Chapter Text
The words he’d shouted just hours earlier echoed in his mind, fragile at first, then solidifying into something real, something warm, something that felt like truth. He bowed his head, tears threatening to break the surface, breath hitching (grieving for what could have been)—but behind the grief was relief. For the first time in years, he had allowed himself to believe he was worth saving.
And he felt so much better for it, for finally speaking against Kacchan Bakugou, who had tormented him.
He was in the middle of folding clothes and placing them at the end of his bed—he couldn’t sleep, even after leaving the stunned common area—where he would place them in a suitcase he’d already opened on the floor.
There was a knock on Izuku's door and he knew whose knock it was without even trying.
It was hard not to know the knock of his mentor. The knock from a man Izuku had idolised, who had lost his power, and then the image of a hero had cracked when Izuku realised he’d never seen Bakugou as a problem either.
Unlocking and opening the door slowly, Izuku looked up at the lanky form of All Might in all his bony, blond glory.
“Young Midoriya, may we speak?” He sounded awkward, unsure even, as he remained planted outside.
Izuku narrowed his eyes, but he widened his door.
He wasn’t getting any sleep anyway after what he’d shouted in the common area, returning to his room, locking his door and ignoring everyone trying to talk to him. But even Izuku found it hard to ignore All Might.
He closed the door behind All Might and locked it, ensuring the soundproofing of the room was unaffected so no one else could hear if anyone should decide to eavesdrop. The good news was Izuku’s hearing was enhanced so well, he would be able to hear whatever was outside, a side effect of One For All moulding to fit his body.
“All Might…,” Izuku greeted, voice subdued.
All Might said nothing for several minutes, just looked around the room and the half-empty cupboard Izuku had been emptying into a suitcase open on the floor.
He sighed. “So you’ve decided to leave?”
Indignation burned inside Izuku. Was All Might going to stop him? What right did this man, who hadn’t even noticed his mentee was abused, have to stop him?!
(And Izuku knew he was being unfair but he was angry and hurt and so tired, logic was out the window and down the street.)
As though seeing the annoyance at the question, All Might hastened to assure him he wasn’t going to tell him to stay. “I should’ve been more attentive. I should’ve seen and helped, and I’m sorry, terribly sorry, young Midoriya, that I failed you. So much that you can only see leaving as the path forward. I’m not here to stop you, I swear, young Midoriya, I have no right to say what you should do in this situation.
“I am merely here to deliver a message. All classes for 1-A have been cancelled for today and tomorrow, and he has informed your mother of the situation. She will be coming tomorrow, at 9, for a discussion. Nedzu requested that you attend as well,” All Might explained. Izuku nodded, still watching the man carefully.
His hero. His idol. The man who inspired him to even try fighting.
The man who he had known to be injured, pushed beyond limits, and yet— And yet, the golden figure cracked, and beneath was concrete caked in falsehoods.
He hated feeling like everything he’d known was wrong.
Hated that what he’d said, though true (and he now knew it to be true), was true. He hated that Bakugou wasn’t the hero everyone said he was. Aizawa wasn’t the teacher everyone praised him as.
That All Might wasn’t the great hero everyone worshipped.
That he, like everyone else, was just a man who couldn’t save everyone.
That Izuku had been let down again and again, until the only person left to hold him up was himself.
One For All sparked over his arms, responding to his anger, hatred, annoyance.
He stopped, took a deep breath, and the sparks disappeared.
“Thank you, All Might. I assume you will be in the meeting?”
All Might nodded and Izuku turned away, gesturing to the door (because he didn’t want to see his hero—his inspiration—leave; he didn’t want to feel like he had been failed again).
“I see, then I will see you then. Goodnight.”
All Might stepped towards the door, but paused and turned back around. Izuku kept his back towards the man, but he knew the man was watching him.
He heard a deep inhale, and waited with bated breath, as All Might spoke, “Young Midoriya, I am truly sorry and I know that not much I can do will fix this lost trust, but I swear to you that what you did was right. Standing up for yourself, fighting for yourself, in the face of so much pain and years of abuse was correct and you have my greatest respect for being able to speak about something everyone around you ignored.
“You were failed by the adults around you. You were never wrong, you were never useless, you were never nothing, even without One For All. You have never been nothing, and you never should’ve been failed by the people you should’ve been able to trust and go to for help.” There was a lump in Izuku’s throat as he listened to All Might. “You were extremely brave to finally speak out, to finally stand up. I know you may never trust me again, but know that I have never viewed giving you One For All as a mistake. You are truly brilliant, young Midoriya, and you didn’t deserve what happened to you.”
The door closed with a soft click of the lock.
The world tilted slightly, everything fuzzy.
Izuku’s legs gave out beneath him as he collapsed on the ground.
Back to the door, on his knees, and Izuku’s eyes were burning with barely withheld tears. Except Izuku couldn’t hold them back and he sobbed.
Sobbed for who he was. Who he is. And who he could’ve been had he never been failed.
Because for once, Midoriya Izuku felt validated. Felt seen.
Midoriya Izuku felt like he had never been a useless Deku at all.
And yet the truth scraped at him, raw and unfamiliar. All the years he had swallowed pain and kept walking suddenly surged back like a tidal wave. His sobs shook his shoulders, but beneath the hurt, something steadier flickered—something fierce.
The entire scene was strangely poetic.
How the sun had set when All Might had said his fateful words that day, branded into Izuku’s very skin like they were proof he was something. Sunset when gold bathed the pavement, the path, making it seem like it was the correct way to go.
And yet, now, the sun had set, and the gold was gone, and All Might’s silhouette, basking in the light, was still just that: a black silhouette.
But here, kneeling on the ground, chest hurting, tears splattering on the floor, and the moon shining through his window, perhaps here was where his story truly started.
Not on a day the sun set, but on the day a full moon laid bare his pains, shone across the floor in silver light. Not gold, silver. Not glistening behind a figure, but open and visible. If the sun had lied to him, then the moon would witness his truth.
The moonlight caught him where he knelt, turning broken pieces into sharpened edges. The crack in him pointed away from his heart at last.
Brilliant silver spilled across the floor, and in that gentle glow, Midoriya Izuku finally stood—not on the path he’d been forced to walk, gilded halls and carpeted floors, but on the one he would fight for, unstable and cracked and glittering with broken glass.
Nedzu’s office was large. Izuku felt infinitely small in front of the desk and the genius rodent sat at it, who looked… Well, Izuku couldn’t really read his facial expression. Maybe slightly displeased?
Kaa-san was already sitting opposite and she stood quickly when Izuku entered.
Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but they were puffy, so it was clear she had cried. She launched at Izuku, hugging him tightly, and Izuku let her, but he didn't return the hug. (Had she ever noticed the bruises? The burns? Did she see?)
Izuku had exhausted his ability to cry and just felt numb.
This morning, when leaving the dorms, Uraraka-chan had tried talking to him. So had Iida-kun, Kirishima-kun, and Todoroki-kun. He’d brushed past all of them.
He’d felt bad, of course, ignoring everyone at the table and his friends, but he was just so tired. He hadn’t slept at all. He hadn’t eaten.
And he was so tired.
“Nedzu-san,” Izuku greeted, lowering his head in a show of respect. The principal may have, kind of, failed Izuku, but the rodent was still his principal. Until he left the school.
After ensuring his mother was fine again, they sat down.
“A very problematic situation has arisen and, I believe, Midoriya-kun is the victim here. Now, I understood that you and Bakugou-kun had history, but we were under the impression it was a rivalry due to Aizawa’s reports,” Nedzu started, shuffling papers on his desk. “Aizawa, I find, misread the situation. Can you explain how he might have?”
Izuku scoffed, unlike himself, but he did because that was a stupid question. Nedzu knew why. “Because your teacher doesn’t read files before conducting his Quirk Apprehension Test to “prevent” bias. However, this only affects the students because he makes unfair assessments of students. He failed me due to me “overpowered” Quirk that he didn’t even bother to find out activated on the day of the Entrance Exams. Then, Bakugou attacked me at the test and he just thought it was a rivalry. Aren't teachers supposed to be trained to notice abuse?!”
He hadn’t even realised he’d stood up and started shouting, but Izuku had. Hands slammed on the desk, furious as ever.
“Midoriya-kun, I understand that you are angry at the injustice, and you are correct to feel like that, but perhaps we can calm down a little. Would you like some tea before we continue?” Nedzu offered.
Kaa-san grabbed Izuku’s arm, pulling him back. “We would love some, Nedzu-sama,” she accepted. “Chamomille for Izuku, I’ll have jasmine tea.”
“Of course, Midoriya-san. Give me a moment.”
Izuku didn’t notice much around him as the tea was being made.
All he could hear was his anger. Burning in his chest. Roaring in his ears.
The soft clink of porcelain on wood finally dragged his thoughts back. Nedzu placed two steaming cups gently on the low tray between them, moving as though sudden motions might cause Izuku to shatter.
“Please,” Nedzu said softly, “sit.”
Izuku sat, spine rigid, hands trembling slightly as he wrapped his fingers around the chamomile cup. The heat bit at his palms, grounding him.
“I would like,” Nedzu began, folding his paws neatly, “for us to clarify the truth. Not the reports. Not assumptions. Your truth.”
Izuku exhaled slowly. “You already know the truth.”
“Knowing,” Nedzu replied, “and hearing it from you are different matters. I want the record to reflect your voice, not the echoes of your teachers.”
Inko’s breath hitched beside him.
Izuku stared at the tea, watching ripples tremble with the shaking of his hands. “What do you want me to say? That Bakugou bullied me? That being a false negative changed our friendship for the worse? That he blew up my notebooks? That every time he looked at me, I felt like I should shrink into the floor? That Aizawa-sensei didn’t care? That none of you noticed?”
He hadn’t realized his voice had begun rising again until Nedzu raised a paw—not to silence, but to pause.
“I want you to say whatever you wish to say,” Nedzu clarified. “Not what we expect, not what you think a victim is supposed to say. You may speak freely here.”
Victim.
Izuku flinched. He hated the word. Hated how it fit him too well.
But the dam inside him cracked.
“It wasn't a rivalry,” Izuku whispered. “It was never a rivalry. Bakugou hated me. He hated that I existed.” His throat tightened painfully. “He hated that I wanted to be a hero.”
Inko covered her mouth, eyes shimmering.
Izuku continued, voice raw. “I thought… I thought if I worked hard enough, if I was useful enough, maybe he’d stop. Maybe someone would see. Or help.” He swallowed. “But no one did. Not teachers. Not classmates. Not anyone.”
Nedzu’s gaze lowered. “That is our failing.”
Izuku’s nails dug into his palms. “And Aizawa-sensei—” His breath came short. “He was supposed to be better. I respected him. I admired him. And he didn’t even bother to read my file. He didn’t even try.”
“Midoriya-kun,” Nedzu said carefully, “would you like to know what Aizawa reported regarding you?”
Izuku hesitated. “…Yes.”
Nedzu pulled a thin folder forward, but did not open it yet. “I will tell you, but first, understand this: his perspective is not the truth. It is only the lens he looked through. You do not have to accept it. You do not have to forgive it.”
Izuku nodded once, jaw clenched.
Nedzu opened the file. “Aizawa wrote that you were ‘over-eager,’ ‘chaotic,’ ‘possessing poor judgment,’ and ‘a danger to yourself due to lack of Quirk experience.’ He wrote that Bakugou and you had a ‘longstanding competitive tension’ and that your dynamic was ‘mutually aggravating.’
Izuku felt sick.
Nedzu closed the file softly. “I am telling you this because you need to hear that your anger is justified.”
Inko had gone deathly quiet. Her voice, when she finally spoke, trembled. “Izuku… why didn’t you tell me?”
Izuku froze.
Tell her?
Tell her what?
Which part?
The burns? The bruises? The years?
His voice cracked. “Because you were working so hard. Because you already had so much on your shoulders. Because no one else thought it was a problem—why would you?”
Inko’s tears slipped free. “You are my son. You are my precious boy. I should have known.”
“You shouldn’t have had to,” Izuku murmured, wiping at his eyes.
Silence stretched between the three of them, heavy and fragile. Nedzu broke it.
“Midoriya-kun,” he said, “what do you want?”
Izuku blinked. “…Want?”
“Yes. For the first time, I am not asking what you will endure. I am asking what you desire.”
Izuku’s mouth opened. Then closed. He didn’t know. He’d never been asked. He’d never let himself think beyond surviving the day.
“I…” His voice faltered. “I want to leave U.A. I want distance. I want time to think. I want to breathe without wondering what Bakugou will do or what Aizawa will say. I want—” His hands shook again. “I want my life to be mine.”
Inko reached toward him again, slower this time, tentative. “If you leave U.A… where will you go?”
Izuku stared at her. It hadn’t occurred to him. He’d packed a suitcase, but he had no destination. He’d just needed to move. To run.
Nedzu cleared his throat gently. “There are options. You could transfer. You could take a temporary leave from hero education. You could remain enrolled but not in dormitories. You could—”
Izuku cut him off. “And what happens to Bakugou?”
A crack passed over Nedzu’s expression. “Disciplinary action is already underway.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“It cannot be discussed fully until the board convenes,” Nedzu said carefully, “but I can assure you this: he will not go unpunished.”
Izuku looked away. Anger flared again, but now there was exhaustion beneath it. It’s not like Bakugou was getting off scottfree again.
And yet, Izuku had information that could ruin Bakugou.
He could almost imagine the conversation:
“Bakugou suicide-baited me in Middle School. I have proof because of the camera in the classroom, every classroom has one.”
“That is a very serious accusation. We can check the footage and if it is true, we will deal with it accordingly.”
“His life will be ruined.”
“He will be facing the consequences of his actions.”
Izuku would never be able to stomach being the ruin of Bakugou’s career. He’d already ruined Bakugou’s life enough, it wasn’t fair.
W̶͖̍h̴̢̳̜͖̠͉͚̣̼̰̲͆̍̀͂̉͑̅̊́͌ͅä̴̛̼̦̭̰̤͉̱̆͊̈͛̈́̉̍̚ṯ̵̨̨̠̞̜̬̙̭̅͂̊̂̓̚͜ ̴̢̗̟̼̻̙̺͖̟́̆͆͒̂̎̚͝͝͠͝ͅh̷̜̩̙̜̖̝͔̙̗͙͚̍͜ǎ̷̡̨̢̛͔̠̦̭͇̣̭̦̰̎͗̔̃̈́̇͊͛͐͠p̸̻͙̪̥͉̝̩̦̅̈̌͋͊̑̐̇̎͘̚͠ͅp̷̰̒̿è̵̢̧͍͙̼̭̫͐̾̒̓͛̕n̶̺̖͌͌̀̔ͅē̵͍̠̳̙̱̲͖̗͙͈͊̉̃̆̈́͊͐̉̈́̕ͅd̴̢̙̺̆̇ ̷̲͖̳̹̥̟̞̜́̏͂̅̒̂̉̅̚t̵̢͉͕̦̬̩̗̣̟͙̝͒̀͊̓͂͑͑͗́͜o̸̳̭̣̻͚̠̯̤͖̕ͅ ̸͙͖̟͚́͐̉̌̈̚I̵̛̗͎͎̭͎̬̟̙̙̖͐̓̀̌͋̚̚z̸̢̨̭̝̘̩̖̤̈̄͛̆̈̈́̕ͅù̷̫̠͆͂͌̌̆́̽̾̈́͘͝k̷̫̳͉̼̄̈͋̇̏̔͆̐u̶̘̬̣͑͗͑̀͐̄̆̔̕͝͝ ̸̘̯̩̱͌̊̈́̉̎̊͗w̵̛͚̚̕͠͝a̵̠̭̎̉͗̎͆̋̕͠s̷̥̦͕̿̀n̸̮̏̔͋͘͜'̵̻̘̭̌̒̑͊́̀͘t̴̪̻͔̭̯̃̊͒͐̍̀͘̚͘ ̸̥̘̣̇͆͊̀̕f̴̡͎͓̲͓̝̝͙͙̽̂́̽̿a̷̼̯͇̓͋̈́̍̽̄̀̈î̸̡̪̟̬̬͠͝ͅr̶̡̢̛̛̭̼͚̠̈́̏͌́̇͘.̷͎̑̎͛̽̀̒̽̊
Izuku’s head hurt. He took another sip of his tea. “I want to leave U.A,” he finally said.
He had thought about it last night. He didn’t want to be here anymore. But he didn’t want to give up heroics either. However, he had a different way to try being heroic.
He wasn’t about to start ruining innocent people’s lives and helping All For One overthrow hero society, but Hero Society needed to change and maybe he could do that from somewhere else, not the strict confines of U.A.
Nedzu, he saw, seemed to have known he would say that, but he sighed all the same. “And we will lose a very promising student. I am truly sorry, Midoriya-kun.” He took out already-prepared documents for transfers and leaving the school and things. Izuku wasn’t really sure, he wasn’t entirely sure of the process of leaving a school.
He never had left a school before. He’d merely endured and endured and endured until he could bear it no longer and he blew.
Kaa-san squeezed Izuku’s shoulder in a show of support. He accepted it, leaning in, before the warmth left and Izuku’s mother started signing forms.
The silence was deafening, just the soft scratch of pen on paper as Kaa-san’s signature scrawled across page after page.
His eyes trailed around the office. Pristine, perfect, pulchritudinous (it was a new word he’d learnt in English a month ago—it meant beautiful). The walls were white, but pictures were plastered across one entire wall. Behind Nedzu-san, it was purely windows. One-way windows where they could see out and now one could see in, which was basically the same everywhere in U.A.
Izuku looked around the room again.
Large doors, windows to Nedzu-san’s back, pots of pencils and pens on the desk, and—
“Oriya… Mid…a-kun… Midoriya-kun.”
Izuku snapped up, focusing. “Yes?”
Nedzu regarded him carefully, like he was a puzzle and there was a piece missing for it to be complete. Or perhaps many. Izuku found himself regarding himself as a puzzle too: Too many pieces and too many places to put them, that some pieces must have been lost.
“Izu, Nedzu-san was just asking if you wanted to try to do an apprenticeship degree of sorts. U.A. will be where your certificate is handed out from, but you will learn and do practical fieldwork with a different hero or an agency,” Kaa-san explained.
It sounded like a good offer. Heroics and away from another institute that failed him. But…
Heroics was what failed him. Heroes had failed him. Heroes hadn't seen the abuse, hadn’t seen anything, and they’d happily continued on without questioning anything.
However, heroes wouldn’t change unless someone changed them. There would be no difference. There would be no new image for heroes. No new standard. Nothing. Because no one was there to change it.
“Is that offer on the table for a while, or do I have to decide now?” Izuku found himself asking.
Nedzu clasped his hands (paws?) together in front of him, the sleeves of his shirt hiking up his arms slightly. “It remains open for whenever you wish to return to heroics. You are a very promising hero, Midoruya-kun, and you deserve far better than the hand you were dealt.”
Izuku nodded. He wouldn’t mind returning to heroics later. Maybe at the start of second year, even, but for now, he wanted to do something else. He had a Provisional Licence, so it wouldn’t be hard to find a hero to be a part-time mentor even before continuing down the hero path.
Izuku steeled his nerves. This was his time now.
Not Bakugou’s. Not societies. Not Aizawa’s. Not even his mother’s or All Might’s.
No, this was his time to choose.
“I will keep the offer on the table and maybe take up part-time mentorship, probably twice a week with my Provisional Licence, but I would prefer to start online schooling. The normal subjects, two electives, and possibly extracurriculars I can choose outside of school.” He turned to his mother, searching for her approval as he often did. “What do you think?”
“I will support you, no matter what,,” his mother answered, her voice as gentle and kind as ever.
Izuku’s room was small, and yet he felt so light in the lack of space.
A dorm room like everyone else’s, but customised to his own preference. Or was.
After his outburst two days ago, the talk with Nedzu yesterday, and the ultimate chance to leave U.A., Izuku felt free of every single burden for those few moments.
He wasn't staying in this oppressive place any longer.
Aizawa had tried speaking to him, but Izuku ignored the man. He wasn’t his teacher anymore, and he sure as hell didn’t have Izuku’s respect anymore.
Really, it should’ve been obvious Aizawa was like everyone else on the first day, when he immediately wrote Izuku off. Didn’t read files. Dismissed Bakugou's obvious threat (and attempt to attack Izuku) off, ignoring it.
Izuku hadn’t even realised he didn’t trust the man after his logical ruse, but now he saw it.
Expelled, on his first day?
From U.A’s Hero Course?
Izuku’s future would have been ruined, much like the ones of those he’d previously expelled. Those Izuku had taken to finding out about a few hours after the entire ordeal went down. Turned out, half of them were dead, having committed suicide.
The other half were working at minimum wage, some didn’t even manage to get into another school for a chance.
A black mark definitely would’ve destroyed anyone, especially in Japan.
And Aizawa hadn’t given a single damn about that when he mercilessly expelled them.
Looking around the room, Izuku noted the bare walls. His posters and everything hadn't been up long enough to leave permanent marks, and he’d just finished cleaning. His boxes had been taken last night, and he was leaving the premises today.
Nedzu-san had tried speaking to him and Izuku had stood firm.
He’d finally stood his ground.
And he wasn’t being expelled, he was leaving, so no black mark.
Izuku’s friends had tried to talk to him, and he understood it wasn’t their fault, but he needed space and time to sort out his feelings.
His hand brushed over the desk that had come with the room, and the metal bed frame (empty, cold, harsh against his skin).
They hadn’t known. He had never given them any inclination that he’d been abused by Bakugou, and yet, somewhere deep inside him, he desperately wished one of them—one goddamned person, just one—noticed.
And no one did.
Not Kirishima-kun, who had said he was against bullies.
Not Todoroki-kun, who Izuku knew had gone through abuse as well, and desperately wished he had seen and known and understood.
Not Iida-kun, who seemed against Bakugou, but at the same time seemed to believe he was a capable young man.
Not Uraraka-chan (and didn’t that sting), but she had also been the one to call him Deku.
(Izuku hated that name. He wasn’t even sure why he chose it as a hero name.
The idea that Deku sounded like Dekiru had maybe made it bearable, but at the same time, he hated what the name stood for. The way it held so many memories of pain.)
None of them had noticed.
He took a deep breath, removing his hand from the wood of the desk.
His final goodbye to his dream school.
Opening his door, he was glad he’d done it at this time, when everyone was in class—Class 1-A was back in lessons, except Bakugou, who was having some sort of evaluation (Nedzu had been very vague, only that Bakugou would not be returning to U.A. for a bit). His suitcase stood outside his the dorm room. As were two more boxes.
He shut the door softly behind him and turned to leave when he came face-to-face with Todoroki Shouto.
Izuku halted sharply, stepping back when Todoroki-kun stepped forward.
Todoroki-kun, noting the falter, didn't move again. He looked sad, though. Pained that Izuku didn’t… No, Izuku trusted Todoroki-kun. He trusted him to be there when he was in trouble. He trusted him to be strong and straightforward.
Yet, he didn’t trust him to help him.
“Todoroki-kun,” he greeted, dipping his head in acknowledgment. “I thought you were in class.”
“No, I was sick this morning, so I stayed back.”
Izuku nodded, shifting nervously. He wanted to tangle his finger together or maybe spin something in his hand. “I see.” An awkward, annoying pause. “Well, get well soon—”
“Midoriya, can we not do this small talk nonsense?”
Izuku flinched, hard. He had to fight the urge to laugh oddly and to rub the back of his neck and to turn away and to say “What are you talking about?”. It was obvious, really. “I’m sorry.”
"Don't apologise either.”
“Ah, sorry— I mean, fine, what do you need, Todoroki-kun?”
Todoroki-kun looked a little hurt at the directness, but Izuku was also tired. And even if the really pretty guy in front of him was technically one of his closest friends, Izuku just wanted to leave.
“I’m sorry, Midoriya, for everything. I should’ve realised sooner or known something was going on, and—”
“Todoroki-kun,” Izuku interrupted, eyes steely now. Todoroki-kun may not have noticed, but he couldn't blame himself. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I didn't talk to anyone because no one had helped me before, that isn’t your fault. You were preoccupied with her terrible father, it’s not your fault. You were not trained to see abuse or bullying, teachers were. You didn’t fail at all.”
Izuku took a deep breath. “Don’t blame yourself. I don’t.”
“But you don’t forgive me.”
Ah, that hadn’t gone unnoticed. “I am hurt, yes. I won’t ever blame you, and it’s very controversial, I know, but I am hurt. I think we can mend this relationship one day, but I’m leaving U.A. right now and—”
“Your number! You aren’t changing your number, right? Or are you? We can still text,” Todoroki-kun quickly said, almost desperate. “You were my first friend here, Midoriya. I don’t want to lose you.”
Izuku swallowed the knot in his throat. Todoroki-kun was trying really hard and it wasn’t his fault and…
“Sure. I am changing my number, but I will send it to you, so make sure to delete my old number after you get the text.”
Todoroki-kun nodded, turning to leave. “Thank you,” he whispered, and he disappeared to his floor.
Izuku sighed, feeling utterly drained. One conversation and he was already ready to crash back into his bed and never rise up.
He, unfortunately, couldn’t, and sadly had to lug his suitcase and boxes all the way down. Damn, he could’ve asked Todoroki-kun for some help, but then again, it was so awkward, Izuku wasn't even sure he’d be able to go a few steps without his head hurting.
Finally reaching outside, All Might was there to help.
They hadn’t spoken since two mornings ago.
But Izuku was All Might’s successor and—
“The Quirk is yours, Young Midoriya. You don’t need me to train you, and I never truly was good at it. I believe you can hone it and will use it greatly. If you ever do need an old man like me, you have my number,” All Might broke the silence, as though reading Izuku’s mind.
Izuku spluttered as they reached the gate, but ultimately he said nothing as All Might left with a soft goodbye and Izuku loaded his things into his mother’s old car. They rarely used it, the last time being when Izuku moved into the dorms.
His mother was waiting at the wheel, but Izuku paused at the door, hand on the handle, and looked back at the imposing figure of U.A.
He remembered the fear of the Entrance Exams.
He remembered the pure excitement of getting in.
The horror at the Quirk Apprehension Tests.
The lessons.
The spars.
He remembered and then he let go.
A new chapter. A new path.
Heroics would always be something he could try, but for now, Izuku needed to find out who he was on his own. No bullies tearing him down. No unrealistic expectations. No teachers blaming him.
Izuku was going to figure out just who he was. Afterall, he’d only just started saving himself, it was time to continue.