Feather (A BNHA Nomu Deku Story)

> Prologue: Keel over <

> 1339 Words <

Families can be a twisted thing, whether they're happy or not is just circumstance. A lot of families are happy because of wealth or occupation, family members or friends, but what really drives them is power. With the rise in quirks, practically everyone in this current generation is guaranteed to house one. Strong or not it's power, power which could help bring peace to the thriving world. But really it's just a newfound way to bring about discrimination, find the weak and look down upon them with pity filled eyes. They don't utter a word because they've accepted it, they believe it's true, this acceptance acts as fuel. If they don't believe in themselves then why should anyone else believe in them, they're just parasites that walk around a rock in space doing nothing. Not many consider this, but there is something worse than them. The quirkless. They are the scum you find on tiles, a random raisin in a chocolate chip cookie, the 0.01 percent of germs that hand sanitizer doesn't kill. A nuisance to say the least. A plague that is near extinction. A celebration will be made to announce their death, some people say a funeral is to "celebrate the life one once had", but for the quirkless it's "a celebration of their departure", everyone knows that, even if they don't say it, they know, the earth would be better off without them. Like a mantra, they hope they'll keel over and die.

Izuku Midoriya well was "Midoriya", is no exception. Of course, not many knew of his status as quirkless but those who did couldn't help but look down on his helpless self. Izuku didn't see this problem to that bad of an extent, but he surely could tell he would feel an underlying sense of wariness. After his quirk consultation, his mother seemed fairly apologetic to him and slightly disrupted from everything. But to be quite honest he barely noticed, his dreams were crushed. The bright burning hope of becoming a hero has been severely demolished, what kind of hero doesn't have a quirk? He knew he had what it takes, that he would always save people with a smile, but that seemed so distant, like from the author's bed to the fridge, so, so far. He had a hint of hope still remaining! A little glimmer in the shadows, like a point of interest in a video game, just a small spec. Which was slowly diminishing.

The pair entered the house in silence, normally Inko would be a mix of cheerful and anxious while Izuku would be breaking his neck with positivity but today wasn't one of those days. The news had been sudden and shocking they couldn't seem to breathe right. Izuku sat on his bed just staring at the wall, he had no purpose, no goal, no end, no closure. Just a blank slate. It's like restarting a game only to realize there was no goal to begin with. Just breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Eat. Drink. Sleep. That was all, he couldn't save people with a smile, just hinder them. As the day grew dark, his father arrived home from work earlier than usual from what it seemed. Perhaps he was looking forward to the results? Got home early to revel in the fact that his son would likely have a quirk. 'Likely' was a keyword obviously, like he really has anything to look forward to. As he stared off into space he barely noticed the shouting being dulled by walls. The distraught noise of his mother disagreeing was soon drowned by the sound of a door slamming shut.

The following hours were silent, considering his father had taken a break from the household and likely gone to the local pub for a pint, or maybe for some Saki. It stayed this way until the early hours of the morning. He'd be surprised if his mother got any sleep, especially considering he couldn't get any. He heard the front door creak open and with it came his somewhat drunk father. He could hear footsteps meeting each other and a few hushed from his mother's sweet voice. After a while he decided to wrestle himself from his mass of covers and started to make haste to the lounge. Peeking around a corner he watched his mother comfort his slightly more than tipsy father rambling about everything in slurs. But as luck would have it his father spotted him from around the corner, he tried to smile at his son, he really did, but it came out a plastic made-in-China counterfeit. It never reached his eyes, actually he felt disgusted at this boy. Pure disgrace at being related to this child. Hisashi spent his time at the bar pondering what use his son would be, not much but perhaps he would be hired in the slightly more dodgy areas. No one else in their right mind would hire him, a mere quirkless child, he's inept, disabled.

He ushered Izuku over to him, Inko looking on with a confused and hopeful gaze. Izuku wondered towards him, still looking as emotionless as a doll. His eyes seemed dull without that spark of hope, oh how Inko was sorry.

"Izuku." His smile transformed into a scowl, "you're not my son." He growled bitterly. The words sunk into Izuku like a hot knife through butter. But what hurt most is that he couldn't say anything back, he couldn't blame his fath- this man for his outcome, and he never would. This was how it was meant to be.

X-x-X

Kurogiri was the man for the job when it came to bar-tending, agile and smooth when pouring liquor, moved with a sense of ease while handling a bottle, constantly aware of every speck of dust that lay bare on his glasses and counter. He paid very much attention to his work, he had a sense of dedication that a lot of people lack nowadays. But that dedication most certainly comes into question when you have a moody kid with a quirk that simply decays whatever he may touch. Even when he's not moody he accidentally dust things. The amount of controllers, remotes, glasses and stools he's had to clean up and buy is nothing to laugh at, to be honest Kurogiri is starting to think he's doing this in spite of him.

After cleaning up some much remains he's simply bought a small indoor bin especially for it, and as he cleaned up another stool and brought it to the bin he realized it was time to empty out the bin again, he slid what was left in the dustpan into the bin, took out the bag, tide it in a practiced knot, and started the journey to the dumpster, he walked out the door and took a turn to the dumpster only to hear small sniffles coming from the other side. He looked over around the front and spotted some filthy red sneakers sticking out from around the side. He approached cautiously but he wasn't expecting what he saw, a small kid, probably no older than four slumped unceremoniously against a pile of rubbish. His eyes looked hollow and his skin pale. Dirt itched at the boys skin, but the most notable thing about him was his bushy green hair, and dull emerald eyes. Kurogiri placed the dust filled bag inside the dumpster and kneeled in front of the kid. Izuku just acknowledged the man's presence with a glance and looked away again.

"Are you alright?" The mist man asked, concern laced in his voice. The boy didn't respond, instead he just remained distracted by thoughts of quirklessness. Kurogiri wasn't quite sure how to respond, he's use to moody kids that destroy everything, not emotionally withdrawn toddlers. He exhaled his grief and slowly approached. The boy shook a bit but nothing gave away any emotion. The boy was masking his fear and sorrow through emptiness.

He'll take the boy in for now, but Sensei will choose his fate.