Midoriya's apartment always smelled of fabric softener and warm katsudon. It was a homey, warm scent, the kind that makes you let your guard down. Today, however, the air felt stale. Heavy. Like someone had died in the next room.
And in a sense, someone had. Izuku Midoriya's childhood had died last Tuesday in Dr. Tsubasa's office.
I was sitting on the living room rug, pretending to watch TV while my mother and Aunt Inko spoke in hushed whispers in the kitchen. I didn't need super-hearing to know what they were saying. Words like "poor thing," "unfair," and "pinky toe" floated in the air like toxic smoke.
Quirkless. Mukosei.
In my previous life, those words were just a character trait, a narrative device for the underdog protagonist. Here, in this superpower-obsessed society, it was a social death sentence.
I looked at my hands. Hero society was bright and colorful on the surface, but its foundations were rotten. If you had a cool power, you were royalty. If you had a mediocre one, you were a citizen. If you had none... you were less than a citizen. You were an evolutionary mistake. A cripple.
Racism in this world wasn't based on skin color, but on biological utility. And my "best friend" had just been categorized as useless.
"Katsuki-chan," Inko's trembling voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Izuku is in his room. Could you... could you go see him? He hasn't come out all day."
I nodded, standing up with a calm I didn't feel. I walked down the hall, feeling the gravity of the situation. The door to his room was ajar. It was dark inside; the only light came from the computer monitor.
I knew. I knew exactly what video he was watching.
I walked in without knocking. Izuku was sitting in his swivel chair, back to me, rocking slightly. On the screen, All Might was rescuing hundreds of people from debris, laughing with his iconic smile.
He's already here. Fear not! Do you know why? Because I am here!
The video ended and restarted. Over and over again.
"Kacchan..." Izuku's voice sounded broken, hoarse from crying.
He didn't turn to look at me. His eyes remained fixed on the screen.
Did you see that? He always smiles... no matter how much trouble he's in...
I took a step forward, hands in my pockets, fists clenched.
"Kacchan..." Izuku turned the chair slowly. His eyes were swollen, red, full of tears that wouldn't stop falling. He pointed at the screen with a trembling hand. "Even if I don't have a Quirk... can I be a hero like him?"
The silence stretched out, painful and cold. In canon, his mother would rush in, hug him, and apologize. Those words, "I'm sorry," were the ones that hurt him the most. They confirmed his worst fears: that he was worthy of pity.
I couldn't let that happen.
I walked over to him and, with a quick movement, turned off the monitor. The room went dark.
"Kacchan!" He protested weakly.
"Stop watching that. You'll go blind," I told him, my voice rough. I grabbed his shoulder and spun his chair around so he faced me. "Listen to me closely, because I won't repeat myself."
Izuku hiccuped, sniffing back snot.
"The world is shit, Izuku. People out there don't care about you. If you don't have power, they'll eat you alive." I didn't sugarcoat it. I needed him to understand the gravity. "The doctor said you don't have a biological engine. Fine. It's a fact."
I saw his shoulders slump even further. He was waiting for the rejection. Waiting for me to tell him to give up.
"But," I continued, squeezing his shoulder a little harder, letting my hand heat up slightly, "All Might doesn't save people because he has super strength. He saves people because his body moves before he thinks. And you... are the most reckless idiot I know."
Izuku blinked, confused by the insult that sounded strangely like a compliment.
"You're not going to be like All Might," I said flatly. "You don't have his strength. You never will by birth. So get that idea out of your head."
"B-but..."
"Shut up and listen. If you want to be a hero, you'll have to use the only thing you have that others don't use: that giant head of yours." I tapped his forehead lightly. "While idiots like me rely on explosions and brute force, you'll have to analyze, plan, and set traps. You'll have to be smarter, faster, and more cunning than any villain."
I leaned in, invading his personal space, mimicking that intimidating intensity characteristic of Bakugou, but using it to build rather than destroy.
"It's going to hurt. You're going to bleed three times more than me. They'll laugh at you. Do you still want to do it?"
Izuku looked at me. The crying had ceased, replaced by a spark of awe. No one had given him a choice. Everyone had given him condolences. I was giving him a challenge.
He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his All Might shirt, smearing snot on his face, but he nodded. Once. Twice.
"Y-yes. I want to be a hero."
I snorted and slapped him on the back so hard I almost knocked him out of the chair.
"Good. Then stop crying. We start training tomorrow. If you're going to be a Quirkless hero, you can't have those noodle arms."
As I walked out of the room to let him process everything, I heard a whisper behind me, almost imperceptible but heavy with a gratitude that made me feel that damn weight of guilt again.
"Thank you, Kacchan."
I didn't answer. I closed the door carefully, hand still on the knob, and let out a shaky sigh, throwing my head back. Damn it, I thought. I had just condemned this kid to hellish training. But it was better than condemning him to a life of self-pity.
When I turned to leave, I almost had a heart attack. I wasn't alone in the hallway.
Pressed against the wall, a few meters from the door, were Mitsuki and Aunt Inko. Both looked like statues frozen in the middle of a crime. It was obvious they had come to check on Izuku and stopped when they heard me yelling.
Inko covered her mouth with her hands, fresh tears gathering in her eyes, but these looked different from before. They weren't tears of despair, but of immense relief. Mitsuki, on the other hand, looked at me with an undecipherable expression. There was surprise, yes, but also a strange mix of pride and confusion, as if she were looking at a stranger with her son's face.
"Katsuki-chan..." Inko sobbed, lowering her hands. "You... what you told him..."
I tensed. They had heard everything. Great. Goodbye to my façade of a normal, ignorant child.
"You were going to go in and apologize, weren't you?" I asked, voice too mature and weary for my four-year-old body. There was no point feigning ignorance now; the damage was done.
Inko flinched as if I had struck her. She looked down, ashamed, wringing her hands. "I didn't... didn't know what else to say. I thought... I thought his dream was over. I just wanted to comfort him."
"Pity won't do him any good, Auntie," I interrupted her, crossing my arms and leaning against the opposite wall. "Pity is for losers. Izuku isn't dead, he's just playing on hard mode."
I looked the plump, kind woman in the eye. "If you want to help him, don't apologize. Buy bandages and lots of protein-rich food. He's going to need it."
There was a two-second silence. Inko blinked, processing my orders. Then, I felt a heavy hand ruffle my hair with such force it almost snapped my neck.
"Ha!" Mitsuki let out a loud laugh, breaking the hallway tension. "Listen to this brat giving us parenting lessons! Since when did you become so wise?"
Although her tone was mocking and loud, her red eyes shone with a fierce intensity. She hugged me tight, practically in a headlock.
"Well done, brat," she whispered in my ear, too low for Inko to catch the details, but with a warmth that made me uncomfortable. "You've got guts."
I squirmed to get out of her grip, feeling my cheeks burn. "Let me go, Old Hag! You're crushing me!" I yelled, slipping back into character.
As I wrestled with my mother, I saw Inko wipe her tears with the back of her hand. She looked at Izuku's closed door and then at me. She no longer looked like a woman defeated by her son's diagnosis. There was a new firmness in her jaw, the determination of a mama bear.
"You're right, Katsuki-chan," Inko said, nodding to herself. "Food and bandages. I can handle that."
At least I saved two people today, I thought, letting Mitsuki drag me toward the apartment exit while Inko headed to the kitchen with renewed purpose.
Now I just had to survive the training I had just proposed. And pray that my four-year-old body could keep up with my ambition.