Izuku hobbled down the empty sidewalk. He shivered as a cool breeze washed over him. If it weren't for the street lights at the corners, it would have been pitch black. His leg ached every time he accidentally jerked it.
He sighed, looking around. It was too late for the buses and trains to be running. It wasn't like he had any money on him anyway. All of that was back at home. Hopefully.
He grimaced as he remembered being forced to tell the nurse at the hospital why nobody was coming to pick him up, why nobody was listed on his chart. He remembered the dread of overhearing the nurse and a doctor talk about orphanages. He hadn't been quite sure it was him they were discussing, but then again how many orphaned kids ended up in the hospital?
A lot, actually, but he wasn't taking any chances.
So that night when most of the staff had gone home, Izuku took his only opportunity. It was hard, it was painful, and he had almost gotten caught twice.
If only he hadn't broken his leg from that fall. The blood loss he could handle, but it had been a while since his leg had been out of commission and he forgot how hard it was to move. And how loud it was.
He hadn't even realized the blood loss he suffered until he woke up with small stitches in his thighs.
That didn't matter now. all he had to do was get home, put the whole ordeal behind him, and hope no one came looking.
Luckily, his apartment wasn't too far from the hospital. Unluckily, he was on the second floor and the apartment didn't have an elevator. It took him five minutes to get up the flight of stairs. He kept wobbling even with his crutches.
He walked passed a small group of people in the hall as he approached his apartment. The group talked amongst themselves, but their voices stopped when Izuku plucked the sheet of paper hanging off his door.
He saw them exchange worried glances out of the corner of his eye. He read the paper, and crumpled it between his hands. He heard it tear.
A pair of feet approached from behind. Izuku looked over his shoulder to see his neighbor, Chie, looking down at him.
"I don't suppose you have extra money for rent?" Izuku asked.
Chie shook her head, kneeling down to match his level. "What did it say?" The other two people with her slowly came forward. Izuku eyed them wearily. He wasn't too familiar with them, and he was pretty sure one of them was a villain but it didn't matter.
"He's changing the locks if I don't pay tomorrow morning," Izuku whispered.
Chie frowned. "That bastard," she muttered.
Izuku shrugged. "It's fine. I'll just do more commissions tonight and go to the back tomorrow."
Chie gave him an unimpressed look "You know commissions don't pay that much." Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. She was hinting at the raised rent. It was 10,000 yen higher. There was no way he'd get that much in time. He'd run out of customers.
Tears that Izuku didn't know were there started running down his face. Chie pulled him against her chest, being mindful of his leg. He sobbed into his arms.
"As much as I hate to say it," she whispered, "there is the homeless shelter."
Izuku shook his head. He really didn't want to go there. The one nearby had a terrible reputation. Reports of items being stolen, women being sexually harassed, and just general abuse from people and even some of the staff.
"You're not sleeping on the streets, Izuku."
"I'm not going to that shelter. I can protect myself."
She sighed and pulled back. "I know that. That's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried about that leg."
Izuku scoffed. "Who would fight someone with a cast?"
"A lot of people."
Fair enough. "I'll be fine." Izuku backed up. "I just. . . need time to think."
He unlocked the door to his apartment and walked inside, slamming it shut. He leaned against the door, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but he had to get going. He needed to pack his things.
The apartment was bare for the most part. He was the only one there, so he didn't need a lot of furniture. The living room just had a couch, a table, and a TV in the corner.
His bedroom was where everything of value was kept. It held his computers, his small stash of money, and his notebooks.
Izuku hobbled into the bedroom. The walls were bare expect for the lone All Might poster above his bed and the calendar above his desk. His desk was covered in his notebooks, one of which was open. In the middle of the chaos was one of his computers, which was open and still on somehow. The bottom right corner flashed, signaling he had a commission.
He sat down, closing the open notebook and organizing the others into their respective piles. He had a pile on heroes, one on villains, and one for commissions. He had to keep those first two safe.
With the notebooks settled, he moved the laptop closer to him and clicked the notification. His business account on Instagram was pulled up. He had three DM's. He clicked on the first one.
Needle_Minder: Hey, are your commissions open?
QuirkCommissions: They are! How can I help?
The potential customer took a while to respond.
Needle_Minder: I'm a hero student and my teacher's upset that I'm not making progress with my Quirk. How much for three pages?
QuirkyCommissions: Three pages is ¥3,159 or $30. You just have to pay through PayPal and send a clip of you using your Quirk, 30 seconds to a minute preferably
The person didn't reply, so Izuku checked the other two DM's. One of them was just a thank you for the analysis, and the other was asking him to lower his prices. He deleted that one. Now that he was legally homeless, he couldn't afford to lower prices.
While waiting for Needle_Minder to either pay or move on, he grabbed the top notebook in his villain pile. He opened up a Word document that was filled with multiple analyses just for villains. He just needed to enter one last entry before he could get rid of the notebook.
When he started his analysis commissions, he knew how dangerous it could be. He knew he was helping villains. He didn't mean to, but he didn't like to turn down offers. He usually found out they were villains the next day when an attack appeared on the news and the villains were following his advice.
It made his stomach twist and he usually spent the next few hours crying.
He nearly shut down his business after the first attack, but it wouldn't be fair to everyone else who wanted to do good. He wasn't capable of running background checks, so he just had to trust his gut.
He preferred to write out the analyses on paper. It helped his thoughts flow better. When a villain or hero notebook was filled, he copied it onto a Word document which was then stored on a hard drive. The notebook would then be burned later that day to prevent anyone finding it.
He may accidentally help villains, but there was no way he was letting them get their filthy hands on the notebooks. Who knew what they would do with it.
As he typed up the last villain, a notification popped up. Needle_Minder responded.
Izuku clicked back over to Instagram and pulled up PayPal. Sure enough, the money had been sent through and there was a video in the DM's.
Izuku set the villain notebook aside and picked up a commissions one. He flipped to the nearest clean page and started writing. The person's name was at the top of the page. He clicked the video and watched.
The clip was a close-up of their hands. Someone was filming as both hands were shown.
"I call my Quirk Needle Fingers," he said, chuckling, "not the most inventive name, but I'm not very creative. I can make needles come out of my knuckles." Metal poked out from under the ridges. "They're attached to thread. I mainly use them to stab and scratch."
Izuku paused the clip and scribbled. Questions immediately swam through his mind. How far can he extend them? Are the needles strong? Is he able to tear the thread off? Would new needles appear? Would it hurt?
A new clip popped up, throwing Izuku out of his thoughts. He set his pencil down and clicked on it. The clip was Needle_Minder sparring with someone who appeared to be a friend. The background looked like a gym, so Izuku thought they were on school grounds. After all, Quirk use outside of a hero school without a license was illegal.
At first Izuku thought they weren't using their Quirks, but then something flashed by Needle_Minder's knuckles. If Izuku squinted and got close to the screen, he could make out the smallest hint of metal sticking out.
Izuku scribbled. Good idea, makes the villain underestimate them.
Izuku observed that some needles were thicker than others, particularly the ones on his thumbs. The ones on his pinkies were the thinnest. He wondered if he could change their size.
He finished both clips, repeating them many times before finishing his pages. The first page was about observations. He hoped he hadn't written anything too obvious. The second page was about weaknesses. If his wrists or fingers broke, he wouldn't be able to use them. And from what he could tell, Needle_Minder couldn't control the thread.
The last page was questions and tips. He liked to fill it up with more tips than questions, but neither commissioner nor Izuku seemed to know much about the Quirk. So he had just listed most of the page with questions. He'd send a message that if Needle_Minder answered them, he'd do more analysis for free.
If it wasn't his source of income, he'd do all commissions for free. But alas, you needed money to do anything.
He finished up the pages, making sure his writing was neat enough, and took pictures on his phone. He opened up the Instagram app and sent the images. He closed the notebook and laptop and slumped in his chair.
He spun around, looking around his room. Tomorrow morning, he'd have to leave most of his things behind. He knew it was bound to happen, but that didn't mean he wanted to.
He had three bags. He'd leave all the furniture, obviously. The All Might poster. He'd burn the notebooks before going to bed.
Clothes got one bag. Items he couldn't bear to part with like pictures of his mom and his technology got another. The last bag would be reserved for however much packaged food he could get at the convenience store. He also needed to get his mask from the dumpster.
Izuku blinked, just realizing the late hour. It was probably near midnight. The packing would have to wait.
Instead, he got into his bed, set an alarm, and closed his eyes.
_________________
It was ten in the morning when he started packing. He got everything he wanted onto his bed so he could sit down and rest his leg and not have to constantly bend over.
He was rolling up his clothes so they'd fit better when his phone buzzed. Setting the shirt down and pulling his phone out, he saw he had a message from Needle_Minder.
Needle_Minder: Thanks, man! I'll have to test out those questions and get back to you. But I totally ended up commissioning a pair of scissors that can only cut through my thread from the support course at my school. The needles grow back, but it hurt when I found out.
Izuku wanted to respond, but he didn't have time. The landlord would stop by any minute and kick him out, with or without his things.
He stuffed the shirt into the bag. He reached for his hoodie, only to find it wasn't there. He groaned, remembering the event two nights ago.
He had been in the middle of a fight on the rooftop. It was dark out. Izuku didn't like how close they had been to houses, but beggars can't be choosers. He had been ambushed by three villains.
He knocked two out, but the third had snuck up behind him and pushed him off the ledge. He managed to slow his fall, but still ended up with a broken leg. The villain clearly hadn't seen that, or he would have gone down to finish the job. Instead he got his two buddies out.
The first thing Izuku had done was take off his mask, hoodie, and shooters and shoved them under a dumpster. If anyone walked by, they wouldn't recognize him.
He just hoped they were still there. It wasn't the end of the world if they weren't, he could get a new hoodie, and hopefully get Hatsume to make new shooters and a new mask. His fingerprints weren't on them thanks to his gloves.
Izuku zipped up the bag and started the next one. He wasn't bringing too many items with him, so the bag was smaller. He saved the biggest bag for food.
His computers went in first. Then his empty notebooks (the others were burned). Then whatever photos of his mother he had. The only All Might plush he had. Any chargers. Multiple pens.
He paused, looking at the empty bed. He'd have to find a new blanket. That meant he'd have to stop by the bank. The cash he had on hand would be put towards food.
He swung the clothes backpack over his shoulder and the bag with his things went around his shoulder and neck so it hung by his side. The food backpack stayed in his hand as he stood up and grabbed his crutches.
It would be hard to maneuver with everything going on. The clothes bag would be slipping and he'd have to stop to fix it. Not to mention, the combined weight of both bags was pretty heavy.
But still, he had a journey to make. Two actually. The store, and then wherever the road took him. He wasn't sure if he'd find another place that took in kids without question. He might have to leave Musutafu entirely. Hosu might be nice. Although crime there was pretty high recently, and heroes started patrolling there more.
That would put a damper in his nightly plans. Though, it wasn't like he could do much with his leg out of service.
Izuku huffed and finally left the apartment. He briefly thought about returning his key, but since the locks would change he didn't see the point. So he just slowly hobbled down the stairs. He wanted to throw his bags down the whole way, but bending over with a bulky cast was not easy.
The sidewalks were crowded, as expected on a Sunday morning. People were bustling through their routines, heading to jobs, kids were off to play. Izuku even passed a few unknown heroes. He knew they were heroes due to their outfit. Nobody but heroes walked around in bulky gear or spandex. He didn't know who the heroes were. He'd have to look them up later.
Speaking of which. If he was homeless, how was he going to do school? There was an Internet cafe somewhere, but the prices were ridiculous. With how slow his commissions were these days, he'd run out of money within the first week.
Maybe he could use the library. He did have a card.
Izuku shuffled passed a group of kids and was about to head into the store when he remembered the dumpster. He turned and walked into the alley next to him, and after making sure no one was around, used the bottom of one of his crutches to reach under the dumpster and drag out what was hidden.
His hoodie slid out. Izuku bent down awkwardly and scooped it up. He pressed around, feeling the mask dig into the fabric. He quickly stuffed it into his clothes backpack and hightailed it out of the alley. Now he could go into the store.
The cashier greeted him, silently questioning the bags but not saying anything. Izuku nodded back, picked up a basket, and made his way down the aisles.
He could stock up on ramen. It would last long, and he knew how to start a fire. He just needed a pot or something like one. He ended up putting four packs of ramen into the basket. He could make it last twice as long if he broke each block in half. He survived on less before.
As much as he wanted, he knew he couldn't afford any meat. Not only would his money run out, but he would have no way of storing it. He'd have to eat it all in one week at the most.
Maybe he could save up and buy katsudon at a restaurant. It wouldn't be as good as his mothers, but was anything ever as good as what a mother can make?
As he continued his shopping, he caught a glimpse of long, blond hair. He turned his head, and there stood the man who saved him. Izuku tensed up and tried to slink away, knowing that if the man saw him he would definitely talk to him.
He was so close to getting into the next aisle when the man called out, "Hey, Little Listener!"
Izuku sighed and turned to face him. The man looked relaxed, if his outfit was anything to go by. He wore jeans and a bright red shirt. It didn't look like it suited him, but maybe he had been in a hurry. A pair of headphones hung around his neck.
"You sure you should be walking around town with that leg?" The man asked, placing a can of something in his own basket.
"I'm fine," Izuku replied quickly. He really had to leave, before-
"What's with the bags? You running from something?"
Izuku couldn't help but flinch. "N-no, I just. . . I'm." Quick, quick. What lie sounded good? "I was getting something from a friend's house and needed to stop at the store before going home." That should work.
The man frowned. "What kind of parents would let their injured child wander around?" He seemed to whisper that to himself, but Izuku caught it. The kid slumped his shoulders. "How about I give you a lift home?"
Oh. Oh no. That was not good.
Izuku shook his head. "N-no, that's okay! You don't need to. I can-"
The man continued. "Nonsense! I can't just let you walk with that leg. What if you hurt yourself again? Besides, helping people is what heroes do."
Izuku froze. This man was a hero? Like a Pro Hero?
He squinted. Now that he thought about it, he did look familiar. Same blond hair, same mustache, same headphones.
Oh no. It was Present Mic. Izuku knew Present Mic wasn't on the case, but he was friends with the Pro Hero that was. What if he told him about their encounter?
No, that was silly. Nobody knew who he was outside of his costume. Present Mic didn't know and had no reason to suspect Izuku was Kumo.
The hero seemed to take Izuku's silence as confirmation, and helped him finish his shopping.
Izuku didn't seem to grasp the situation fully until he was sitting in the passenger side of a car.
He didn't have a home. When the Pro Hero inevitably found out, he would be thrown into the foster system. His entire life would be ripped away. He'd be forced to stop his commissions, he wouldn't be able to stay Kumo.
He was royally screwed.