Chapter Text
When Izuku got his official Yuuei acceptance letter, it was like his whole world shifted. He felt like his life— everything he’d known— his whole world even, had been tugged out from under him, like a rug he’d been standing on pulled straight out from under his feet.
In a good way, of course.
The best way, because he did it.
He finally did.
He’d been dreaming of attending Yuuei High School from the moment he could really talk— from that first time he’d seen All Might on the news years ago, grinning widely, a promise to everyone watching, as he carted injured and unconscious civilians out of a collapsed building.
Izuku had known from that exact second, that he wanted to be just like All Might when he grew up.
But his dreams had never seemed achievable, not to anyone but him.
He'd always known that.
From the very moment he'd been diagnosed Quirkless, the x-rays his pediatrician had shown his mother and him when he was just five-years-old, showing that little, life defining joint that would forever make him an outcast in a Quirked society. The diagnosis people treated as if it was some deadly ailment, instead of just a lack of Quirk.
He'd known since he was first diagnosed that he'd never be like everyone else, that he'd never have it easy like everyone else.
But he'd tried not to let it stop him.
Tried being the key word there.
It was easier said than done in a world dominated by Quirked individuals.
One by one he’d had to pluck out what few dreams he had when they didn’t seem viable, or when people told him he’d never be able to do them as a Quirkless child.
But the one dream he could never seem to shake, the one he held the closest to his chest, was to become a hero like All Might. To be the hero who smiled no matter what, the one people looked up to, the one who people looked to for guidance and support in trying times.
It's all he'd ever wanted for himself, all he'd ever wanted to be in the world since he was tiny.
It didn't matter who told him it was useless to try, it didn't matter who said he'd never be able to do it, Izuku could never let go of it.
It was his dream.
All he'd ever wanted in life.
So he wasn't going to give up, no matter who was telling him to.
He believed in himself, even if no one else did.
And he'd worked so hard to get to this point.
He'd worked hard in junior high, knowing he didn't have a cool Quirk (or any Quirk) to fall back on or boost his chances of getting accepted into the school. He'd studied hard, and managed to get grades good enough to get him a seat in the written entrance exam for Yuuei High School, the very school where so many amazing Pro Heroes, All Might amongst them, had graduated.
The school that trained the best of the best, and he'd somehow managed to scrape his way into their test taker pool.
He'd been waiting for this since he was a child.
Izuku had never worked so hard for anything in his life— spending so many hours studying, striving as a Quirkless child to get the best grades in the class, to know the most knowledge, to impress the right people so they'd give him a chance. And training his ass off when he wasn't hunched over school notes, working until his limbs felt like jelly and he could hardly stand with the muscle fatigue, only to keep going, to force himself on, because he couldn't give up. Spending hours upon hours at Dagobah beach with All Might, hoping and praying that he'd be able to prove he was good enough to inherit the man's super cool transferable Quirk, the very thing that would change his life.
The very thing that would make him normal, level the playing field so he wasn't so far behind everyone else anymore.
And he'd done it.
He'd actually managed to pull it off.
Izuku clutches the straps of his yellow backpack tighter, trying not to feel small as he stares up at the Yuuei High School gates. He'd never felt giddier, more accomplished as he'd squared his shoulders and fell into step with the other students hurrying into the school.
He feels like he fits in, for the first time in his life.
They're all wearing the school's famous uniform; a pair of navy coloured slacks, or a skirt, respectively, a white button-up, the gray school jacket, and a bright red tie, which, incidentally, matched his own well-loved red sneakers. He looks just like them, he's one of them! He, Midoriya Izuku, is wearing the Yuuei school uniform. This is truly a dream!
Izuku bows his head as he grins dumbly to himself.
He’d made it.
Only a handful of teens made it here. Only one in three-hundred students were accepted into Yuuei, not even mentioning the forty out of thousands of eager Entrance Exam participants who managed to claim a spot in the elite Hero Class programs. Twenty students per each Hero Class. Only two— class 1-A and 1-B.
And he was one of those select few.
And not even that, but he'd made it into class 1-A— how incredible was that?
A Quirkless Deku falling into step with all these amazing students. The best of the best. Powerful, strong, clever. People who were going to make a name for themselves, whether as Heroes, support, business or even gen ed. People who are already good enough to be students at such an elite Hero school.
Izuku still can't believe he's here.
A Quirkless... actually, is that even true anymore?
He's not technically a Quirkless Deku anymore, not now that he has One for All coursing through his veins.
But still, the sentiment hung steady because no matter who, or what, Izuku is now with this inherited Quirk, he'd always been Quirkless.
Izuku heaves a nervous breath to calm himself down, finally lifting his head. There's an air of excitement circulating the crowd he's following into the building, other excited first year students ready to start their schooling at such a school, or the returning students ready to continue their journey towards graduation and being full-fledged Heroes.
When they're finally in the school, Izuku manages to branch off from the crowd, trying to remember the directions towards his homeroom classroom (class 1-A!! He is never going to get tired of saying that!), that he'd been given when he got his class schedule. He knows not many kids will be going the same direction he is, when the Hero classes make up such a small percentage of the school's student body. Actually, Izuku is the only student heading in this direction.
The halls are long, the ceilings high. Classrooms are sparsely placed, probably pretty big inside too. The classroom doors themselves are huge, Izuku notes as his hands tighten on the straps of his backpack anxiously. Izuku knows he needs to pick up the pace as the time before the bell trickles down as he searches for his class. He hurries along in fear of being late on his first day. He can not be late. Not here. Not at Yuuei.
Finally, after what felt like miles of panicked running down the hall, he's located his new classroom.
The door, like all the others he's passed, stretches high up to the ceiling, nearly touching it. Izuku himself had never felt shorter in his life. He’d always been short, always smaller than his peers, and Kacchan, but he’d never felt it like this.
Still, a tall door wasn’t going to stop him from achieving his dreams, so with deep breath, he slides the door open.
The room is loud when he peeks in, bustling with activity from the other students accepted into the Heroics program. Despite the bell having not rung yet, he still feels a little late. Nearly all the seats are taken, or crowded around. He's not late, is he? He hadn't heard the bell, and he doesn't see the teacher...
Izuku looks a little closer at his new classmates.
He's not at all surprised to see Kacchan in one of the desks, his feel kicked up on the desktop carelessly. Izuku's cheeks puff out with a huffy sigh as he shakes his head. That's just like Kacchan, he's not sure what he expected anything else, honestly. A change of scenery, not even that scenery change being Yuuei High School, isn't going to change how Kacchan acts.
Kacchan is blatantly ignoring another student trying to lecture him— Izuku thinks he remembers the kid. From the entrance exam.
Neither of them notice him.
Not yet, at least.
Izuku doesn't get the luxury of another moment to calm himself, as the boy with glasses catches sight of him, pausing mid-sentence as he turns from Kacchan at look at Izuku.
The boy pushes his glasses up his nose, nose scrunching up faintly, "it's him."
Izuku freezes, shifting his feet awkwardly as everyone turns to look at him, Kacchan included. Izuku tries hard not to make eye contact with anyone, but he can feel them all looking at him. The feeling of all these student's eyes snapping towards him makes him want to crumble to the floor in a strange kind of embarrassment he can’t seem to place. He isn't sure what's so special about him, but clearly something, if everyone is looking. Awkward...
Izuku isn't used to attention.
He doesn't like attention being on him.
Panic instantly rises in his chest as the seconds drag on without anyone saying anything. He knows his cheeks have flushed lightly at having so much attention on him.
Growing up, attention was never a good thing.
If you didn’t have something beyond exciting to show and share, some cool, or powerful, or amazing Quirk that people deemed useful, attention meant nothing good. He'd learned that early on. His classmates had made sure he knew that, and it's a lesson he'd always held onto.
Izuku can hear himself sputtering nonsense; it's what he does when he's nervous, not matter how hard he tried to keep his mouth shut. It's a habit he's had since he was young, and he can't seem to break it. He has half a mind to turn on his heels and leave the room, to avoid the embarrassment of this, but he's worked too hard and come too far to even entertain the thought.
This was where he belonged, whether he fit in around here or not.
All Might believed in him now.
All Might entrusted his Quirk to him.
Izuku would do everything in his power to show the Hero he made the right call.
Izuku squares his shoulders, prepared for the worst, but yet, to his genuine surprise, the tall, glasses-clad teenager beelines towards him, arching into a formal bow, "good morning," the teenager says tightly, yet pleasantly, "my name is Iida Tenya from the—"
“Y-yeah— I-I know,” Izuku interrupts on instinct, waving his hands in a placating gesture. "I saw you at the entrance exam..."
Izuku remembers seeing this guy in the auditorium before the exam. And he'd just heard Iida introducing himself to Kacchan the exact same way moments earlier. And, now that he's heard the name, he remembers hearing it at the entrance exam too, even if he hadn't thought to remember it then. He was just another voice in a packed auditorium. How was Izuku supposed to know they'd become classmates— he didn't even think he'd make it into any of the classes.
"My name is Midoriya Izuku," Izuku introduces in turn, after clearing the nerves from his throat, “s-super nice to meet you.”
He hears the uncertain wobble in his tone, but knows it's definitely just his nerves still.
Iida talks a bit more with Izuku, having more luck with him then he had with Kacchan, who was still glaring daggers at Izuku from his desk. Iida does most of the talking, but Izuku is content to listen more then he speaks. He's still nervous, and he's starting to feel a little overwhelmed and he feels Kacchan glaring, which isn't a good thing.
Iida seems to think Izuku knows more than your average student, for some reason, which is a little ridiculous, because Izuku feels like he knows even less than everyone else considering he he hadn't even had a Quirk until a couple weeks ago, and he's honestly still kinda reeling from that.
Iida doesn't seem to really believe him when Izuku tells him that he hadn't figured much more out than Iida had that day.
He doesn't know why Iida is so hung up on this— Izuku simply couldn't find it in himself to leave another student like that. Not when they could've gotten hurt. After all, wasn't the whole point of this class to help people? It didn't seem very heroic to him to turn his back on someone in need, even if the zero-pointer wouldn't help him rake up points. He'd simply been doing the right thing. Helping someone, especially someone who'd been so kind to him too. It didn't feel right to leave them to fend for themselves when he could help.
Iida seems to consider his explanation thoroughly, and the intensity of it honestly makes Izuku feels a little weird.
Was it really so odd of a reaction?
He knows no one else had tried to help, but he truly believed it was the right response.
Izuku startles when he feels a presence behind him, body stiffening up as a voice, a girl's voice, interrupts them.
Izuku swirls around to face the new addition, cheeks flushing once again at the kind smile on the girl's face.
"Oh, hey," her grin widens as she scans Izuku's face, "I remember that messed up hair! Falling boy!"
Falling boy?
Oh. Oh! Right! This is the girl who'd stopped him from crashing to the ground when he'd tripped before the exam. She also happens to be the one he'd, in turn, saved after she got caught in the rubble created from the zero-pointer emerging from the ground. She was very kind, he's glad she also made it into the Heroics class.
The girl keeps talking on, but Izuku can't seem to keep up with her. Maybe it's nerves, or the fact that this is all pretty new for him. People wanting to talk to him, people showing interest in him. You don't get a lot of that when people know you're Quirkless. It's an odd change of pace for him. He's not sure he really knows how to process it.
She seems happy enough— all bright eyed and wide grins as she bounces on her heels and talks enthusiastically.
He likes her, he decides.
Or, maybe it's the fact that he feels like he owes this, his place in this program, to this girl. He'd seen what she said, how she'd offered up her own point for him after the exam when he had no combat points of his own. No one had ever gone out of their way for him like that. He's not sure if he would've even made it into the school without her vouching for him like that, so he's very grateful to her.
Izuku makes sure to thank her diligently when the thought crosses his mind, head bowing respectfully as his cheeks heat up.
If he's honest, after that point, he doesn't really remember much of their conversation. They're mostly just rambling back and forth, with Iida listening in behind Izuku. Truth be told, Izuku's not even sure they're having the same conversation, but it flows easily enough that the rambling takes away some of his lingering nerves. He's pretty overwhelmed by all this, and he can tell she's excited. He's excited too.
It's nice to just talk with someone, to have someone match his energy so it's not weird.
This girl actually seems like a very nice person so... maybe they could be friends?
If she wants to, at least!
She’s still talking excitedly about orientation, and meeting their classmates and teachers when a new voice, an older voice that sounds like it's been worn down over the years cuts her off sharply, “if you’re just here to make friends, then you can pack up your stuff now.”
Izuku gapes, leaning slight to peer around the girl and into the hallway, where a yellow log of fabric is laying along the floor. There’s a blank face peeking out, and the features, devoid of emotion and exhausted looking, match up with the voice— tired and worn. The log of fabric looks like it doesn’t really want to be there, but is out of obligation. Izuku is stunned into silence.
There’s a moment’s pause, Izuku, Iida and the girl all frozen in place, and then, in a quick movement, the girl is jumping away from the figure, her back bumping against Izuku chest as the three of them stare down at the figure in the hall. Izuku can feel Iida's unnerving gaze over his shoulder, moderately surprised, but not as surprised as Izuku thinks he should be given the situation.
There is a man in a bright yellow sleeping bag on the floor outside their classroom, supposedly their new teacher.
That's a little weird.
The yellow sleeping bag crinkles a little as the figure inside moves.
Then the man inside lets out a heavy sounding sigh before he speaks again, “welcome to Yuuei’s Hero Course.”
The sleeping bag unzips just enough for the man’s hand to lift something to his mouth— a pouch of some sort— before he finally pushes himself to his feet, unzipping the sleeping bag all the way as he stands, letting the yellow fabric pool around his feet. They watch him uneasily, but the man doesn’t seem phased by it in the slightest.
“It took eight seconds before you all to shut up. That’s not gonna work.”
Izuku can do nothing more than stare at the man talks, voice low and monotonous.
He steps out of his sleeping bag and collects it from the ground as he continues, “time is precious. Rational students would understand that.”
The man surveys the three of them with tired eyes before his gaze shifts to the rest of the class in the room.
“Hello,” even that sounded bland and exhausted, “I’m Aizawa Shōta. Your teacher.”
And that... well, that’s not quite what Izuku was expecting. Weren't all the teachers at Yuuei Heroes?
Izuku isn't sure he knows this guy.
And if the collective gasp from the rest of the class is anything to go off, he’s not alone. Still, the man is undeterred by their surprise. Maybe he’s always like this, so he’s used to these kinds of reactions from people— but Izuku still feels a bit bad. He hadn't meant to be rude. This is their sensei, after all. They should be respecting him.
“Right, let’s get to it,” the man huffs tiredly, digging through his sleeping bag before pulling out a uniform. It’s the physical education uniform, Izuku notes in awe. He only knows this from watching the Yuuei Sports Festival on TV for the past couple years in anticipation for his own chance at the festival, and as a way to analyze student's Quirks. “Put these on and head outside.”
It's at that moment Izuku finally notices the figure stood behind Aizawa-sensei in the hallway.
He doesn't know how he hadn't noticed the late-comer before— maybe it was the shock of their new Hero course teacher inching into the classroom like some oversized caterpillar, or maybe just Izuku's overall distraction as he tries to make sense of all of this. He doesn't know what he was expecting their first day to be like, but it's certainly nothing like this.
The new guy is tall, broad in the shoulders in a way Izuku isn't. He's definitely a student though; he's young then the man in front of him, a teenager, so he's not a teacher. And he's also wearing the Yuuei school uniform. There's no way this kid isn't a student, probably another new classmates who's unfortunate enough to be arriving late to class.
Yet... instead of trying to sneak in past their new teacher, clearly a teacher you don't want to mess around with, to to avoid first day trouble, the teenager stands completely still behind Aizawa-sensei. He's just... standing there. Looking almost bored.
His arms are crossed over his chest in a way that screams indifference, and his lips pucker like he's chewing on the inside of his cheek. The look on his face strikes Izuku as odd. No student who'd been given a position in Yuuei's elite 1-A roster, any student hand selected as one of the few to be accepted into such a small class would ever look like that. Bored. Unimpressed.
Who would be bored at a school like Yuuei anyways?
Izuku's brow furrows at he takes the kid in.
He's got light, pastel blue coloured hair that looks almost fiery— actually, no, that’s not right. Kacchan has fiery hair, and that’s not what this guy has. But he also doesn’t have curls like Izuku. The blue tufts of hair float almost weightlessly above the guy’s head. It looks natural, so Izuku wonders if he's using any products to achieve such a look, but it also looks too soft to be held up with hairspray or gel. Izuku wonders if it has something to do with his Quirk.
His eyes are bright blue too, but they're a lot darker than his hair.
Another defining feature on the teenager is a bandage running across the bridge of his nose.
Bright blue eyes level Aizawa-sensei a fond look before turning into the room and looking over all the students with an impressed look. His hand settles on the frame of the door as he peers into the room to look at them. He's scanning the students more intently than their new teacher had. Izuku's eyes are stuck on the teen.
Now that Izuku has gotten a good luck at this guy, he seems older than them; how he holds himself, the confident air he has. It's very unlike all of Izuku's new classmates (minus the unshakeable Kacchan, of course). Maybe he’s not a first year after all. Izuku would guess maybe seventeen or eighteen, because he certainly didn’t look fourteen or fifteen.
So is he perhaps a third-year or something?
Why would he be here at 1-A then?
Izuku's gaze follows the blue-haired teenager as he swiftly steps passed Aizawa-sensei, then squeezes carelessly passed Izuku, Iida and the girl as well. He doesn't feel the faint woosh of air that usually comes with motion, and Aizawa-sensei, nor any of the other students seem to acknowledge this guy in the slightest.
Izuku blinks owlishly.
Is this... some sort of test? No one says anything on the matter— not about the teenager currently doing laps around the room sizing them up, or the fact he'd come in so late without their new teacher making an example out of him like he had with Izuku and his new peers. Sensei doesn't even acknowledge his companion that had clearly come with him.
No one so much as bats an eye at the new student now perched at the back of the room watching them.
Seriously. This has to be a test.
What else could it be?
Who is this guy?
No one even glances in the blue-haired boy’s direction as P.E. uniforms are handed out. Aizawa-Sensei watches over his nose, making sure they all grab the uniforms that have already been fitted with the measurements they’d handed in before the school year, and turns on his heels, leaving the room without a word after everyone has one.
The students pour out of the room after him, all heading towards the locker rooms to change.
Izuku watches them go, letting the confusion win over. Before he knows it, he's the last one remaining in the classroom, just lingering by the door his peers had left through. If he lingers to long he'll be late. He knows that. But he also can't just leave. The late-comer is still in the room, back leaned against the wall at the back of the room, unbothered. Like he isn't also supposed to be rushing to change his clothes in an attempt to appease their new sensei.
Izuku knows what it's like to be the kid who gets ignored.
It sucks.
So he can't, in good conscious, do the same thing to someone else.
Izuku turns fully to face the room before he can think better of it, sucking in a hesitant breath before blowing it out. The new student hadn't gotten a P.E. uniform. Not even with Aizawa-sensei so obviously making sure everyone got theirs. He's still stood at the back of the room, attention raised to the ceiling as if trying to pass time. Izuku can’t place the look on this boy’s face, but it’s not a particularly nice one.
It’s a bit rude that no one so much as looked at the other boy, he couldn’t even imagine being that ignored on the first day of a new class.
“Hey... uh, are you alright?” Izuku’s speaking before he can stop himself.
For a long second, the boy at the back of the room ignores him. Irritation flurries in Izuku's stomach, he's trying to be kind, and this guy is ignoring him? When he still doesn't look over after another second, Izuku forcefully clears his throat. Maybe the guy just hadn't heard him? He's clearly lost in his own head. If he ignores people and doesn't follow instructions, he's bound to get kicked out of school, especially a school like this.
The flicker of irritation melts away almost as fast as it had settled when the blue-haired teenager startles abruptly, attention shooting to Izuku. He looks completely surprised for another long second, eyes staring intently at Izuku as his face twists up in confusion and his eyebrow is arching in disbelief.
Izuku bites his lip, clearing his throat once again now that he has the other's attention, "you... uh, you didn't get your P.E. uniform. I'm sure Aizawa-sensei didn't mean to forget you, or anything. I think he's just... uhm, a little tired? I think even teachers get overwhelmed on the first day, you know?"
Izuku's words hang in the air for a second. The kid doesn't say anything. He tears his gaze away from Izuku, looks curiously around the room before his eyes land back on Izuku.
He looks baffled.
Izuku doesn't understand.
Finally, the other teenager opens his mouth to respond, but freezes before his jaw snaps shut.
He hesitates, then points to himself awkwardly. He blinks once, then twice before he clears his throat, "are... you talking to me?"
“Who else would I be talking to?” Izuku snorts in amusement. He lets his arms cross over his chest as he nods slowly, his own gaze trailing over the room just to assure himself, despite the fact he already knows, that it's just the two of them left. There’s no one else in the room, so obviously he’s talking to this kid. “It’s just us in here now, isn’t it?”
The other student’s jaw drops before a smile slowly starts to creep along his face until it’s a wide grin that makes Izuku want to grin in return, “you can really see me? Like, seriously see me? I mean, you are talking to me, but you can see me too?”
“Uhm,” Izuku cocks his faintly head in confusion, “yeah? Blue fluffy hair, blue eyes? You’re wearing the school uniform? Am I... not supposed to see you? Is it a Quirk? Wait, are you supposed to be invisible, because that would be so cool!”
“Nope, not a Quirk!” the other teen chirps, and he steps towards Izuku, smiling broadening (if it were even possible). His eyes are lit up with so much excitement, and his gaze is laser focused on Izuku as if he's the greatest thing since sliced bread. “I can’t believe this! It’s been so long since— wow!”
Izuku forces a nervous laugh as he rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly.
He returns the grin instinctually, because it’s hard not to return so much enthusiasm.
Izuku steps towards the other teen, holding his hand out to shake in a polite greeting, “I’m Midoriya Izuku by the way. We haven’t officially met yet, right? I don’t remember seeing you at the entrance exam?”
The blue-haired boy pauses sharply, gaze dropping down to Izuku's extended hand.
He studies it just long enough for the awkwardness to hit Izuku full force once again, before the other finally settles on shrugging.
The other boy's hand swings to hit Izuku's in a handshake, accompanied by a cheerful introduction of, "Shirakumo Oboro," except... instead of the blue-haired teen's hand clasping into his own when their hands come together, the other boy's hand phases right through Izuku’s.
Shirakumo doesn’t seem surprised by it, but Izuku whips his hand back when the intense chill climbs up his arm.
Oh.
Midoriya Izuku could see ghosts.
Okay. Well... despite how dramatic it sounded, it wasn't really that big of a deal.
It wasn't as scary as it seemed, not to Izuku, at least.
He'd been able to see things other people couldn't for as long as he could remember. Maybe that's why he'd never thought it was scary.
It was just... how it was. It was normal to him.
Sure, it was odd, and strange, not usually something he'd tell others about himself, since it wasn't something people generally took well, or even accepted, but that didn't make the fact that he could see them any less real. What others chose to believe really had nothing to do with Izuku, even if it made him feel different.
He could see, hear and communicate with the dead.
To Izuku, ghosts weren't really much different from living, breathing people.
Looking back now, he's really not sure how many of the figures and friends from his childhood were ghosts, and how many were living people. Not that it really matters anyways, it doesn't change anything about it, it's just something he thinks about sometimes, because he genuinely can't tell. He'd never been particularly good at distinguishing between alive and dead, not simply by looking.
There were ways to tell, of course, but none that didn't make him look insane to everyone else who couldn't see ghosts.
Even to this day, after nearly sixteen years of having such a perplexing ability, he still struggles with telling the difference between living people and the deceased. They just look so much like living people— you'd think they'd maybe look gory or ghostly after death, but truthfully, besides a faint translucence that he can't even really notice from afar, they look like regular, normal people.
To Izuku, at least.
It's hard to wrap his brain around the fact that not everyone he sees in day to day life is a living person, that he can't always tell.
He's always struggled with it.
Being able to tell who was alive, and who wasn't. It made him feel like an outcast. Seeing things others couldn't, the strange looks when he's say something to someone no one else could see, or acknowledge a ghost no one believed existed. People weren't always kind when they didn't understand, and no one understands what he can do.
His mother says he'd always been different.
She'd said it with a smile when he was little, patting his head fondly as she'd mutter the words, but it was only as he started to get older that he realized her smile never reached her eyes when she'd talk about it. He remembers how she'd always fondly recall his quirks when he was a baby, barely old enough to hold his own head up.
Her tone was always fond, but there was a distance to it too.
Izuku had always thought the distant tone was more telling than the fond one.
She'd tell him, and others, how Izuku had always had attention issues.
Even when he was newly born, just starting to recognize the world around him. How he'd never really focus on any one thing, attention always lulling away from whoever was holding him— his mother, or father, usually, and how his focus would stray, wide owlish eyes peering into the corners of their apartment as if watching something else, watching someone else.
She'd always laughed when she recalled those memory to him, her hand always rubbing at the back of her neck nervously.
They never did know what had him so enthralled in the living room, since neither could see what he saw, and he was definitely not old enough to recount it, doesn't even remember such a thing happening, though he doesn't doubt it. They’d moved out of that apartment just before Izuku turned one, so no matter how hard he tries to remember, he can’t.
That was just how it went for Izuku though.
Over the years the odd quirk of the green-haired child didn’t go away, as much as his mother prayed it was just a phase he'd outgrow. She spoke about the worry that had crept up along her spine whenever her baby would babble at the empty couch, or crawl to sit in a corner, making grabby hands in a silent question to be picked up by no one she could see.
He babbled aimlessly through his toddler years to empty rooms and in directions where no one was sitting.
His mother says he was always focused on something else.
Something not really there.
He chattered, and cooed, and giggled to himself alone in his room, or the living room, or even sometimes in the bath in the evening— which, looking back now is a little weird.
No matter how hard people tried to keep his attention, his eyes would always stray from living people: his parents, family members, ogling adults trying to coo at him in grocery store checkout lanes— even the children his own age in playgroups and daycare could barely keep his attention.
His gaze would drift away; up over their shoulders, or sometimes he’d even lean around them to look behind them like he barely even noticed they were there, nothing but a distraction to what he really wanted to see. He’d stare at corners of rooms, and empty spaces and smile— wave his little hand like something, someone, was waving at him.
He knew his ability drove a wedge between himself and his parents.
His father had left when Izuku was little— just after the revelation that whatever weird ability he had was definitely not a Quirk, because he had an extra joint in his pinky toe. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. His father had departed to America in the following weeks, and honestly, Izuku hasn’t seen him since. Izuku know why he'd left. Not only was his kid Quirkless, he was the weird kid too. Even in infancy.
Izuku honestly doesn't even remember his father.
His mother tried— she really did— but he knew she really didn’t accept what he could do as well as she tried to appear too.
He knows she hadn't really accepted it at all. Never deep down.
He knew it scared her.
That he could see things she couldn’t.
For the first few years of his life, he saw many doctors about it.
Medical doctors, child psychologists.
Anyone under the sun who had the faintest clue what could be happening.
A few diagnosed him with schizophrenia before he could even talk, but by the time he could speak, that diagnosis was wiped off the table. He wasn't schizophrenic. Even he knew that. Other people might not be able to see them, but they were real.
Others promised his mother that it was just imaginary friends— some children had them, and it was perfectly normal for Izuku to have some as well.
As endearing as that notion was, there was just no way.
It was the last therapist that he went to that his mother finally broke down. He’d had a session, and now he was waiting in the hallway while his mother talked about the session with the therapist. He heard her cry through the shut door— how he wasn’t normal. How none of this was normal. How she was scared, terrified.
And the therapist just kept promising her that he’d grow out of it eventually. That they'd just have to wait it out, and some day, Izuku would be normal.
Izuku remembers considering that.
Normal.
He wasn't normal.
Izuku remembers quirking his head faintly to the side, spotting an older man sitting beside him. Izuku was quite sure the man wasn't alive, but that didn't mean he wasn't real. Izuku knows if he'd asked questions, the man would probably answer. He cocked his head at the man, who returned the gesture in surprise, before the child was looking back down at his crayon drawing and dragging the red crayon along the paper.
His mother’s cries filled his ears, as the therapist quietly consoled her.
That’s the moment Izuku decided that he was no longer going to see ghosts.
Well, aloud at least.
He was sure they wouldn’t leave him alone even if he asked super nicely.
That’s just when he stopped telling her about the ghosts he saw and started shouldering everything himself.
And honestly, from that point on, things got better.
Though it hadn’t fixed the crumbling relationship with his mother, she hadn’t left him like his father had. Izuku had feared she'd leave him too, but she hadn't. She, of course, hadn't entirely believe he was better, and he knew it. Things were still strange between them— the older Izuku got, the less he saw his mother.
She worked long hours to provide for them, and he was thankful, but he couldn’t help but miss her.
Just because he wasn’t acknowledging his ability aloud to his mother, didn’t mean it stopped.
He was known in school as the mumbling Quirkless kid.
Mumbling because it felt rude to ignore anyone talking to him, and when he was little, he had trouble trying not to respond to the ghosts, couldn't even always tell either until others pointed it out.
Kids were cruel about anything that made someone different, and talking to something that wasn't there was definitely something to be cruel about.
He's actually glad they think he's just mumbling to himself instead of having actual conversations with the ghosts he comes in contact with.
It's easier to swallow than: Deku sees dead people! Weirdo!
So, instead, he was known as the oddball who’d muttered to himself, and would stare off into space. It wasn’t worth the fight to try any tell anyone, and he really didn’t need to add fuel to the fire that was being Quirkless— why not make him a weirdo who claims to see ghosts as well?
Everything changed the day he met All Might.
The day he’d had his dreams crushed in the afternoon, when his favorite Hero told him he couldn’t be a Pro Hero without a Quirk, but by the evening that same day, he was training to inherit his favorite hero’s Quirk— which in and of itself was a wild concept, but if it means getting a Quirk after suffering being Quirkless Deku for more than half of his life, he would believe anything All Might told him.
He trained hard. Kept his lips sealed about his run in with the Number One Hero when he came in contact with his mother. Not that she really asked him questions anymore, even when he started looking like he was working out and completely changed his diet to fit All Might's meal plan.
He would get into Yuuei High School, and he would be a hero.
And he had.
It had taken two legs and an arm (not his finest display of skills, but to be fair, he had just inherited One for All that morning), and a visit to a very annoyed Recovery Girl, but by some insane chances, he’d actually made it into the Hero Course. 1-A. He was officially a 1-A student, and he’d done it all himself.
The information that they were having a Quirk apprehension test had thrown Izuku for a loop.
Like he could hardly think straight.
For a second there, his brain had short circuited as he stood in line with the rest of his peers, all clad in their matching physical education uniforms. They're all ready and waiting for whatever their odd new teacher decides to toss their way, and yet Izuku is dumbfounded by the assessment test they're about to compete in.
He should be in orientation right now— they all should. That was how high school went. They were shown around the school. They got acquainted with their peers, the people they'd be sharing a class with for the next three years, and then seeing and meeting the other classes, and meeting their new teachers.
But they weren’t.
Instead, they were having a test.
A test on the first day.
An assessment test on a Quirk Izuku can barely control. Just perfect.
A jolt of chills crawled up Izuku’s spine as his gaze strayed away from his teacher to the blue-haired boy, Shirakumo, stood casually at the man’s side. He wasn't close to Izuku, but his presence was still chilling. Because c'mon. A ghost. In Izuku's new class. What are the odds?
Of course the first change he has at starting fresh, at not being the weird muttering kid who thinks he can see dead people, there's a literal ghost in his class.
Of course.
The ghost's hands were tucked loosely in his pockets, and his head was quirked as he studied the lineup of students with the same scrutiny Aizawa-sensei showcased. The man's eyes were narrowed, calculating and judging, whereas the teenager at his side was glancing down the line carelessly.
Sensei's gaze was actually pretty terrifying...
When spotting Izuku, the ghost waves enthusiastically.
Izuku looks away quickly.
Izuku had left the classroom pretty quickly after realizing he'd stuck behind to talk to a ghost.
The ghost had been right on his heels, following him all the way to the changing rooms after he'd fled. The ghost had tried to talk to him, but Izuku had ignored the attempts shamefully. He feels bad, he does, but he can't. The ghost hadn't seemed bothered, in fact, the ghost hadn't even taken the hint that Izuku didn’t want to, couldn’t, talk to him.
Thankfully, Shirakumo didn’t stick around long with all of Izuku’s new classmates stripping down to change into their P.E. attire— he at least had some level of etiquette and decency to not watch the living students change that chased him from the room. Izuku had blown out a quiet sigh of relief as he'd stripped out of his own clothes without a ghost watching.
But, to Izuku’s dismay, he hadn’t left.
He’d just joined Aizawa-sensei outside.
He should've known it wouldn't be that easy.
His eyes lit up again when he made eye contact with Izuku, but the green-haired boy ducked his gaze before anyone else could see him staring off into space like an idiot. The ghost's lips had puckered, but he still didn't seem deterred. And he still hadn't taken the hint. This is going to be a long test.
“But orientation! We’re gonna miss it!”
Izuku manages to pull his gaze away from the ghost who’d shot him a grin and a thumbs up when they happened to catch gazes again. He looks briefly to Uraraka, who'd voiced the concern, before he forces his attention back on his new homeroom teacher.
Unlike Shirakumo, Aizawa-sensei is not facing them anymore. There's a disinterest in how their teacher regards them when he looks back over his shoulder at the girl who'd questioned him.
He doesn't appear to like them very much, nor does he seem to want to be here.
Izuku stares at the man’s back as he finally replies, “if you really want to make the big leagues you can’t waste time on pointless ceremonies.”
The man doesn't speak for a second, like he's letting his words sink in.
Around him, Izuku's classmates wait on bated breath for the man to continue. Some shuffle their feet uncertainly, while other draw in anxious breaths as they wait.
Izuku himself can't look away from the ghost at the man's side.
He knows he shouldn't— he should be focused on sensei, but he can't look away from Shirakumo.
The ghost is watching the man, he rolls his eyes fondly.
Shirakumo lets out a light laugh at the man's antics, maybe it's familiar to him— how long has the ghost been hanging around the teacher?— and gives a tiny, amused shake of his head as he angles his head to watch the teacher more closely.
“Here at Yuuei, we’re not tethered to tradition,” Aizawa-sensei continues bluntly without so much as glancing back at them. After no more than a second, the man turns the slightest bit, “that means that I get to run my class however I see fit.”
It feels like a threat.
It's probably not, but it feels like one.
A murmur can be heard from the gaggle of students, but the man once again doesn’t seem phased.
“You’ve been taking standardized tests most of your lives, but you never got to use your Quirks in practical exams before.” He pauses once again, but continues on before anyone else can get a word in, not that anyone’s stupid enough to even try, “the country’s still trying to pretend that we’re all created equal by not letting those with the most power excel. It’s not rational. One day the ministry of education will learn.”
Aizawa-sensei's gaze scans over them before his attention settles off to Izuku’s left, “Bakugou, you scored the most points in the entrance exam. What was your farthest distance thrown with a softball when you were in Junior High?”
Izuku peers around Iida, who’s beside him, to watch Kacchan in interest.
The blonde regards their new teacher with a glare, “sixty-seven metres, I think.”
Izuku remembers that. He himself had never been particularly good in sports classes, but Kacchan had aways been strong and determined. He excelled in most of his classes, but his poor temper often lost him points, even when students and teachers alike praised the ground he walked on for his Quirk. Still, he had a wicked good arm even without the added power of his Quirk.
The green-haired boy shakes himself from his thoughts, leaning back into place.
“Right,” Aizawa-sensei nods, Izuku can't tell if he's impressed or not, gaze never straying from Kacchan. “Try doing it with your Quirk.”
For a second, Kacchan hesitates. Barely a second, but Izuku sees it— and he only sees it because he’s known Kacchan since they were tiny. His eyes scan up their new teacher to determine if he should take the man seriously before he's taking the proffered softball into his hand and walking confidently to the outlined pitching circle.
It’s only when he makes it into the circle that Aizawa-sensei continues on with the rules, “anything goes, just stay in the circle. Go on. You’re wasting our time.”
Izuku’s not sure if their teacher means to rile Kacchan up, but he certainly does. The blonde scoffs in annoyance as he stretches his arms out, before shaking the limbs to prepare for motion. Izuku's seen him do this loads of times, Kacchan is loosening his muscles to give this throw his all. The blonde wants to show off, or... maybe prove their new teacher wrong somehow.
“Alright, man, you asked for it,” the ashen-haired teenager sneers.
Kacchan arches his arm back like he usually does when pitching a softball, eyes shining with what can only be arrogant excitement as he finally let’s go of the ball.
Izuku knows his jaw drops.
Unlike every other throw he’s seen from Kacchan, ones that hit their target straight on and travel the allotted sixty-plus metres, this one doesn’t. There’s so much power in it that Izuku wants to burst into cheers like he had back when Kacchan was still leaning his Quirk, back when they were friends and he didn't view Izuku as a useless extra.
Everyone watches in silence as the ball is launch into the sky, leaving a streak of flames and black smoke in its wake.
Aizawa-sensei still doesn’t really look impressed, but Izuku has a feeling it’s about as close as they’re going to see from the straight-faced teacher. Beside him though, Shirakumo is staring up in awe, fingers knotted in his own hair as he gapes, “woah— Shō, you’re totally impressed. I’m impressed. That was so cool!”
Shō?
Izuku gapes too, but for a completely different reason than the feat Kacchan just exhibited.
He doesn’t have time to dwell on either the softball slowly descending from the tips of the atmosphere or Shirakumo calling their teacher Shō, before Aizawa-sensei is talking again.
“All of you need to know your maximum capabilities,” he tells them, glancing down at the device in his hand before turning towards them again, “it’s the most rational way of figuring out your potential as a Pro Hero.”
Izuku swears his eyes bulge out of his head when Aizawa-sensei holds the device out so they can see the screen.
Seven-hundred-and-five metres.
Kacchan threw the softball seven-hundred-and-five metres.
“Hey, nice!” Shirakumo yelps from beside sensei, leaning around to look at the results. It blocks Izuku’s view of the screen, but he’s the only one. Besides, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to tear his gaze off of it without the help. "That was a good start! Something tells me this class is going to be fun~!"
Izuku swallows nervously as he ignores the ghost's attention, hands suddenly feeling sweaty. He can't do that.
Is that the standard sensei is expecting from them?
Around him, his classmates sputter to life— all wanting a turn to be in the spotlight and show off what they’re capable of. Izuku doesn’t share the same sentiment, still gaping at that throw, silently wondering how he'll ever compare to Kacchan. How could anyone beat that? Kacchan was so cool, but he's so screwed.
The chatter steadily grows louder as Izuku's classmates get more hyped up, until Aizawa-Sensei speaks again; voice low but instantly silencing them all, “so, this looks fun, huh?”
Sero, the boy with tape dispensers on his elbow’s, snaps his jaw shut when Aizawa-Sensei looks directly at him.
The silence is suffocating, and it feel like you could cut the tension surrounding them at those five words their teacher had muttered with a knife. Nobody moves. No one even makes a sound as they all stare at their teacher. Shirakumo lets out a low whistle at what must be a pitiful sight of the entire class scared into silence.
It doesn't make Izuku feel any better in the slightest.
“You have three years here to become a hero,” Sensei tells them, voice loud but not booming. Still, no one dares look away, “you think it’s all gonna be games and playtime?”
There’s a beat, they’re all too stunned by the cruel smile curling onto Aizawa-sensei's lips as he glances down the line of them. There’s amusement in his voice as he mutters the next word, just barely loud enough for them to hear it, “idiots.”
Beside the man, Shirakumo lets out a hearty laugh.
"Man, you are such a sadist," the ghost teases in an overly fond way, "you're having way too much fun scaring the shit outta these kids."
And just like the whistle from before, a sense of dread climbs along Izuku's spine at the ghost laughing like that. Also... sadist is not what you want to hear about the teacher you'll have for the next three years. Izuku is actually a little fearful of how this year will turn out.
When he's done laughing, the ghost turns to Izuku, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of their teacher, "scary, ain't he?"
Although he knows he shouldn’t, Izuku’s head bows in the slightest of nods, eyes jerking to meet Shirakumo’s before darting away.
It makes Shirakumo grin widely.
Why does the ghost suddenly look like he's won the lottery or something? That can't be a good sign.
Izuku can worry about that later though.
The two of them both look back towards Aizawa-sensei when the man speaks again, voice still low and terrifying, “today you’ll compete in eight physical tests to gauge your potential. Whoever comes in last has none and will be expelled immediately.”
Izuku thinks he might faint.
Drop right then and there as his teacher’s scary grin widens.
Izuku can hear his own heart pounding in his ears, fear coursing through his veins.
This is not how he expected his first day to go.
His first, potentially his last, depending on how good he manages to use a Quirk he just got.
The man looks greatly pleased with their reception to his threat, happy with the reactions he's seeing from them.
He’s serious, Izuku realizes with a start.
One of them will be expelled by the end of the class.
Oh dear lord, he might get expelled today...
What the hell is he supposed to tell All Might if this is how he loses his place at Yuuei??
Shirakumo is shaking his head when Izuku’s eyes dart in his direction. Izuku doesn't know what he's looking for when he looks towards the ghost, but he knows he finds it. And it's not good. The ghost's arms are crossed over his chest once more, and he’s regarding the man with exasperation.
Exasperation, but there’s still a fondness in his gaze as well.
He turns to Izuku next, head cocking to the side, “yeah... he’s serious,” he shrugs halfheartedly, “good luck, Midoriya.”
And that just makes him feel sick to his stomach.
He’s not sure if Shirakumo is trying to lighten his mood, or freak him out more. Either way, it is not helping.
A bit more sympathy would be nice, Izuku thinks begrudgingly as he grits his teeth.
It feels like Aizawa-sensei's eyes are boring into him as he stands before them with a blank expression, body slouched and one hand tucked in his pocket. Izuku doesn't dare look over in fear of accidentally meeting the teacher's eyes. Beside the man, Shirakumo is the opposite, standing tall, and grinning at the gathering of students expectantly.
At least someone is excited about this turn of events.
Izuku’s sure fear is showing on his face, and for some reason, he thinks that was their teacher’s goal. To scare them. Terrify them. And an automatic expulsion will certainly do that to a group of kids who fought tooth and nail to get where they are. Izuku swears his heart hasn't stopped pounding since the man started speaking. He is, indeed, thoroughly spooked.
The odds are not in his favor, he knows.
That's enough to scare anyone.
He can only use One for All at one-hundred percent, which breaks his body, or at zero percent, which is right back to square one of Quirklessness. Everyone around him has been growing with their Quirks for over ten years. They've had Quirk counselling to control it and work with it, and have nurtured their unique powers. They know their Quirks.
Izuku has only had One for All since the morning of the entrance exam, that's only a few weeks, that is not enough time, and truthfully, he and All Might hadn’t had much time to practice it in the days leading up to school so... essentially, he’s screwed. Plain and simple.
“You look like you’re gonna vomit,” Izuku’s head jerks to his side where Shirakumo suddenly is. He doesn’t remember seeing the teen move, but here he is. Izuku doesn't have it in him to be upset, too busy mourning his embarrassingly short high school career. The blue-haired boy’s head is quirked in confusion, lip bitten between his teeth in concern as if sensing Izuku's genuine distress, “it won’t be that bad, right? I mean, you’re powerful enough to get here, yeah? Show ‘em what you’re made of!”
Izuku gives the blue-haired boy a bit of a pity nod, knowing full well he just managed to slip in through the cracks. Had Uraraka not spoken up for him, he’s not sure he’d be here right now. He had zero points— the only robot he’d taken out was the one that was literally called the ‘Zero-Pointer’. What does that say about him?
“Like I said, I get to decide how this class runs,” Izuku forces his gaze back onto his teacher, swallowing down the sheer dread that only bubbles up more at the deranged look in Aizawa-sensei's eyes when he regards them all with a terrifying smile. “Understand? If that’s a problem then you can head home right now.”
“He’s really going all out today,” Shirakumo huffs out, glancing to his side at Izuku. The ghost offers a toothy smile, rubbing his chin with his thumb and index finger, “he’s gotten scarier, y’know. I think it’s the stubble. Terrifying.”
“U-uh huh,” Izuku wheezes out in reply, just under his breath.
He tries to listen in to the conversation going on around him. He hears Uraraka’s voice again, and Aizawa-sensei's retort. Their teacher talks of unfairness of villains and natural disasters, as well as a Hero’s duty. And usually, Izuku would be all over that, but he’s still drowning in his own head, and there’s a distinct chill at his side that gives no comfort.
From the bits he manages to hear, it sounds like a pretty motivating speech, under any other circumstance, he probably would've loved the encouragement, but Izuku just can’t seem to wrap his brain around understanding it. Words are going in one ear and out the other as he tries to steady himself. It feels like he's seconds away from falling over. Is the ground moving, or is it just him...?
He only forces his eyes to clear away the blurring haze when he sees their teacher scan down the class, eyes pausing briefly on Izuku before continuing. Had he looked at Izuku longer than the others? Why? Should he be even more scared? The man's finger bends in a ‘come here’ motion, an invitation, as he speaks, words loud and clear, and a bit lighter than before, “so go beyond,” he tells them, and it’s the nicest he’s sounded yet. “Plus Ultra style. Show me it’s no mistake that you’re here.”
And it doesn’t sound like a threat, but that’s all Izuku hears.
He can only hear the two words.
Expulsion.
Immediate.
He can't fail now; he’d come so far.
Worked so hard.
He couldn’t fail All Might.
“Now then," the man squints challengingly at them, "we’re just wasting time by talking. Let the games begin.”
The games go about as well as Izuku predicts them too.
He’s gotten better since training with All Might, he's a bit more athletic than he had been in junior high, but he’s still miles behind his peers. It's very clear too. He’s not confident enough to use his Quirk, so he does everything Quirkless. He’s not overly fast, or strong, and honestly that’s with all the training with All Might. He knows he’s not placing well, and he feels Aizawa-sensei's gaze on him whenever he’s not looking.
Shirakumo is supportive— or, as supportive as a ghost he’s known for no longer than an hour can be.
He hypes Izuku up, and smiles awkwardly when Izuku doesn’t do so well.
Izuku is getting a lot of awkward, encouraging smiles.
Still, it helps.
One by one, the tests pass by.
He tries his hardest, but he really stands no chance against these Heroes-in-training. Not without One for All, but he can’t break himself yet. He needs to be able to compete in all the games. He has to prove himself to Aizawa-sensei. He’s going to show his teacher that it isn’t a mistake that he’s here, so he’s not going to bench himself before he has a chance to prove himself. Not until he has too.
By the time he’s up for the pitching test, his limbs feel numb in fear.
He’s already tired from the running, and the grip tests. From jumping. From failing, and watching his classmate pass him in each test. His exhaustion is there, but he won’t let it determine his fate. He’s fought harsher conditions, run on less fumes than he is now, so he’s not going to stop.
He stands in the pitching circle, a softball ringed with a distance tracker clutched in his hand.
Off to the side, standing just on the inside of the white line is Shirakumo, who’s watching in interest.
His class is standing a few paces back, all watching and waiting for him to take his turn, and a couple steps behind them, Aizawa-sensei is also watching him with a hawk’s eye. Having his teacher's attention solely on him is a lot more terrifying than Izuku had expected it to be. It feels like any wrong move he makes will be the tipping point to his expulsion.
“You got it,” the pastel-haired boy grins, shooting him two enthusiastic thumbs up.
“I don’t know if I do,” Izuku whispers back, gaze locked on the ball in his hand.
Izuku sees as the other jerks in surprise at being spoken to after Izuku not responding to him all morning, from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t mention it.
The only reason he’s responding now is because everyone’s far enough away that they won’t hear him, or see his lips moving. He's alone in the circle, besides the ghost's company.
He has nothing against talking with ghosts, he just won’t do it somewhere he’ll be judged and labelled as a freak.
“He’s really not as scary as he seems,” Shirakumo offers kindly, dragging his fingers up through his hair, “I promise, he’s way more bark than he is bite. He’s a softie at his core... Like a kitten. That’s what makes him a good teacher.”
Izuku wants to question if this ghost teen was a student of Aizawa-sensei's, but he thinks better of it.
How he knows the teacher isn’t important right now.
What’s important is passing this test so he doesn’t get expelled. And that means using One for All. He can’t fail all of these tests. He can't fail everything, can't be last in each event. He can’t. He needs at least one good score if he wants even a chance at not being in last place by the end of this.
Still he lets his head tilt in Shirakumo’s direction slightly, frowning lightly, “sorry, but I find that hard to believe.”
Shirakumo shrugs, but flashes an understanding smile anyways.
Izuku lets his gaze linger on Shirakumo for a moment before he blows out a breath.
He plants his feet, draws his arm back, focuses hard on activating One for All at one-hundred percent and finally throws the ball and—
“Forty-six metres!” the distance tracker chirps cheerfully.
Dread pools in his stomach like a brick.
“That, uh, that wasn’t as cool as I thought it would be...” Izuku doesn’t even have the strength to look over at Shirakumo.
What... what just happened?
He was channeling One for All.
He felt it coursing through his veins— why hadn’t it worked?
“W-what gives?” Izuku breathes out, eyes dropping to his shaking hand, “I... I was trying to use it just now.”
“I erased your Quirk,” Aizawa-sensei's voice rumbles from behind him, and when Izuku spins to face his teacher, he’s a lot closer than before. His hair floats wildly above his head, and his eyes are a menacing red. The scarf around his neck is no longer around his neck, and instead hovering around him like a cobra ready to strike.
Izuku feels himself stumble back in shock, his body moving on autopilot. Maybe a fight or flight instinct where he knows he's beat. He stares wide-eyed at his teacher who’d just gotten a thousand-times scarier than before, and that was an accomplishment.
“The judges for that exam were not rational enough.” His tone is different from everything else he’s said that morning. He sounds scary. Izuku’s almost afraid of his teacher right now. Behind him, Shirakumo’s breath hitches, and that’s really not a good sign. “Someone like you should never be allowed to enroll at this school.”
“Wait— you did what to my—” Izuku jerks back as if the man had physically hit him, but this time it’s all his own doing. Izuku finally takes notice of the bright yellow goggles hanging around his teacher’s neck. They’d been hidden away in his scarf— and now everything’s starting to make sense.
This wasn’t just any teacher.
Not just any Pro Hero.
This was Eraserhead. Quirk: Erasure.
He had the ability to look at someone and cancel out their powers.
“Eraserhead,” Izuku breathes out, but he thinks it might be louder than intended when his classmates huddle up to talk. Izuku pays them not mind, focus locked on the Pro. Eraserhead’s not a well-known Pro, since he mostly works as an underground hero, but Izuku still has a couple pages on him in his notebooks. He'd never really seen the Pro, despite hearing of his name and briefly of his Quirk. Eraserhead was elusive, his existance nothing more than word of mouth unless you were unfortunate enough to go up against him.
“You’re not ready,” Aizawa-sensei tells him. His voice has levelled, and his face doesn’t look as annoyed. It even softens slightly, but he’s still cancelling Izuku’s Quirk. He still doesn't believe in him, still isn't willing to give him a chance. “You don’t have control over your power. Were you planning to break your bones again? Counting on someone else to save your useless body—”
“No!” Izuku gapes breathlessly, all he can muster in defense, “that’s not what I was trying to—”
Aizawa-sensei's scarf wraps around him before Izuku can mutter another word, tugging him close.
He’s silenced in surprise, nervous at being so close to his teacher. He’s nearly pressed up against the Pro, eyes wide as Aizawa-sensei leans towards him to glare sharply.
The scarf gives some leave, just barely, but Izuku still finds the give to take a step back. It stops him there, and the distance doesn't really help when sensei just leans in to close the distance between them once again, eyes still glowing and gaze unblinking, “no matter what your intentions are, you would be nothing more than a liability in battle.”
“Shō!” Izuku hears Shirakumo squawk from somewhere behind him, “that’s so harsh!”
“You have the same reckless passion as another overzealous Hero I know. One who saved a thousand people by himself and became a legend. But even with that drive, you’re worthless if you can only throw a single punch before breaking down,” he pauses, eyes softening a fraction before they’re harden again. “Sorry, Midoriya. With your power, there’s no way you’ll become a Pro.”
The words drop over his head like an anvil.
It’s hard to breath for a second, but he manages to push through it.
There’s truth in his teacher’s words— he knows there is. Truth he's been shoving down, pretending not to see. He knows there's truth to it, of course there's truth to it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make his heart clench. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt for someone to actually say it out loud to him.
Izuku manages to push the emotion clouding up in his chest over the edge towards anger instead of fear and sadness. He’s not going to cry. Not now.
Instead, he straightens his mouth into a scowl and glares up at his teacher defiantly.
The scarf unravels from around him, dropping back over his teacher’s shoulders as his hair drops in a similar fashion.
He blinks his eyes shut for a long second, then, “I’ve returned your impractical Quirk. Take your final throw.”
And then he walks away.
Izuku can barely hear his teacher’s “hurry, get it over with.” over the ringing in his own ears.
He’s used to people not believing in him, but this is a new level. What is with Heroes trying to hurt his feelings? First that incident with All Might on the rooftop in junior high, and now this, with his homeroom teacher. Will he ever catch a break?
Izuku’s head is ducked, unable to look at the man.
He feels a chill presence beside him, but unlike earlier that day, it’s welcome.
“I am so sorry,” Shirakumo mumbles sympathetically, hands twisting together in front of him like he wants to reach out and touch Izuku, but knows he can’t, “that was brutal, Midoriya. I swear he’s usually not like that. Okay, so, uhm, maybe there’s some bite in there, but I stand by what I said— he’s really not like this most of the time. Now, what kinda Quirk do you have that he hates it so much? That's not really in character for him...”
Izuku lifts one shoulder into a shrug, turning on his heels to return to the pitcher’s circle. He doesn't know what he'd done to piss the teacher off. Why the man considered his Quirk to be so awful. Shirakumo is right by his side, hanging close by him instead of off to the side like he’d tended to stay most of the day. Though his companionship is chilling, Izuku is grateful he’s there.
The green-haired boy picks up another softball, fingers tensing around it as he stares down at it.
This is his last chance.
It's clear Aizawa-sensei is gunning for him.
If he doesn't make this throw a good one, he can kiss his position in 1-A goodbye.
“If it’s any consolation,” Shirakumo starts off slowly, and Izuku angles his head subtly to see the pastel-haired boy rubbing at the back of his neck, “I believe in you. Shō’s a bit brash sometimes, but he means well. I know you can show him you’re meant to be here, huh? You wouldn't be here is nobody believed in you, right?”
Izuku hadn’t expected that to mean as much as it did.
How it lifts his spirits even the slightest amount.
He knows he needs to prove Aizawa-sensei wrong if he wants to go stay here. He does belong here. The ghost is right, people believe in him. All Might believes in him. He's got to believe in himself. If he wants to learn under this amazing Pro Hero and become a Hero himself, he needs to show this guy he's got what it takes to keep up in his class.
He also knows it’s not feasible to use his Quirk to the point it breaks his arm. His teacher was right, he would be a liability if he can only throw a single punch. He needs to be able to continue and compete in the three remaining tests. He won’t be able to do that if he breaks his arm— even if he tried continuing with the injury, he knows Aizawa-sensei will likely send him off to see Recovery Girl, and then he’d miss the rest of the tests.
He knows he can’t not use his Quirk, but he also knows he can’t go one-hundred percent like he has been every other time he's used the Quirk.
He doesn’t bother looking back at his peers, or the man who’d told him both what he needed to hear, and never needed to hear.
It was solid advice if it weren’t so cruel.
He blows out a steady breath, arches his arm back as he glances over at Shirakumo’s blinding grin, then he throws.
The softball leaves his hand, shooting up into the sky. A whoosh of energy hit’s Izuku’s face as the ball flies away from him. It plows through the clouds, rising higher and further than anything he’s ever thrown ever. He feels giddy as he watches it go, but the feeling is short lived.
His finger shatters the second the ball leaves the pad of his finger— the bones splintering apart and it’s instantly a solid patch of bruising up to his knuckle. Izuku's opposite hand clasps around his wrist in an attempt to stem off the pain pounding along with his heartbeat. It was too much power for such a small space, but at least his arm is okay.
He winces, grimaces behind a curtain of his own curls as he cradles his hand to his chest to keep himself from crying out. It actually hurts a lot, even though he'd prepared himself for this outcome. He'd expected it, knowing what he does of One for All.
Still, he forces a smile through the pain when he looks up to meet his teacher’s eyes, unsurprised to find the man watching with a squinted, almost dumbfounded expression.
He’s never felt more like All Might than he does in that second.
He’s proud of himself.
He used his Quirk, and he can still compete in the rest of the tests.
The best of both worlds, and in the kindest regards, he hopes Aizawa-sensei eats his own words.
“Aizawa-sensei,” Izuku forces himself to say, hoping the pain doesn't come through in his voice. He's biting hard at his bottom lip as he clenches down to keep himself for letting out any sound of pain. He forces his broken finger straight, then into a fist to prove his point, eyes shining in determination, “you see...? I’m still standing.”
“Holy shit!” He hears beside him, and it takes everything in his power not to spin around and look at Shirakumo head on, “you’re that kid! The one who broke both legs and an arm taking out the Zero-Pointer during the exam! You’re like a legend, Midoriya, they’ve been talking non-stop about you! That like, explains a whole lot. Wow, talk about a missing puzzle piece, eh?”
Shirakumo sucks in a desperate breath after the rambling, then he grins big and wide, launching right back into it, “look at him! Hah! You showed him, Midoriya! That’s the look of disbelieving pride! He totally didn't think you had it in you! Man, I wish I saw that face more, too bad the bastard’s usually right.”
“Really?” Izuku whispers, ducking his head so no one can see, “looks like annoyance to me.”
“Oh, yeah, definitely! He’s totally annoyed too! What, you think most kids actually end up proving him wrong? Nope.” Shirakumo laughs loudly, and it would be contagious, if he weren’t in so much pain. Izuku knows if he shows too much, there’s the chance Aizawa-sensei will send him to Recovery Girl anyways, so he makes sure he keep his body loose despite the tight grip he has on his wrist. “He hates being proved wrong, but he’ll get over it! I don’t think anyone can be mad at that killer throw!”
Izuku raises an eyebrow, cocking his head as he opens his mouth to reply, but instead a scarily familiar voice rips through the air instead, “HEY! DEKU, YOU BASTARD!”
Well... someone can be mad.
Izuku turns to face Kacchan, only to find him sprinting in his direction. The green-haired boy is quick to cower back on instinct when he notices his childhood friend charging straight at him, palm crackling in preparation to explode Izuku when he’s close enough, “TELL ME HOW YOU DID THAT, OR YOU’RE DEAD!”
Izuku ducks his head and puts his arms up as some form of protection for his face and waits for impact.
Waits to feel Kacchan’s Quirk against his skin like he always does, but it doesn’t come.
When he cracks his eyes open, Kacchan’s hand is reaching out, but he’s... stuck in place? What?
The green-haired boy feels the chill of Shirakumo settling behind him, but his attention is on Kacchan.
The blonde boy is wrapped up in Aizawa-sensei's scarf like Izuku had been earlier, but it's tighter then it had been on Izuku. He’s restrained, completely, palm free of crackling explosions and sparks. He’s fighting the scarf, body trembling against the strength of it, “what?" Kacchan wheezes out angrily, "w-why the hell is your damn scarf so strong?”
Izuku’s gaze travels up the scarf to his teacher, where he sees the man glaring at Kacchan.
His eyes are red, staring hard at the teenager with a fiery look.
The man honestly looks the scariest he has all morning, but there’s something different in this look. How he’s looking at Kacchan.
The look is different from the one the class got that morning, and it's even different from the one Izuku himself got.
There’s no lenience in this one. Nothing soft about it. It’s a hard look. Hard and filled with contained anger.
Izuku wonders if this is the man the villains see when they're apprehended by Eraserhead.
But why would the man be looking at Kacchan like he's a villain?
“Because it’s a capture weapon made out of carbon fiber and a special metal alloy,” the teacher snaps, his lips curling downwards in a sort of snarl. His tone is equally as hard as his gaze when he speaks again, “stand down.”
Izuku manages to glance at his peers, fear still thrumming in his veins.
They all look as nervous as he feels, so he knows he’s not the only one scared of the look on their Sensei’s face.
“It would be wise to avoid making me use my Quirk so much," the man grouches in irritation, "It gives me serious dry eye.”
When Aizawa-sensei looks up, his eyes are glowing red and his hair is hovering overhead. Izuku assumes that’s why there’s no crackling of fire in Kacchan’s palms. Aizawa-sensei had saved him from Kacchan. Izuku knows that Kacchan could throw an explosion his way if he wanted— he was so good at using his Quirk, but Sensei seems to have already figured him out.
The moment is gone as fast as it appeared.
The Quirk drops, and Kacchan is let loose.
He doesn’t move besides his fist clenching at his side, so maybe Kacchan has some fear of their new teacher too.
“You’re wasting my time now,” their teacher huffs, as he walks away, unbothered. “Whoever’s next can step up.”
“That guy sure is a piece of work,” Izuku stiffens at the hiss of the words from his side. Shirakumo is glaring daggers at Kacchan, arms crossed tightly against his chest and nose wrinkled in a snarl. Izuku glances quickly to his side at the ghost teen before his attention is back on Kacchan like he might try a second time. He wouldn’t put it past him, but then again, Aizawa-sensei is terrifying.
When Kacchan makes no move to charge again, Izuku sidesteps away from him quickly.
He doesn’t want to get too close— not when Kacchan is already fired up.
He accidently steps through Shirakumo who lets out a gaspy cry of: “Hey!” as a tremble runs through Izuku’s body at the coldness of the entity passing through him.
“Boundaries, Midoriya! That felt so weird!” Shirakumo is making an odd face, and it makes Izuku crack a light smile as he bows his head apologetically. “Now my insides feel like goo. Groooss!”
Izuku shakes his head fondly as he joins his peers, listening intently to both Uraraka asking him if he was okay, and Shirakumo going off on a tangent about how it was rude to walk through someone. All the blonde does is watch with a snide look, before he too steps away.
By the time the class is almost over, Izuku is antsy.
He’s sure he hasn’t done much better in anything else. The only thing he’d really shined in was the softball pitch, and even then, he’d proved Aizawa-Sensei right in the sense he had broken a bone. It was just his finger, but it was still him damaging his body when using his Quirk. Still, it was the only saving grace he had, his last hope.
He was praying he’d squeezed by somehow. That someone— anyone— had done maybe just a tiny bit worse than himself.
And yet, despite all his effort, it feels like someone tore out his heart and stomped on it when his name flashes up in last place.
Twentieth place.
He’d lost.
He was expelled.
Beside him, Shirakumo sucks in a breath of sympathy when he reads the same thing Izuku had. He feels the ghost’s cold energy connect with his shoulder despite the lengthy lecture Izuku had gotten earlier about phasing through things feeling not good. He appreciates it. It helps a bit, but the sinking feeling of failure is still spreading through his chest.
Izuku feels his peer's eyes on him.
The sympathy, and pity.
Kacchan is grinning, and he knows it without even needing to look over.
He didn’t want Izuku at Yuuei with him to begin with, so he’s bound to be happy about his immediate expulsion now.
He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for Aizawa-sensei to tell him to leave— cringes under the cover of his hair as his whole world crumbles apart where he stands. How was he supposed to explain this to All Might? What now? He can already hear the words echoing in his head, he feels the shame of being expelled on the first day crawling onto his cheeks and—
“And I was lying. No one’s going home.”
Shirakumo blows out the breath he sucked in frantically, “I don’t even need to breathe, but I thought I was gonna pass out for a second there! That was horrible, this teaching power has gotten to his head! Damn, Shōta! You had even me going, you ass!”
Izuku too feels like he’s going to pass out from lack of breathing, but thankfully the chill of Shirakumo’s hand phasing through his stomach when the spirit notices his predicament makes a surprised breath stutter out of his lungs. He coughs abruptly at how the air seems to grate at his already exhausted lungs, sending the ghost a thankful look before angling his head to pacify those around him who glance his direction in concern.
Aizawa-sensei levels him his own look, but Izuku can’t decipher that one for the life of him.
Then, an out of place looking grin curls onto the man’s face, “that was just a rational deception to make sure you all gave it your all!”
Izuku manages to calm his own breathing as the class erupts into betrayed chatter, but Izuku can barely hear it over his heart beating anxiously against his ribcage. He bows his head, sucking in another breath that feels so good on his lungs as their teacher tells them that they’re finished for the day, and that they should grab a syllabus in the classroom and read it by the following morning.
How he can go from threatening to a generic teacher so fast is beyond Izuku.
The green-haired boy stares down at his red shoes in an attempt to calm his racing heart until a second pair are stood in front of him. A pair of boots. A paper is waved under his face, and Izuku’s attention jerks up to look at his teacher.
“Midoriya," Sensei says callously, "take this and have the old woman fix you up. Things are gonna be tougher when your actual training begins. Make sure you’re prepared.”
Aizawa-sensei walks past him once Izuku has taken the paper between numb fingers, not bothering to add anything else or even really look at him, but that’s fine.
He’s survived his first class, he’s not expelled, and he’s able to check in with Recovery Girl and get his finger fixed up. That’s a win.
“See, I told you he was a softie. Look at that— that's belief in his eyes. You totally proved yourself, and look,” Shirakumo’s hand phases through the paper, blowing it lightly like it caught a breeze, “he likes you enough to give you a note to go see RG too! And,” he drawls with a charming grin, “it’s only the first day! That’s super-fast for Shōcchan to jump ship on someone’s potential, you’re real lucky, Midoriya.”
Izuku clutches the note in his hand, watching Shirakumo from the corner of his eye. He’s smiling so widely that his eyes are squinted, and the bandage across his nose wrinkles lightly. The green-haired boy shakes his head with a huff in disagreement, but that just makes the ghost chuckle fondly.
“To each their own, I guess. But just know you’ve proved yourself to him, now it’s his turn to do the same, and trust me, he definitely will!” Shirakumo’s hands are tucked in his pockets, and he’s grinning that wide-squinty smile again. “Anyways, it’s been fun, but I’m gonna catch up with Shō, ‘kay?”
Izuku waves him off subtle, or, what he'd hoped was subtle, which ended up with him reaching up to rub the back of his neck when Uraraka glances over at him and asks what he's doing.
“O-oh," Izuku stutters, flashing a sheepish smile, " there was, an, uh, a bug! It was buzzing around me, but, i-it's gone now!”
“I suppose I’ve been called worse,” Shirakumo snorts a laugh, taking pity on the younger boy. “I’ll catch up with you later sometime, cool?”
Izuku nods hurriedly, but squeaks out another excuse when Uraraka cocks her head questioningly at him.
Despite how funny that is, the ghost disappears with a wave of his hand, and a wide grin that has Izuku smiling in return.
“That’s a nice smile,” Uraraka grins back, bumping her shoulder against his good-naturedly, “you must be happy that Aizawa-sensei was just kidding about the immediate expulsion, huh? I was worried for a second there! It would've been awful if he really expelled someone like that! It wouldn't have been fair!”
“Definitely,” Izuku nods, smile widening. It’s not why he’s smiling, but it’s a decent excuse. “I don't know what I would've done if I really got expelled. I guess his rational deception really worked, huh? But on that note, I'm going to head over to Recovery Girl's office before I head home. My finger kinda hurts, so... I'll see you later?”