Hello, My Name is:

Intro

Disclaimer: I don't own My Hero Academia or any of it's characters.

(A/N: This is my first fanfiction so helpful commentary or tips are appreciated, although please don't be rude, my self esteem can't handle it)

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Quirks. I suppose that's really where it all starts. Where the importance lies nowadays. Money and power are synonymous with your quirk. If you have a 'strong' or a 'good' quirk, everybody loves you and you're basically the best person on earth. You can be a hero.

But if you have a 'weak' quirk or a 'villainous' quirk, then you get trampled on by the masses. You're either the defenseless civilian, with a job as a janitor. Or you're the bad guy. The villain. The monster that needs to be arrested and put away. Like a bad memory. 

'Well, what about the quirkless?' You might ask. 'Does that even exist? Is it an option?' In a society that has heroes and villains, where people have the equivalent of super powers, you'll learn pretty quickly that most things are possible. 

And in a world where your fate is often dictated by the nature of your quirk. It's fairly obvious what happens to the quirkless. All roads may lead to Rome, but some are harsher and quicker than others. 

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I was born Midoriya Izuku. A freckled, green and black haired, green eyed boy. No, my hair is not dyed. It's naturally green, like my mothers. Although the black streaks come from my dad apparently. I would not know, I have never met him before. As a matter of fact, I have only known my mother for four years too. Coincidentally, most kids get their quirks at four years old, funny right?  

As I said, I was born Midoriya Izuku. Midoriya being the last name of my dad, the one I have never met. And Izuku was the name given to me by my mom. 

I got rid of it when I understood that she had gotten rid of me. That was when I was six. 

It only took me a two years to understand that: no my mom was not coming back. And yes, this dump of a beach she left me at was now the only 'home' I had. Honestly, considering the amount of trust I held in the goodness of people, it's a miracle I actually realized my abandonment at all. 

Well my child self decided that he wanted a new name for his new section of life. Like the character developments that certain heroes have. 

However, six year olds aren't too great at choosing names, and being a Hero fanatic, I wanted my name to be something like "The Savior" or "Mr. Good". So, yeah. I am glad that in the end mini-me decided to forgo choosing a name because there were "too many good ones to choose from". 

Otherwise I might have ended up keeping it. You know. For sentimentality's sake. It is not like I have anyone to tell my name to anyways. 

As far as the world knows, I don't exist anymore, and non-existent things normally stay non-existent. Who knew? 

Now I go by ___, meaning I go by nothing. No name, no fancy title, nothing. I'm around ten years old, I think. And I will be the first to admit it, having lived what is now the majority of my life in a dump by the sea, I am not the most sociable person (I will probably simply stare at you if you talk to me), nor can I say that my education is up to standard (it is not, definitely is not).

Still, for a freshly abandoned four year old I somehow managed to survive and learn which foods were safe to eat and how expired is too expired. I am just thankful that I found a huge shipping container filled with water bottles and that it was raining the first few weeks of my abandonment. 

It might have been cold and wet, and I got really sick at one point, but the supply of water I had collected kept me alive until I could find a better solution. (I did not find a better solution and had to live off of half drunk beverages, I still do when I run out of collected rain water.) 

I am not sure how I am alive. By the time I was six I had faced more than my fair share of infections, food poisoning, diseases, dehydration, animal attacks and starvation. So yes, I am not sure how I am alive. But I can not say I have ever enjoyed the thought of going back. 

Society turned its back on me when I was four, so I turned my back on it. Am I holding a pointless grudge? Yes. Am I causing myself more pain by holding onto this grudge? Also yes. But let's face it, now that I have made myself a sheltered home within the depths of this trash. I do not really want to leave it. I made my home by myself, I survived by myself, and I did it all quirkless. 

And really, it all comes down to that. Being quirkless. 

I know that I have problems, stemming from my experiences, but I am scared, if not terrified of what might happen next time I enter society. Being abandoned hurts, but I know it could have been worse.