuku jumping in place, his head snapping to attention. He’d started to drift off again! His teacher was going to think he was dumb-- or distracted (which he was). He’d already experienced what unfair teachers were like, and he was not eager to do so again.
He had to be impeccable. He had to be the unchallenged best, lest he be unfairly graded. He had to be the uncontested winner.
It was scary how much the voice in his head sounded like Kacchan, but Kacchan never lied. There was always an undercurrent of truth in his words (It was just all too often that Izuku wanted to ignore that truth).
“You’re the one that placed first in the entrance exam.”
Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Izuku.exe stopped running for a few moments. In a poor attempt to make conversation (read: save his image), he pushed out a hasty response. “Y-yes! I’m, uhm, very lucky to have scored so well!”
Eraserhead did not like that answer. His face scrunched up like he’d smelled something awful, and turned his back on the boy to signal a hard end to their conversation. Izuku hadn’t said more than ten words to the man and he’d already fucked up. His career was doomed. He was going to flunk out of UA and become one of Those people who couldn’t crack it as a hero, and end up as a bagger at his local grocery store for the rest of his life. He might as well just drop out now.
Before Izuku could fully spiral into self pity, Eraserhead’s bark of, “You’re all ten minutes late,” brought him back to his senses. The entirety of the class was half-walking-half-jogging to where Izuku and their teacher stood. Once the others had more or less congealed around Izuku, Eraserhead simply stated they’d be doing a quirk trial-- which was objectionable to pretty much every student.
“A quirk assessment test? But what about orientation? Aren’t we gonna miss it?”
The voice was high, girly, and-- if Izuku was reading the room correctly-- pretty miffed.
Eraserhead, one to never be rivaled in dryness, continued unperturbed. It was as if the girl had never spoken. “If you want to be somebody, you can’t waste your time on pointless ceremonies. UA has no traditional curriculum requirements, so I can do whatever I see fit. All of you have been taking the same useless standardized tests, but you’ve never been permitted to use your quirks. Until now, that is.”
Aizawa paused, letting his words wash over the students. Katsuki could practically see the light flicker out of the eyes of a few students. This eraser-man guy? He was pretty fucking awesome. The childish hope and excitement that had permeated the air had all but evaporated alongside the delicate sound of hearts being crushed.
Some of the students looked visibly haggard, especially the pink and yellow ones in the back, with their slumped shoulders. Izu was looking better though. He still seemed to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders, his body desperately folding in on itself in an attempt to be Small.
But that was nothing new.
Izuku would be fine, no matter what. The shitty brat could take care of himself.
(But Katsuki would be there to protect him. Always. May the lord and the devil pray for those that try to come between them.)
Katsuki floated around Izuku as he went about the trials. There was nothing he could do to help the boy stretch, nor was he useful during the line jump test. On the others though?— they worked in perfect tandem.
Their speed was rivaled only by the actual speedster, and their standing long jump was uncontested. Their score on the grip strength test was passable, but not the best. Katsuki’s extra hand had definitely bumped them up a few spots, but it was nothing compared to the octopus fucker. It left a sour taste in Katsuki’s mouth-- losing-- but he soldiered on.
The last test was where they’d shine though. The only other student that the final test was built for was the big cheeked girl who could make things float, and if coming out on top meant sharing the spotlight with her, Katsuki would begrudgingly allow it. (After all, he’d been sharing every spotlight with Izuku for years now, and only complained
sometimes.)
So what if she got an infinity, they were the ones pulling a higher aggregate score!
Izuku stepped over the chalk line and entered the circle, with the heavy weight of the ball in his hand. The sun beat down on his shoulders as the wind dropped into nothingness, adding weight after metaphorical weight onto his shoulders; the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what they could do. Kacchan was a comforting chill, his form somewhat overlapped with Izuku’s own. If he concentrated hard enough he could almost feel the spikes of Katsuki’s hair tickling his nose, and it made his shoulders relax. If he tried hard enough, Izuku could delude himself into thinking this was just another training drill, another spar in the backyard, just a simple task.
Izuku sighed slightly and in response, Katsuki flexed his palm. Both boy’s reared their arm back, breathed in, and swung their arm forward. Or, they would have swung their arms forward, if Izuku hadn’t been gripped by a sensation so bizarre it brought him to his knees. He was breathing heavily through his mouth, eyes pointed forward as he crumpled. The ball rolled out of his fingers and crunched over the dehydrated soil, the noise too abrasive on Izuku’s tender ears. The birds were too loud, the bugs cacophonous, and every student in his class deafening. But that wasn’t right-- he could hear so much, but it felt like there was cotton in his ears. Every sound reverberated against the inside of his skull, but they carried no meaning. Bugs and birds, gasps, and small talk were always drowned out by the ghostly din Izuku existed in. There was always someone, somewhere humming. Kacchan always seemed to pulse-- as if Izuku could hear his life flowing through Katsuki’s veins.
But Katsuki wasn’t there.
Izuku couldn’t see, hear, let alone feel a single ghost.
The colors that painted Izuku’s world were faded, or perhaps it was the black spots marring his vision. Izuku couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think-- he was thinking too much. An entire dimension to his world, no, his life, was gone. He was cut off, broken, and Kacchan was alone, and what about everyone else? They couldn’t move on now, they were trapped because they’d gotten too involved in quirkless, useless, weak Izuku’s Life. It was starting to get hot. Or was it cold? His skin was burning, but there were goosebumps crawling down his flesh. Izu tried to scream, but all that came out was a weak wheeze.
And as if he’d just stepped off an airplane, there was a tiny pop and everything was as it should have been. Kacchan was kneeling on the ground in front of him, sweating buckets, and screaming. His hands clamped down on Izuku’s shoulders as he shot a nasty glare towards Aizawa, who was suddenly a lot closer than he remembered. Oddly enough, the entire class was a lot farther away that Izuku remembered, and it wasn’t Izuku that moved.
Aizawa looked like he was greeting a feral animal, with how his brows knitted together and his lips quirked into a frown. “Midoriya, are you--”
“What the fuck was that?”
“What the hell was that?” Katsuki and Izuku hissed.
“I erased your quirk,” Aizawa blinked, leaning back slightly, but not correcting Izuku’s tone or language.
Izuku was still breathing erratically, but nothing like he had been moments before. His fingers found ice cold air, and he knew he’d connected with some part of Katsuki. It gave him strength. (Katsuki would never leave him.)
Izuku narrowed his eyes at Aizawa, trying to understand. “Why?”
“The judges for this year’s entrance exam were not rational enough,” he spoke, as if it answered everything. “Someone like you should never be allowed to enroll at this school.”
The entire class winced in sympathy and surprise, though it wasn’t like Izuku could hear them over Katsuki’s enraged hissing, and the blood pounding in his ears. It was as if every insult, bruise, and sour word were being played one after another on a film strip in his mind.
Kozume Kenji, shoving sand in his mouth, telling him he wasn’t worth the dirt he was eating.
Osamu, pouring his water bottle into his backpack, drowning the new laptop he’d gotten because he didn’t want Izuku to miss the sewer too much.
The texts, ringing on his cellphone, telling him he ought to just drop out now. He should just quit. School, life, everything. People like him didn’t deserve to hope. They weren’t allowed to dream. Helpless, useless, little quirkless kids weren’t worth the air they breathed, or the all night shifts his mother pulled at work, or the stiffed paychecks the lunch lady got because she deigned to replace Izuku’s upended meals. They told him he was poison.
But he wasn’t. He wasn’t some doe-eyed child on the playground, crying that he’d be a hero some day, he was a man who’d grown up alongside corpses and built himself with borrowed muscles and stolen voices. He wasn’t useless. He wasn’t helpless. He wasn’t even quirkless.
“Someone like me?” Izuku seethed.
Steady hands helped the boy to his knees and then his feet, allowing him to pick up the ball he’d dropped.
“Someone like me?” Izuku’s knuckles cracked.
The green haired boy moved with confidence and power as he set up to throw the ball. His eyes were set far in the distance as he pulled his arm back and growled. The resulting boom that sent the ball flying had most of the class recoiling in pain. Kaminari had ducked his head when it happened, and when he looked back at Midoriya he saw smoke wafting off the kids clothes, and ashes lazily floating in the air.
The kid was staring at Aizawa with an intensity that reminded Kaminari of the morning’s Incident.
“Someone like me scored first on the entrance exam, rational or not.”
The distance reader in Aizawa’s palm chirped seven hundred five, point five meters!
“That’s your problem, sensei,” he added belatedly, before going to stand at the end of the line of students. Everyone was looking at him with looks of thinly veiled horror, fear, and indifference. There was only one person staring at him with fondness and joy. Izuku had never been more proud to have Kacchan by his side.
The rest of the day went by rather quickly, and if no one sat with Izuku at lunch, that didn’t bother him. If the electric blonde sent him wary looks, or if the chick with the ponytail very pointedly looked towards him with awe, he paid them no mind. It was as class was getting out for the day that Izuku knew there would be trouble.
“Midoriya, I’d like to talk with you after class.”
He was fucked.