The morning light filters through my window, weak and pale, barely touching the All Might posters on my walls. I'm still four, still trapped in this body that feels too small for the weight I carry. I didn't sleep much last night, my mind replaying Kacchan's sneer, the torn pages of my notebook, Mom's cold words. The burn on my cheek from yesterday's explosion throbs, a dull reminder of my place in the world. I sit up on my bed, the mattress creaking, and rub my eyes, trying to push the heaviness away. It doesn't work. It never does.
I can hear Mom moving in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes a warning to hurry. I pull on my preschool uniform, the fabric wrinkled and stained from yesterday's fall in the dirt. I don't have time to wash it—Mom would scream if I asked—and I don't want to start the day with her anger. My bag sits by the door, the torn notebook inside, its pages a jagged scar I can't stop touching. I sling the bag over my shoulder, wincing as the strap digs into my skin, and step into the hallway.
Mom's at the sink, scrubbing a pan with a ferocity that makes my stomach twist. She doesn't look at me, but her voice cuts through the silence. "You're going to be late again, Izuku," she says, her tone flat, like she's talking to a stranger. "I'm not walking you today. I have enough to deal with." I nod, even though she can't see, and grab a piece of bread from the counter, the crust hard and stale. I eat it as I slip out the door, the bread sticking in my throat, my hands trembling.
The walk to preschool is a gauntlet I can't avoid. The city buzzes around me, heroes leaping across rooftops, their quirks painting the sky with bursts of color and sound. I stop at a corner, watching a hero with a gravity quirk lift debris from a collapsed building, saving a family trapped beneath. The crowd cheers, their voices a wave of awe, and I clutch my bag tighter, my heart aching. I want to be that hero, the one who makes people feel safe, who makes them smile. But the word quirkless is a chain, dragging me down, reminding me I'll never be enough.
At school, the playground is a battlefield I can't win. I try to sneak to the classroom, keeping my head down, but the other kids spot me before I make it ten steps. A boy with a stretching quirk grabs my bag with an elongated arm, yanking it away as his friends laugh. "Quirkless Deku's got another notebook!" he shouts, holding it up like a trophy. I reach for it, my voice a desperate whisper—"Please, give it back"—but he tosses it to a girl with a wind quirk, who sends it spinning into the air.
I chase after it, my small legs no match for their quirks, my breath coming in short gasps. The notebook lands in a puddle, the water soaking through the torn pages, and I drop to my knees, pulling it out, my hands shaking. The ink runs, All Might's sketch blurring into a mess of black and gray. The kids laugh, their voices a chorus of cruelty—"Look at him, he's crying!" "Quirkless loser!"—and I wipe my eyes with my sleeve, trying to stop the tears. I can't let them see me break, not again.
The bell rings, and they scatter, leaving me in the puddle, my uniform soaked, my notebook ruined. I stand, clutching the dripping pages, and head to class, my sneakers squelching with every step. The teacher doesn't notice my wet clothes, or maybe she doesn't care. I slip into my seat at the back, the damp fabric sticking to my skin, and keep my head down, hoping to disappear. But the whispers follow, a constant hum that never stops. "Quirkless." "Useless." "Nobody."
Class is a blur, the teacher's voice a distant drone. We're learning about shapes today, but I can't focus, my mind stuck on the puddle, the laughter, the blurred sketch of All Might. I trace circles on my desk with a broken pencil, the lead scratching the wood, and try to imagine myself as a hero, saving someone, anyone. But the image fades, replaced by the reality of my life—Mom's disgust, the kids' taunts, Kacchan's explosions. I'm not a hero. I'm not even a kid to them. I'm just a thing to hurt, a thing to hate.
Recess comes too soon, and I head back to the slide, my safe spot, the shadow a thin shield against the world. I don't open my notebook this time—it's too wet, too broken—but I sit with it in my lap, my fingers tracing the soggy cover. The other kids play hero again, their voices loud and bright, their quirks making the game real. A girl with a light quirk creates a glowing shield, pretending to block a villain's attack, while a boy with super strength lifts a tire, playing the role of All Might. I watch, my chest tight, wishing I could join, knowing I can't.
Then I hear the crackle of explosions, and my blood runs cold. Kacchan storms across the playground, his hands sparking, his eyes locked on me. I shrink back, pressing myself against the slide, but there's nowhere to go. "Deku!" he shouts, his voice a snarl, his friends trailing behind. "Hiding again, huh? You're such a coward." He grabs my collar, yanking me up, and I drop my notebook, the wet pages slapping the ground.
"I—I wasn't hiding," I stammer, my voice trembling. He laughs, the sound harsh, and shoves me against the slide, the metal cold against my back. His hand sparks, the heat close to my face, and I flinch, my eyes squeezing shut.
"You're so pathetic," he says, his voice low, dangerous. "Look at you, all wet and crying. You think you're worth anything? You're quirkless, Deku. You're nothing." He blasts the slide next to my head, the explosion ringing in my ears, the heat scorching my ear. I cry out, my hands flying to my face, and the tears come, hot and fast, despite my efforts to stop them.
"Stop crying!" he snaps, shoving me to the ground. I land hard, my palms scraping, and his friends laugh, their voices a storm around me. "Quirkless Deku's gonna cry himself to death!" one of them jeers, and Kacchan kicks my notebook, sending it skidding across the dirt. I crawl after it, my sobs choking me, and pull it close, the wet pages sticking to my hands.
"Stay down, Deku," Kacchan says, turning away, his friends following. The crowd disperses, their laughter fading, and I'm left in the dirt, my body shaking, my ear burning from the explosion. I don't move until the bell rings, signaling the end of recess, and even then, I'm slow, my limbs heavy with despair. I gather my things, my notebook a soggy mess, and head back to class, my head down, my tears still falling.
The afternoon is a haze of lessons I don't hear, whispers I can't escape. The teacher calls on me once, but my voice won't work, and she moves on, her sigh loud in the quiet room. The other kids snicker, their eyes on me, and I sink lower in my seat, wishing I could vanish. When the final bell rings, I wait again, letting the classroom empty before I leave, my bag heavier than ever.
The walk home is silent, the city a blur around me. I pass a newsstand, the headline screaming about All Might's latest rescue, and I stop, staring at his picture, his smile a beacon I can't reach. I want to be him, want it so bad it hurts, but the weight of the day—Mom's coldness, the kids' taunts, Kacchan's explosion—crushes that hope. I'm not a hero. I'm not even a kid worth noticing.
When I get home, Mom's in the living room, the TV on but muted, her gaze fixed on the floor. I try to slip past, but she catches me, her voice sharp. "Izuku, why are you wet?" I freeze, my hand on my door, and glance back, my soaked uniform a glaring truth. "Did you fall again?" she snaps, standing, her eyes narrowing. "Can't you do anything right?"
"I—I didn't mean to," I whisper, my voice breaking. She steps closer, her hand twitching, and I brace for the slap, but she stops, her face twisting with something like disgust.
"Go to your room," she says, her voice cold. "I don't want to see you right now." I nod, hurrying inside, and close the door, my breath hitching. I slide to the floor, my back against the door, and pull my soggy notebook from my bag, the pages falling apart in my hands. I hug it close, my tears mixing with the water, my body shaking. The light in my room fades, the All Might posters dimming, and I feel the last of my hope slipping away, a candle snuffed out in the dark.
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