In the dimly lit alleyways of the city, Izuku Midoriya, a middle school vigilante, patrolled the streets, his movements cautious and calculated. His heart raced with a mix of adrenaline and purpose, eyes scanning for signs of trouble.
As he navigated the darkness, danger found him first. The sound of a gunshot echoed through the air, and pain exploded through Izuku's side. He stumbled, fingers tracing the searing wound where the bullet struck.
Grimacing, he tried his best to assess the damage, breaths coming in ragged gasps. He knew he couldn't afford to be caught like this, vulnerable and wounded. Gritting his teeth, he tried to extract the bullet, fingers trembling as he worked, but the bullet was stubbornly lodged, and blood oozed from the wound, staining his uniform. Izuku's vision swam as pain threatened to overwhelm him. He pressed a hand against his side, his chest heaving as he considered his options.
Keep trying to extract the bullet, exasperating the wound with a 80% chance of bleeding out; or clean it as best he can and try to stop the bleeding.
The decision was clear. He gave up on removing the bullet. He wrapped a thick roll of bandages around the wound, doing his best to staunch the bleeding. With a deep breath, he pushed himself to his feet, his steps unsteady as he continued his patrol.
The night seemed endless as Izuku's strength waned, his movements growing sluggish. He avoided trouble as best as he could, ducking into the shadows whenever he felt his energy faltering. He swapped out his bandages a few times, applying disinfectant and antibiotics with shaky hands.
Morning came and despite his injuries, Izuku forced himself to attend school. He was exhausted, his body protesting every step, but he couldn't afford to miss a day. He hid his pain behind a mask of determination, his classmates oblivious to his struggles.
As the day wore on, Izuku's energy waned further. He ducked into the bathroom a few times, redressing his wound in a ritual of pain and determination. His heart raced as he struggled to stay upright, his vision blurring at the edges.
But his determination could only carry him so far. On his way home that night, he was cornered by his bullies, led by the infamous Katsuki Bakugou. Izuku's breaths came in ragged gasps as he tried to evade them, but exhaustion and pain slowed him down.
Katsuki lunged forward, his foot connecting with Izuku's side. Pain flared through him, and Izuku stumbled, his blood staining Katsuki's shoes. Katsuki's eyes widened, his expression a mix of confusion and concern.
"What the hell, Deku?" Katsuki's voice was laced with disbelief as he took in the sight of Izuku's bloody side.
Izuku's heart pounded, and adrenaline surged through him. He pushed past the pain, running away before Katsuki could question him further, leaving behind a bewildered and worried Katsuki.
With no home to go back to, Izuku's sheer willpower and an unholy pain tolerance propelled him back onto the streets. He redressed his wound and changed into his uniform with trembling hands, determined to continue his patrol.
Unbeknownst to him, Eraserhead had been trailing him for the past month. The vigilante's slowed movements and the thick scent of blood in the air caught his attention. Concerned, he approached Izuku, his voice a stern command.
"Stop right there."
Izuku froze, his breath hitching as he turned to face Eraserhead. His vision swam, and he swayed on his feet, his determination the only thing keeping him upright.
"You're injured," Eraserhead stated, his gaze sharp.
Izuku's lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm fine."
Eraserhead's eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward. "You're not fine. You need medical attention."
Izuku's breaths came in shallow gasps, his body betraying him. He met Eraserhead's gaze with a defiant glare, his voice shaky but resolute. "I won't go to the hospital."
Eraserhead sighed in exasperation, his patience wearing thin. "Too bad, you're going"
Izuku's heart raced, and he took a step back, his voice a desperate plea. "No, you can't make me. Please... I'll run."
Eraserhead's gaze held a mixture of frustration and concern. He realized that Izuku was serious, that he would rather risk his own life than be caught and taken to a hospital.
With a resigned sigh, Eraserhead relented. "Get in the car."
Hours later, Izuku found himself in Eraserhead's apartment, his wounds finally being tended to. Eraserhead's hands were gentle but efficient, and Izuku couldn't help but wince as the bullet was finally extracted.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" Eraserhead's voice was a mixture of irritation and concern.
Izuku chuckled weakly, his body finally giving in to the pain. "I've been called worse."
Eraserhead finished dressing Izuku's wound, his expression stern. "You can't keep doing this. You're going to get yourself killed."
Izuku's gaze met Eraserhead's, a mixture of determination and exhaustion in his eyes. "I have to make a difference, even if it means risking my own life."
Eraserhead sighed, his gaze softening. "You're too stubborn for your own good."
Izuku managed a weak smile, his body finally succumbing to the darkness. As he drifted into unconsciousness, he couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude. Despite his lack of self-preservation, he had found an unexpected ally—one who understood the depths of his determination and the sacrifices he was willing to make.
