Chapter Text
What a shame.
Nedzu stared at the paused footage of the sludge villain attack—again. The screen's frozen image showed a green-haired child mid-leap, eyes wide, arms outstretched toward certain death.
His blood boiled.
He'd seen that look before. On students who were too brave, too desperate, and too alone.
This wasn't just a failure. It was a disgrace.
Death Arms and Kamui Woods—both of whom'd been former students—had been there. So had other heroes, though thankfully none from U.A. Still, he'd be paying each of their agencies a visit. There would be no brushing this aside.
Because what he'd witnessed wasn't a matter of bad luck or poor matchup.
It was negligence.
A child had nearly drowned on dry land while so-called professionals stood by, waiting for orders or a better angle. Meanwhile, another child—the quirkless one, judging by those distinctive red shoes—had charged in without hesitation. Not because he could win, but because no one else would try.
And then they'd scolded him for it.
Nedzu's claws curled against the wood of his desk.
'The rescue comes first.'
That was Heroism 101. Every single one of them should have recognized the villain's weak point. Even Nedzu—who hadn't fought on the front lines in years—could see that the eyes and teeth were the only solid parts of the creature. It wasn't rocket science. It was instinct. Or at least, it should have been.
He scheduled meetings with each relevant agency. Then, rather than calling a driver, he opted to walk. He wasn't above letting those "heroes" stew in anticipation. Besides, a brisk walk would help cool the righteous fire burning in his chest.
Still, one thought clung to him like a burr.
'Who was that boy?'
A quirkless teenager who had analyzed the situation, acted with initiative, and made a difference when actual heroes had failed. Chiyo would scold him for even considering it, but the temptation to dig into the boy's background was strong. He hadn't been this intrigued since Aizawa Shouta had wandered into his office, angry and full of potential.
He barely registered the intersection until he stepped off the curb—and was suddenly shoved from behind.
"Sorry, mister mouse!" a small voice squeaked.
He turned to respond, intending to wave it off—but his limbs wouldn't move. His voice wouldn't come. Even his lungs felt still, as though his body had been locked in place mid-motion.
Panic clawed at the edges of his mind. He was paralyzed.
A second voice piped up nearby. "Wow, what's this doing here?"
Nedzu was lifted off the ground.
'No, No, No. Get your grubby hands off of me!' He tried to shout, and yet nothing came out of his mouth.
He hated being picked up. Loathed it, even. It was undignified, humiliating—he was not a pet!
"What a weird plushy," the child said, turning him over in their hands.
Internally, Nedzu screamed.
Izuku Midoriya was not having a good day.
After the sludge villain incident, after the crowd's whispers, after the way Kacchan had glared at him like he was the problem, he'd finally gotten a private word with All Might.
And it had gone… poorly.
"You can be a hero," All Might had said. "But only if you accept my power."
So it wasn't that 'you can be a hero as you are'. It was 'you can be a hero if you're someone else.'
Izuku had said yes, of course. He'd be stupid not to. All Might was offering him everything he'd ever wanted. But the words still sat heavy in his chest, like stones. All Might wasn't wrong—he'd only said what everyone else had been saying for years. That Izuku was wrong to be born the way he was. That he would never achieve his dream as himself. That no one would ever accept a quirkless hero.
It still didn't make him feel very good.
So as soon as he was sure All Might was gone, clutching the 'plan' to meet him tomorrow at Dagobah Beach, he texted his mom that he was going for a walk.
Izuku walked without a destination, fists deep in his pockets and heart pounding too loud in his ears. He hated that he felt ashamed for not being grateful. But all he'd ever wanted was to be a hero—as himself. Not as someone else's legacy.
He was just about to turn toward home when something on the sidewalk caught his eye.
A plushy. Small, white-furred, weirdly detailed. It looked… real. Unnervingly so.
He crouched beside it, tilting his head.
"What are you doing here?" he murmured. The plushy didn't move, but its eyes—was that a flicker? No, probably just the streetlight.
He picked it up carefully. It was heavier than it looked, and warm—not like a regular toy at all. Almost like it had a pulse.
"You look like you've had a rough day too," he whispered, tucking it close to his chest.
He started the slow walk home, completely unaware that the plush in his arms was very much not a toy—and very much aware of him.