"So that's how it is…" the boy muttered aloud as he stood on the edge of a random rooftop.
In front of him stood the number one hero, looking frail and worn.
"Yes, kid… I won't give you false hope. This is the reality. You can't become a hero without a Quirk. It's illogical. Unrealistic."
The hero turned around, opened the rooftop door, and walked away — leaving behind a boy whose spirit was as shattered as his dreams.
As the boy stood there, he felt like the world around him was crumbling to dust.
The hero's words were like knives to the chest, cutting deep, leaving wounds that would never heal.
Darkness began to creep into his heart.
He could no longer see hope in anything.
All he saw now was injustice and betrayal.
He questioned the very idea of justice in a world that left others behind in the dark.
So he made a decision — to abandon his dream of becoming a hero.
Instead, he would use his pain and rage to become something else.
Something that would reshape the world on his terms.
"If the world doesn't want me as a hero," he said with unwavering determination, "then I'll become something they all fear."
Izuku left that building as a new person — reborn.
He returned home, ignoring his mother's worried gaze, and climbed the stairs to his room in silence.
He opened his hero analysis notebook and began studying, carefully analyzing each hero's weaknesses one by one.
That night, Izuku locked himself in his room, surrounded by his notes and journals.
His mind was filled with dark thoughts, his eyes scanning every detail with intense focus.
He opened a fresh page and began listing potential weaknesses of all known heroes.
He searched for cracks in their Quirks, inconsistencies in their combat style, any exploitable flaw.
Turning on his computer, he rewatched recorded battles of pro-heroes — frame by frame — learning from every mistake, every hesitation, every blind spot.
His room was cloaked in darkness, save for the dim glow of his desk lamp.
The silence of the night was filled only by the whispers of his thoughts echoing in his head.
The deeper he delved into his notes, the more confident he became — he could beat them, all of them, with his mind alone.
He wrote relentlessly, taking only short breaks.
Every second wasted could cost him his life one day.
Every new piece of information was a weapon, a stepping stone in his war for vengeance.
"Every hero has a weakness," he whispered to himself.
"And true power lies in knowing it — and using it."
He continued his research until dawn began to break through his window.
His features showed signs of exhaustion, yet he was more focused than ever.
He carefully gathered his notes and stashed them under his bed.
He knew that what he was planning would take time and precision, but he was willing to pay any price.
As he stepped out of his room, he felt as though one world had rejected him, and another had finally accepted him.
Izuku was reborn.
He no longer dreamed of being a hero — he was determined to become the nightmare they all hoped would never come.
But just as he was about to go downstairs, he paused.
"If I'm going to become a villain without a Quirk... then I need to improve my physical strength. I won't get anywhere with this fragile body."
He sighed deeply and descended the stairs.
His mother greeted him with a warm, unaware smile — oblivious to the collapse her son had experienced just the night before.
"Good morning, Izuku!" she chirped with cheerful energy.
Instinctively, he smiled back.
"Morning," he replied softly, a tone that made her frown in confusion.
"Are you okay? You seem... different today."
He met her eyes while holding his coffee mug.
"I woke up from a bad dream," he answered.
She nodded with quiet understanding and went back to setting the breakfast table.
Izuku sat across from her, eating in silence as he thought:
"No matter what I become… I'll make sure to keep Mom out of it."
Inko felt something was off. His behavior was unusual, but she chose to stay quiet — maybe he was just having a rough day.
She didn't want to bother him more than he already seemed to be.
Izuku pushed his chair back with a loud scrape, stood up, and walked to the sink.
"I'm heading out for some fresh air. I'll be back by evening."
She nodded and handed him a decent amount of cash from her wallet.
"Be careful, okay? I heard villain activity is rising out there."
"Don't worry, Mom." 'Your son's one of them now.'
He stepped out the door, heading to the shopping district to gather supplies — particularly first-aid kits.
There was no way he'd let his mom see the injuries he was sure to collect in the coming days.
Izuku wandered through the city, thoughts swirling in his head.
Every step he took felt like he was getting closer to a new version of himself — one the world would have no choice but to respect.
At the mall, he moved between the stores, selecting supplies with precision.
Bandages, antiseptics, painkillers, burn ointments — everything he'd need to treat wounds in secret.
He watched the people around him going about their ordinary lives, unaware of the transformation unfolding inside him.
He no longer felt like he belonged in their safe, ignorant world.
Exiting the mall with bags in hand, he made a quick decision to visit the beach before heading home — to enjoy his final moments of peace.
When he reached the shoreline, the cool sea breeze kissed his face and tousled his hair.
The setting sun painted the sky in soft hues of orange and pink.
Izuku stood barefoot on the sand, eyes fixed on the waves that rolled in calmly.
The rhythmic sound of the ocean soothed the storm inside him.
He placed his bags beside him and sat down, letting the cool sand cling to his hands.
The salty scent of the sea filled his lungs as he closed his eyes, breathing deeply — holding on to that fleeting peace.
"I'm already late," he murmured to himself, standing up as the sun dipped below the horizon.
He took a shortcut home through alleyways devoid of people — a path he never would've chosen before.
But now, avoiding the crowded main streets felt... necessary.
As he walked, he noticed shady figures talking in hushed tones and exchanging unidentifiable items — not surprising.
"Sorry," he muttered after accidentally bumping into a tall man in a black hoodie.
For a moment, he felt a sudden warmth — possibly from the man's Quirk.
Izuku kept walking, unaware that he had just caught the attention of a dangerous fire-based villain.
---
Back home, Izuku headed straight to his room's bathroom.
He arranged the antiseptics, painkillers, burn cream, and bandages neatly on the shelf.
He stared into the mirror, eyeing the dark circles beneath his eyes.
A bitter taste rose in his throat.
He took off his shirt and saw the mark left on his shoulder.
"Bakugo's a damn bastard," he hissed bitterly.
He touched the burn — the result of Bakugo's explosive Quirk.
No matter how many times he tried to talk or defend himself, it always ended the same way.
No one took his complaints seriously — not the teachers, not the school.
Why? Because Bakugo had potential.
He could become a great hero, and the school wanted to be part of his success story.
They didn't want to stain his perfect record with incidents involving some Quirkless nobody.
Izuku hated this world built on appearances and status.
He hated it deeply.
And if he ever found the chance to change it — he'd seize it.