A boy must decide if his dream or his destiny will save his people against an unjust war.
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Izuku Midoriya knew at the age of six that, without a doubt, the doctor was wrong.
Despite his diagnosis, despite his lack of symptoms, despite the pres...
Wispy clouds float against the clear blue expanse. There's a soft breeze, just enough to ruffle forest green curls and the owner's middle school uniform, but not enough to hinder the sun's strength.
The sun; she's radiant today. Big and white and casting her rays across an almost empty sky and an almost empty rooftop.
He hates her. Izuku Midoriya hates the sun.
And she must hate him in return, he thinks. She taunts him from her untouchable throne, where only the wind can cast her behind clouds. He can't reach her no matter how much he tries — his quirkless body not useful for anything — and she refuses to reach out to him. There's no light in his life; no warmth; no shining illumination to guide him through this lifetime.
The sun abandoned him, and she wasn't the first.
The rusted chain link fence rattles behind him, perhaps a call for him to turn back, but Izuku just flexes his toes over the edge of the concrete prison he stands upon. Four stories. Four stories until he would reach the rocky plateau his school built itself on; four stories and this would finally be over.
Once, his middle school was pure white, a place of hopes and recognised dreams; a symbol of the future. Now, gleams of light reflect off dirty windows below him. Even from here, he can see the occasional crack and fracture, consequences of low funding and ill-mannered superpowered kids. The concrete plastering on the school's outer walls were cracking and falling off, dirt and mold taking refuge in its crevices.
Izuku wonders if all things are meant to be destroyed, eroded over time or corrupted by powers far greater. He's only been attending this school for just shy of three years, yet they share so many things.
He stares once more at the sun, at the blue sky, at the weak clouds. He listens to the leaves rustling together, his schoolmates below him making noise, and finally, the slowly dwindling whistle of wind in his ears.
But then the wind stops, as does everything else, he hopes.
So fourteen-year-old Izuku Midoriya closes his eyes and tips forward.
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