Rebel

(| One |)

Since the age of four, Izumi Midoriya knew the world could be cruel.

She knew that there was no limits to how shitty people could be, just how mean they could turn in the blink of an eye.

She had always tried to be happy, sweet, and, above all else, kind. No matter who you were, the girl was more than willing to help out. People took that kindness and tried so hard to stomp it out, day after day, month after month, year after year, until she was left a stuttering and crying mess.

Izumi was about to go into middle school, eleven-and-a-half years old, when she finally decided to do something about it. The green haired girl had grown up admiring heroes, still did, had notebooks filled with notes on quirks.

And that's how she knew exactly what the biggest weakness for almost every single hero was.

Their quirk.

Most of them relied on their quirk like a crutch, only training to further their power along.

But, Izumi didn't have a quirk to train. No, she had her mind. And her body.

Izumi had been saving up money since she was a little kid, doing chores for the neighbors and things like that. They were more than willing to help her out, especially once she flashed a chubby faced smile at them. She had saved up for no particular reason, just in case something ever happened.

However, she was glad she had now.

Telling her mom she was going out for a bit, her mother's shocked expression showing just how often the girl did so, she grabbed her favorite All Might hoodie, her Midnight wallet, with a good bit of her savings shoved inside, and strode out.

Her green curls caught the light as she pulled them into a low ponytail. Green eyes, as if carved from emerald, glittered over freckled cheeks and a soft smile. Long lashes fluttered as the girl yawned, wrinkling up her button nose as well. It was early, much earlier than she usually was up during breaks.

Yet . . . Here Izumi was, walking to the store at six thirty in the morning. This was going to be her routine from now on, not the going to the store bit but the getting up early. She planned out a whole set of new routines for her to get into.

All to help her on the way to being a hero.

In the mall, Izumi made for the sports store. A set of weights, one yoga mat, and a pair of grip strengtheners later, the girl was sat at check out then walking out with her new equipment. Then she stopped in at a clothing store for some sports wear.

By the time she was done, she had lots of bags. Though that didn't deter Izumi at all.

And so, Izumi got into a new schedule.

She would wake up at five thirty, eat a healthy breakfast, do yoga, go on a run, get home, then she would start her push-ups and things like that for an hour. By the time she was done it usually was almost eight in the morning. So she'd take a shower and get dressed.

After spending the day doing more chores around the house or for neighbors, she'd spend her evenings analyzing quirks and watching videos on how to train. Then, do a short workout before stretching and going to bed.

When school started back up, she spilt the routine into two halves. The yoga and run she still did in the morning, but all the weights and sit-ups she did when she got home after eating a snack. (During school she would use her grip strengtheners under her desk.) At night, Izumi would read while working out, her homework usually-but if she had already gotten that done she'd read mechanical books.

If she was going to be a hero without a quirk, she'd need some support gear to help, after all. And who better to make her things, than herself?

Izumi would listen to lectures and lessons while jogging, she'd work ahead in her textbooks and things to make sure she was on top of it all, all the while never going easy on body training or analyzing.

Her classmates noticed something shift in her.

They had to.

Izumi was the kid they picked on, the weak quirkless girl they took out their anger and stress on. She always wore a shy smile and her mind usually wandered everywhere. Ditsy, you might say.

Though . . . her grades showed otherwise.

Now Izumi was focused, she still smiled but it wasn't at any of them. Her smiles used to be pleas for mercy, now they just . . . were. Not aimed at anyone, not for anything, just there and cheerful. Izumi stopped tucking in her shoulders, or dipping her chin to her chest, not because of a change in attitude-but a change in heart. She was busy and didn't need anyone stopping her to waste her time.

Katsuki Bakugo, her childhood friend turned tormenter, even noticed that the little "Deku" stopped paying attention to her classmates. "Kacchan," as Izumi had always called him, didn't like this. The girl was just a pebble in his path after all, he didn't need her getting cocky.

When class ended Izumi was the first one out of the room, not hanging back to try and avoid the rush anymore. When class started, she was always the first one there, books out and opened, having jogged to school.

No one understood the shift, or what had caused it.

Her own mother was questioning what was going on. Her daughter, quite suddenly, started to work out and somehow got rid of the slouch to her posture and natural duck of her head. It was worrying.

Especially for a single mother of a beautiful, sensitive daughter. Inko wondered what was happening and prayed it wasn't something bad.

Three weeks into school Inko sat her daughter down to talk. The two women were seated at the dinning table, cups of tea in front of them after dinner. "Sweetie, can I ask you a few questions?" Inko started, trying to fight back the urge to bite her bottom lip.

"Sure thing, Mama." Izumi smiled brightly. Her round face lit up the room, Inko felt bad for what she was about to suggest.

"Darling, what has, um . . ." Inko scratches her cheek looking away from her baby girl. "Why have you started . . . All this stuff? What's going on? You're much more confident-and that's a good thing-but I'm so confused." She gripped her teacup with both hands, finally looking back at her daughter.

Izumi's eyes were hard to read. There was a gleam of sadness, of pride, but also pity and remorse. The emotions were so jumbled together and fleeting, Inko couldn't catch them all. Izumi never lost her smile, though.

"Mama," Izumi started. "Don't worry, it's not anything bad. I just . . . Felt like it was time I pulled myself together. I can't let everyone walk all over me, the working out is just to help me along, okay?" She grasped her mother's hand in her own. Freckled and slightly tanned knuckles covering pale and blemish free ones.

"Alright Izu, I trust you." She gripped her daughter's hand back. Inko had very small hands, her daughter did too, though Izumi's we're just the slightest bit bigger.

Inko couldn't help brushing the pads of her fingers over her daughter's palms. And there she felt faint calluses, the worried mother tried to convince herself it was just from the working out.

Little did she know it was from her daughter trying out mixed martial arts.