Age: 15 (5 months before the U.A. exam - POV Izuku Midoriya)
Sunrise at Dagobah Beach always brought a strange stillness. It was the moment when the tide was lowest, exposing the moss-covered rocks and the rusted metal skeletons we hadn't managed to pull out yet.
I sat on the hood of an old pickup truck we had dragged near the seawall last week. The metal was cold under my legs, but I didn't care.
I pulled up the sleeve of my gray sweatshirt.
There it was.
On the inner side of my right forearm, just below the elbow, was a mark. A patch of pink, shiny, slightly wrinkled skin, about the size of a coin.
It was a chemical burn. A permanent reminder of the propylene gas.
I ran my thumb over it. It didn't hurt, but the skin felt different—tighter, less sensitive.
Kacchan had spent an entire week apologizing for that scar without ever saying the words "I'm sorry." He brought me imported creams, redesigned my uniform sleeves so they wouldn't chafe, and most importantly, he stopped looking at me like I was made of glass.
I smiled faintly, pulling my sleeve back down.
For eleven years, my relationship with Kacchan had been a tightrope. He pulled hard, dragging me along, yelling at me to get strong, and I ran behind, stumbling, desperately trying not to let go. He was the sun, and I was the satellite afraid to drift out of orbit.
But the fire changed everything.
That day, on that gas-filled street, the rope snapped. I acted when he froze. And for a terrifying moment, the roles were reversed.
I thought that would destroy us. I thought his pride wouldn't take it and he would hate me forever. But the opposite happened.
There is a term in medicine: bony callus. When a bone fractures, the body doesn't just repair it; it creates a layer of new bone around the break, making it thicker and stronger than before. Sometimes, you have to break something for it to heal correctly.
Our friendship had fractured that afternoon. And now, as we welded together in the garage or ran in silence through the park, I felt that "callus" forming between us. We were no longer the "Leader and the Follower." We were two broken people trying to fix each other.
It was more real. More authentic.
"You're sighing too loudly, young man. You're going to scare the seagulls."
The raspy, familiar voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I turned my head. Toshinori Yagi was walking down the concrete stairs of the seawall. He wore his eternal baggy white t-shirt and those cargo pants that looked empty because of his thin legs. He held a plastic bag from a convenience store in his hand.
"Yagi-san," I said, hopping off the hood. "Good morning."
"Good morning." He approached and sat on a large tire in front of me. He pulled two cans of hot coffee from the bag and tossed one to me. "You have that 'teenage philosopher' look on your face again. What are you thinking about?"
I caught the can. The heat seeped into my cold fingers.
"About scars," I admitted, touching my arm. "And what it means to be a hero."
Yagi-san opened his coffee with a sharp crack. He took a long sip and sighed, looking at the sea.
"That's a heavy topic for six in the morning."
"After the fire..." I started, looking at my sneakers. "I realized something. People applauded. The news talked about the 'brave mystery student.' But no one talked about the Pro Heroes who stood there doing nothing."
"Death Arms, Kamui Woods, Backdraft..." Yagi-san listed softly.
"I don't blame them," I said quickly. "Physically, they couldn't enter. Their Quirks weren't compatible. But... that made me think. Society has confused 'Having a useful Quirk' with 'Being a Hero.' They've turned heroism into a job description, a list of technical skills."
I squeezed the coffee can.
"If you don't have the right Quirk, you don't act. You wait for the specialist to arrive. And while you wait... people suffer. That day, if I had waited for a specialist, the driver would have died."
I looked at Yagi-san. His eyes, sunken in those dark sockets, watched me with an intensity that always surprised me.
"Kacchan... my friend... he always says the victory is what matters. The result. But I think heroism isn't the result. It's the impulse. It's the moment your legs move on their own before your brain tells you it's impossible."
I fell silent, feeling a bit embarrassed by my speech.
"Sorry. I'm rambling."
Yagi-san didn't laugh. He didn't make a joke. He set his coffee can on the sand and interlaced his bony fingers.
"Hero society is a fragile structure, Izuku," he said. His voice sounded different. Deeper, less raspy. Tired, but with an ancient authority. "It relies on the idea that there will always be someone stronger coming to save you. A Symbol. An unshakable pillar that holds up the sky so common people can look at the ground and live their lives without fear."
He leaned forward.
"But pillars crack. Symbols age. And when people realize the god protecting them is just a man... the panic is worse than if they never had a hero at all."
He coughed a little, bringing his fist to his mouth.
"I've been watching you this month. Not just how you clean the beach, but how you talk. How you think. You're right about the impulse. That impulse is the only thing that cannot be taught at an academy."
Yagi-san stood up slowly. The sea breeze ruffled his loose clothes and messy blonde hair.
"I have to tell you something, young Midoriya. Something I haven't told anyone outside my inner circle."
I stood up too, feeling the atmosphere shift. It wasn't a threat. It was a heavy solemnity.
"What is it, Yagi-san? are you sick?"
He smiled. A sad, crooked smile.
"Yes. I am sick. But that is not the secret."
He brought his hands to the hem of his white t-shirt and lifted it.
I had to stifle a gasp.
His torso was a map of pain. On his left side, there was a massive, sunken, purple scar that looked like it had devoured part of his anatomy. It looked like a spiderweb of destroyed tissue.
"Five years ago, I had a fight with a villain." His voice was calm, merely informative. "My respiratory system was nearly destroyed. My stomach was removed. Due to the surgeries and the aftereffects, my body is consuming itself."
He lowered the shirt.
"I can only do hero work for about three hours a day. The rest of the time... I am this bag of bones."
I stared at him, confused. Hero work? Three hours?
"I don't understand..." I murmured. "You're a civilian, Yagi-san. You..."
Yagi-san shook his head. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering strength.
"I am not a civilian, Izuku."
There was a small flash, not an explosion, just a sudden tension in the air. For a second, his posture changed. He straightened up. He puffed out his chest. And for a fleeting instant, I saw the shadow of an iconic smile superimposed on his skeletal face.
"I am All Might."
The phrase hung in the salty air.
My mind tried to reject it. Tried to tell me it was impossible. All Might was a mountain. All Might was invincible. Yagi-san was... Yagi-san.
But then I looked at his eyes. Those electric blue eyes.
I remembered the fire. I remembered seeing All Might appear out of nowhere to save us. And I remembered seeing Yagi-san on the street corner, seconds before.
The pieces fit together with a dull click in my brain.
"You..." I took a step back, legs shaking. "You are the Symbol of Peace."
"What's left of him," he corrected, sitting back down on the tire, visibly exhausted by the confession. "I'm sorry I lied to you. But I needed to know you. I needed to know if the Quirkless boy who ran was real or just reckless."
I dropped onto the sand, my legs giving out.
"Why?" I asked, voice cracking. "Why me? I'm a middle school student. I have nothing."
"Because my power isn't something I was born with, young Midoriya," All Might said.
That was the second bomb.
"What?"
"My Quirk is called One For All." He raised a finger. "One for all. It is not a genetic mutation. It is a sacred torch passed from generation to generation. It cultivates one person's power and passes it to the next. I am the eighth holder."
He stared at me. The seriousness on his face erased any trace of doubt.
"I am looking for the ninth."
The sound of the waves seemed to fade away. Everything reduced to him and me.
"I have seen many strong heroes, Izuku. I have seen students with incredible Quirks at U.A. But in that fire... you were the only one who acted like a true hero. You didn't think about your safety. You didn't think about fame. You moved because someone was asking for help."
He extended his skeletal hand toward me.
"That is the main requirement. The rest... strength, speed, endurance... that can be trained. I can give you that."
There was a long silence.
I looked at his hand.
It was the ultimate offer. The dream of my life. To become All Might's successor. To have a Quirk. To stop being "poor Deku."
But I didn't feel euphoria. I felt the weight.
I looked at the scar on my forearm. Then I looked at the spot where All Might's scar lay beneath his clothes.
Heroism hurt. Heroism ate you alive.
"If I accept..." My voice trembled. "Will I end up like you?"
All Might didn't lie to me. He didn't sugarcoat it.
"It is likely. The path of the Symbol is lonely and painful. You will carry everyone's hopes and fears on your back. And you will have to smile while it weighs you down."
I swallowed hard.
I thought of Kacchan. I thought of how he had tried to protect me, build me armor, keep me safe. If I accepted this, I would be accepting placing myself in the world's biggest line of fire.
But I also thought about what Kacchan had taught me: It's not about surviving. It's about winning.
If I wanted to walk beside him, if I wanted to be his equal and not his protégé, I had to accept the risk. I had to accept the pain.
"You said..." I looked up. "You said society needs a pillar."
"Yes."
"I don't want to be just a pillar," I said, standing up. I brushed the sand off my pants. "Pillars break because they stand alone. I want to be part of a structure. I have my team."
I looked All Might in the eye.
"If I accept your power, I will do it my way. I won't be you. I won't be a lonely god hiding his wounds. I will be a hero who leans on others."
All Might blinked, surprised. Then, a soft, almost paternal smile crossed his gaunt face.
"To be better than me... That is the duty of every successor, isn't it?"
"Yes."
I clenched my fists. I felt the fear in my stomach, cold and heavy. But my determination was hotter.
"I accept, All Might. I will be your successor."
All Might nodded slowly. He stood up and, for a moment, despite his thinness, he seemed like the biggest man in the world.
"Then get ready, Izuku Midoriya. Because the real hell starts now."
He reached up to his head and plucked a long blonde hair.
He held it out to me.
"Eat this."
The solemn moment shattered like glass.
I stared at the hair. Then I looked at him.
"Huh?"
"To transfer the power, you have to ingest my DNA." He shook the hair. "Come on. We don't have all day. It's rich in protein."
"That's gross!" I yelled, backing away.
"It's tradition! Eat it!"
On the deserted beach, under the morning sun, the future Symbol of Peace and his successor argued about the hygiene of eating hair. It wasn't epic. There was no lightning in the sky.
It was real. It was human. And it was the beginning of everything.
Author's Note: Well, we've reached the point where I think opinions will be divided.
Giving Izuku One For All... I know it feels hypocritical, especially after the development of him not needing a Quirk to be a hero.
Now I have a debate for you all: Can someone be a hero without a Quirk? Can they carry the role of protagonist?
My answer is...
Yes, they could.
But I don't think it's fun. I love hypocritical viewpoints; they spark debate and present different perspectives.
Don't worry, we'll have more development later on regarding the philosophy of "I can be a hero without a Quirk."
I'd like to hear your opinions.