Chapter Text
Midoriya Izuku sat on the wooden swing, his small feet dragging lines in the dirt beneath him. His shoulders were hunched over. The playground bustled in activity. Children were racing about monkey bars. They were scaling the jungle gym. Their laughter used to make him laugh. Now, it just made his chest clench. He didn't look up. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground, on the little furrows his shoes made in the packed earth. His dark green curls fell over his forehead but it only partially obscured the black, trident-shaped marking that had appeared there three weeks ago.
He spent this morning yanking his hair down as much as possible just to hide it.
The swing's chains creaked as he dismally swayed back and forth. His hands gripped the metal links while his small fingers wrapped around the cool surface. A burst of excited shrieks erupted from the sandbox where a group of children built an elaborate castle. None of them invited him to join. None of them even glanced his way.
The markings had changed everything. The black lines that radiated along his jaw and chin, the crown-like pattern on his forehead, the dots on his shoulders, the lines on his wrists, they might as well have been a sign that read "STAY AWAY." The thick bands around his wrists felt heavy, though they were simply pigmentation, not actual bracelets. The brush-stroke markings on his back, hidden beneath his t-shirt, itched sometimes, though the doctors said that was psychological, not physical.
His red eyes, all four of them, blinked slowly. The extra pair sat at the corners of his regular eyes, smaller but just as alert. They captured more of the world than normal eyes. They showed him things he sometimes wished he couldn't see.
Something hard struck Midoriya's back, right between his shoulder blades. The impact jolted him and shoved him a little on the swing. A rock. Someone had thrown a rock at him. It hurt; it more like a sharp sting followed by a dull throb, but not as intensely as he anticipated. That was new. Since his Quirk had awakened, pain felt... different. Duller. As if his body had another layer of protection he hadn't asked for.
Midoriya turned his head despite his better judgment. His extra eyes caught movement before his main ones focused. A group of five boys stood several yards away. Their faces were split with cruel grins. The tallest one bounced another rock in his palm.
The second rock flew at him before he could react. It struck his cheek, just below his right eye. The stone wasn't large, but the impact stung. A small trickle of blood ran down his face. Midoriya touched it with his fingertips. The blood was warm and sticky. He stared at the red smear on his fingers. He rubbed it between two fingers. His hand began quavering.
"Hey, did you see that?! I hit 'em in the face!" The tallest boy high-fived his friend, their palms slapping together.
"Do it again!" another urged, handing over a new stone.
"Bet you can't hit one of those freak eyes!"
“You kidding me?! Wanna bet?”
Midoriya's hands balled into fists. His nails, longer and blacker since his Quirk manifested, dug into the wooden seat of the swing. The pain in his palms competed with the sting on his cheek. Small splinters embedded themselves under his skin, but he didn't relax his grip. His jaw tightened until his teeth hurt. The black markings on his face darkened ever so slightly.
"What's wrong, villain-boy? Gonna cry?" The taunts continued. Their voices just seemed overlap in one string of cruelty. "Those marks make you look like a monster!"
"My dad says people with Quirks that look evil always become villains!"
Another rock sailed through the air. This one missed. It struck the chain of the swing instead with a metallic clink. The boys groaned in disappointment.
Midoriya's eyes darted to the far side of the playground. Two teachers stood chatting, coffee cups in hand. They glanced occasionally in his direction. He was always good with reading people, seeing how they felt. Their expressions were the same as the day they and this whole school learned about his school. Disinterest, unease and fear. They had witnessed everything, the rocks, the taunt and did nothing. One teacher caught his gaze, then intentionally turned away.
It wasn’t anything new to him but it still hurt nonetheless. They were nice to him before.
Before any of this.
So, why…
A tremor tore through his back.
Midoriya's throat tightened. He hung his head, green curls falling to hide his face. It had been this way for three, going on four weeks. Three weeks since he'd woken up screaming, his body burning as if someone had taken a branding iron to his skin. Three weeks since his mother had rushed him to the hospital. He remembered her face going sheet-white with terror as black markings spread across his body. Three weeks since the doctor had examined him, explaining that his Quirk was "highly unusual" and "potentially catastrophically dangerous”, that they’ve “never quite seen someone with his abilities before.”
The school had been notified immediately. A government official had visited their home. New restrictions were placed on him. No physical education without supervision, no participation in certain activities, regular check-ins with a "Quirk counselor." His classmates had noticed the change in treatment. Children were perceptive that way. And his life like that changed at an instant.
Midoriya watched a bird hop across the playground, pecking at discarded crumbs. With a thought, he could release a slash of energy that would cut them two with just as much ease as he could the bird or a leaf. The power just bled under his skin, eager to be used. He felt it, just coursing beneath the surface. It would be so easy to—
Midoriya shook his head violently. It took everything he had to dispel the thought. No. He wouldn't. He couldn't.
A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him off the swing. The world tilted as his feet left the ground. Gravity took over, and Midoriya fell. The back of his head struck the hard-packed dirt with a dull thud. Pain exploded across his skull. His vision doubled, then tripled. The world spun around him.
"Look at him! He can't even stand up!"
“What good is your stupid villain Quirk now, huh?!”
Midoriya tried to push himself up, but his arms wobbled. His brain felt disconnected from his body, commands not quite reaching their destinations. The ground beneath him seemed to shift and sway. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision.
"Freak!"
A foot connected with his ribs. Not a kick, not yet, but a firm push that rolled him onto his side.
“Villain!"
Another foot, another push. Midoriya curled inward, trying to make himself smaller. His arms wrapped around his head protectively.
"Those stupid markings make you look horrible! You're ugly!"
The voices grew louder, more confident. The pushes became kicks, not hard enough to break bones, but plenty hard enough to hurt. Small feet in sneakers and sandals connected with his back, his legs, his arms.
"My mom says you should be locked up before you hurt somebody!"
"Villain! Villain! Villain!"
The chant rose from multiple throats at once. A kick landed against his kidney. It sent knocked a sharp pain through his lower back. He curled tighter, trying to just make the pain better. Another struck his shin. A third got him in the shoulder. Tears welled in Midoriya's eyes. They spilled over, running down his cheeks in hot trails. He didn't sob, didn't wail. He'd learned early that making noise only encouraged them. The tears flowed silently, soaking into the dirt beneath his face.
One of the boys crouched down, leaning close to Midoriya's ear. "Nobody wants you here, you know. My dad says people with Quirks that are only good for hurting people should be sent away."
Midoriya didn't respond. What could he say? He wasn't wrong. His Quirk was only good for hurting people. The government official had said as much, in clinical terms wrapped in bureaucratic language.
"High damage output potential," he'd said while typing notes into a tablet. "Those… slashes of his. His Quirk is incredibly powerful, Mrs. Midoriya. I have no choice but to label him risk classification: elevated."
The kicking resumed. A foot caught Midoriya's elbow, numbing his entire arm. Another hit the small of his back. He curled tighter, making himself as compact as possible. He wanted to disappear, to sink into the ground and cease existing. For the first time in his young life, Midoriya wished he had never been born at all.
The thought didn't frighten him as it should have. Instead, it settled in his chest. The world would be better without him in it. His mother wouldn't have to worry constantly, wouldn't have to field calls from concerned teachers and government officials. The other children wouldn't have to fear him. The teachers wouldn't have to watch him with wary eyes. No one would miss him. No one except his mother.
The black markings on his body darkened further, responding to his distress. The dots on his shoulders grew more pronounced. The lines along his jaw deepened to the color of pitch. He could feel energy building within him, a response to the threat. His body wanted to defend itself. His Quirk stirred. Midoriya fought the urge with everything he had. He bit his lip until he tasted blood. He dug his fingers into the dirt until his nails bent painfully. He concentrated on his breathing, in, out, in, out, just as the Quirk counselor had taught him.
"Control is essential," the counselor had said. Her voice had been so sure and so steady but her eyes never quite met his. "Your Quirk responds to emotion. You must learn to master your feelings."
A particularly vicious kick caught Midoriya in the ribs. It stole the air from his lungs. He gasped, his concentration breaking. For a split second, darkness gathered around his fingers, wisps of black energy curling from his skin. The bullies didn't notice, too caught up in their cruelty. Midoriya clamped down on the power immediately. He forced it back inside. He couldn't use it. He wouldn't. Using it would only prove everyone right, that he was dangerous, that he was a villain in the making, that he didn't belong.
The tears flowed faster now. His nose ran. Dirt stuck to his wet face, making a muddy paste. His body ached everywhere. His head throbbed where it had hit the ground. But none of it compared to the pain inside him.
"Hey!" A woman's voice cut through the jeers and taunts. "That's enough! Back to class, all of you!"
The kicking stopped. The boys scattered, laughing as they ran. Their work was done for the day. They'd reasserted the natural order; Midoriya at the bottom, them safely above.
Footsteps approached. Midoriya didn't look up. He remained curled in a ball.
"Midoriya." It was one of the teachers. Her voice held no warmth, no comfort. None that was real, anyway. "You need to get up. Class is starting soon."
She didn't offer to help him. She didn't ask if he was hurt. She didn't admonish the boys who had attacked him.
Slowly, painfully, he uncurled his body. Every movement hurt. His ribs protested. His head pounded. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, then staggered to his feet. Dirt covered his clothes. Blood, now dried, tracked down his cheek. His eyes burned from crying.
The teacher took a step back when he stood, maintaining distance between them. Her gaze flicked to the markings on his face, then away quickly, as if looking directly at them might somehow activate his Quirk.
"Go wash your face before you come in," she said, then turned and walked away without waiting for a response.
Midoriya watched her go. The streaks of speckled dried dirt just strained on his face. He didn't hate her. He didn't hate the boys who had kicked him. He understood fear. He understood how people reacted to things they didn't understand. What he couldn't understand was why he had to be the thing people feared.
"Your Quirk doesn't define you, Izuku. What matters is how you choose to use it."
His mother said that, but he wasn’t sure she was correct.
But what if he never used it at all? What if he just... existed, pretending the power wasn't there? Would people accept him then?
Deep down, he knew the answer. The markings on his body would always identify him, would always set him apart. There was no escaping what he was.
Midoriya wiped his face with his sleeve. It smeared dirt across his cheek. He took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his ribs. Then, with small, careful steps, he began walking toward the school building, his shoulders hunched, his gaze fixed on the ground.
Behind him, the empty swing moved gently in the breeze, chains creaking in a lonely song.