Red Strings of Ruin

Chapter 1 - Not Powerless

Musutafu - Age 4

The playground was almost empty now.

A rusted swing creaked lazily in the wind, its chains groaning with age. Somewhere far off, laughter rang from a group of kids playing near the school entrance-but none of it reached the broken corner of the yard where one boy sat in silence, curled up on a cracked step like he was trying to disappear.

Midoriya Izuku.

Shoes scuffed, knees bruised, his little fingers clutched the hem of his green hoodie like a shield. His backpack had been thrown into a puddle. His notebook - the one filled with quirks and heroes - was crumpled and muddy, lying nearby like some casualty of war.

He sniffled. Quietly. He was used to being quiet when he cried. It hurt less that way.

That was when he heard it - footsteps. Not heavy or mocking, not the stomping of Katsuki's crew coming back for another round. No, these were soft. Calm. Steady. Like someone walking through a library.

Izuku wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, trying to make himself look smaller. If he didn't move, maybe they'd walk past.

But they didn't.

"...Hey."

A shadow fell over him.

Izuku looked up, startled - and froze.

A boy stood there. A little older, maybe six or seven. Taller. Pale skin, black hair tied loosely behind his neck, and eyes that... Izuku couldn't describe them. They weren't mean, but they were strange. One second they seemed soft, almost gentle. The next, sharp , like he was looking through him.

But the boy just stood there, hands in his coat pockets.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he said simply. His voice was soft. Calm. Like talking to a scared animal. "I just didn't want to walk past without saying hi."

Izuku blinked. He didn't move.

"...Hi," the boy tried again, a little quieter. "Can I sit here?"

It was such a weird thing to hear. No one ever asked.

Izuku hesitated, then gave the faintest nod.

The older boy sat down on the step beside him - not too close, but not far either. For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. The wind picked up slightly, and the boy untied his hair, letting the strands fall over his shoulders.

"My name's Kurozawa," he said after a moment. "Kurozawa Rikudou."

Izuku blinked again. He didn't answer right away.

The boy didn't mind. He just leaned back a little, looking up at the sky as if it was the most peaceful thing in the world.

"You come here a lot?" he asked.

Izuku hesitated. "Y-Yeah."

Kurozawa glanced at the muddy notebook. "That yours?"

Izuku followed his gaze and turned red. "Y-Yeah... they... they threw it..." His voice cracked. He looked down again quickly.

Kurozawa didn't reach for it. He didn't move. He just let the silence stretch comfortably between them.

"I draw stuff too," he said eventually. "Mostly things I want to build someday. Armors, weapons... weird stuff. People make fun of it."

Izuku's eyes widened just a little. "You... you draw?"

"Yeah."

Pause.

"I write about heroes," Izuku mumbled, then stiffened, expecting to be laughed at.

But Kurozawa didn't laugh. He looked at him. Really looked.

"That's cool," he said. "You wanna be one?"

Izuku looked down again. His fingers curled tighter around his hoodie.

"I... can't. I don't have a quirk."

Silence.

Kurozawa didn't look shocked. Or awkward. He just nodded slightly.

"They say it's impossible," Izuku whispered. "They call me Deku. They say I'm useless. Even Kacchan..." His throat tightened. "He used to be my friend."

Kurozawa's gaze darkened just slightly, a flicker of something dangerous flashing in his silver-red eyes. But when he spoke again, his tone was soft.

"I think that's stupid."

Izuku blinked. "Huh?"

"That whole 'you need a quirk' thing. I think it's stupid."

Izuku stared at him, confused.

"I've seen people with quirks who can't even throw a punch. And people without them who could probably fight a bear if they had to."

He glanced sideways at Izuku, calm but serious.

"You can be strong even without a quirk. You just need to learn how."

Izuku blinked again, slower this time.

"You mean... like training?"

Kurozawa nodded once. "Like training."

Izuku hesitated. "But... nobody wants to train me..."

A ghost of a smile touched Kurozawa's lips.

"I do."

Izuku's eyes went wide. "R-Really?"

"Sure," he said. "If you want. I know a few things. How to fall without getting hurt. How to fight bigger kids. How to breathe when you're scared."

He leaned forward just slightly.

"I can teach you. Not because you're weak. But because they've been wrong about you since the start."

Izuku stared. No one had ever said something like that to him. Not even his mom.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

Kurozawa looked at him for a long moment. The wind caught the edges of his coat, tugging at the ends like something alive.

"Because someone should've done it a long time ago."

----------

That night, as Izuku walked home with his ruined notebook clutched to his chest and a strange warmth blooming behind his ribs, he felt something shift.

It wasn't confidence yet.

But it was something like hope.

And a boy with eyes like dusk and storm had sat beside him, calm and quiet and full of secrets.

And for the first time... Izuku didn't feel like crying.