Age: 7 Years Old
They say school is a second home. That teachers are impartial guides dedicated to nurturing the future.
It's a lie.
School is simply the first factory of conformity. It's where you learn your place in line. If you have a brilliant Quirk, you go to the front. If you have a useful one, you go to the middle. And if you have nothing... well, you are the factory defect they try to sweep under the rug.
I was sitting at my desk, spinning a pencil between my fingers with a dexterity no seven-year-old should possess. Mr. Tanaka, our second-grade homeroom teacher, was handing back the weekly essays. The topic was simple: "My Favorite Hero and Why."
Most of the kids had written three poorly phrased paragraphs about how All Might hits hard or how Best Jeanist has cool clothes. Tanaka smiled at them, gave them a gold star, and told them "good job."
The system rewards mediocrity as long as it comes wrapped in a good Quirk.
"Midoriya," Mr. Tanaka called out. His voice lacked the warmth he used with the others. It was dry, bureaucratic.
Izuku stood up, nervous. He walked to the teacher's desk with his head down.
"Here," Tanaka said, dropping the paper onto the desk. He didn't hand it to him.
Izuku took it. From my seat, I could see there was no gold star. There was a big red mark.
"Mr. Tanaka..." Izuku murmured, his voice trembling. "Why did I get a zero?"
Silence fell over the classroom. The kids, smelling blood, turned to watch.
The teacher adjusted his glasses, sighing with that fake patience adults use to disguise their contempt.
"Midoriya, the instructions were clear. You had to write the essay yourselves."
"I did write it!" Izuku protested, crumpling the paper slightly.
"Please, don't lie," Tanaka cut in, crossing his arms. "I read your work. You talk about impact force distribution and the relationship between muscle mass and reaction speed. Those are advanced physics concepts."
The teacher leaned forward, lowering his voice but ensuring everyone could hear.
"A Quirkless child couldn't understand those things. It's obvious you copied this from some internet forum or someone older wrote it for you. Plagiarism is a serious offense, Midoriya."
Izuku shrank back. His eyes filled with tears. It wasn't sadness; it was the helpless frustration of knowing you're telling the truth, but no one cares because they've already judged you by your genetic label.
"But... I..." he stammered.
"Go back to your seat. And next time, write something suited to your... capabilities."
Some kids let out cruel giggles. "Cheater Deku," one whispered.
I felt a cold heat rise in my chest. It wasn't the explosive anger of my old self. It was something sharper. It was pure contempt for the arrogant stupidity of this mediocre man.
The sound of my chair scraping against the floor sounded like a gunshot in the silent room.
I stood up. I didn't walk fast. I walked with my hands in my pockets, calm, until I stood next to Izuku.
"Mr. Tanaka," I said. My voice was soft, polite, but it held an edge that made the teacher blink.
"Bakugou, go back to your seat. This doesn't concern you."
"It concerns me if you are accusing my training partner of being a liar," I replied, taking the paper from Izuku's hands.
I read the first paragraph aloud. "All Might doesn't just use brute strength; he utilizes the wind pressure generated by his speed to redirect projectiles without touching them, minimizing structural damage..."
I looked up at the teacher.
"It's well written."
"Too well," Tanaka insisted. "It's impossible for him to..."
"Prove it," I interrupted.
The teacher was stunned.
"Excuse me?"
"If he copied it, he won't know what the words he used mean," I explained, turning to Izuku. "Oi, Deku."
Izuku looked at me, wiping his eyes.
"What happens if you redirect a projectile at a ninety-degree angle in an urban zone?" I asked him, as if we were discussing the weather.
Izuku blinked, his analytical brain activating automatically at the problem, forgetting the fear for a second.
"Um... the shockwave would bounce off the adjacent buildings. It would shatter windows in a three-block radius. That's why All Might always punches upwards or towards the ground, to dissipate the force vertically, not horizontally."
There was absolute silence.
I turned back to Mr. Tanaka.
"There you have it. He understands the concept. He didn't copy it. He knows it."
Tanaka's face turned red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. His authority was being dismantled by a seven-year-old in front of his entire class.
"Well... maybe he memorized the answer..." he tried to excuse himself, desperate not to lose face.
"Sensei," I said, taking a step forward. My tone became dangerously bored. "You assume that because he has no Quirk, he has no brain. That is a basic logical error. Having a Quirk that stretches your fingers or changes your eye color doesn't make you smarter. It just makes you... different."
I looked at the rest of the class, sweeping my gaze over those who had laughed.
"If we're going to grade based on 'capabilities,' maybe you should check last week's math tests. Because I'm sure 'useless' Midoriya got a better grade than half of those with 'cool' Quirks."
Nobody said anything. Mr. Tanaka swallowed hard, visibly uncomfortable. He knew I was right. He knew if this reached the principal, his prejudice would be exposed.
"Fine..." Tanaka muttered, taking the paper back and pulling out a red pen. He crossed out the zero. "Maybe... maybe I was too hasty. If you can explain it, then it's valid. I'll give you a B."
"It's an A essay," I corrected.
Tanaka looked at me. I held his gaze with my red eyes, impassive.
"...Alright. An A-minus."
The teacher sat down, avoiding our eyes.
"Go back to your seats."
Izuku and I walked back. The atmosphere in the classroom had changed. There were no more giggles. There was confusion. There was a palpable discomfort, as if they had just witnessed something they didn't quite understand: the natural order of things had been challenged.
When we sat down, Izuku leaned a little towards me.
"Thanks, Kacchan..." he whispered. His voice was full of relief, but also a new understanding.
I didn't look at him. I opened my textbook, turning the page.
"Don't thank me, Deku." My voice was barely a murmur so only he could hear. "That idiot only attacked you because he's weak. Mediocre adults hate what they can't categorize."
"I thought... I thought no one would believe me."
"I believe you," I said, and for the first time that day, I glanced at him sideways. "Your brain is your Quirk, idiot. Don't let anyone tell you it doesn't work just because it doesn't glow."
Izuku nodded, clutching his paper with the corrected grade. I saw his back straighten a little more.
I looked toward the window again.
Society tells us we are all equal, but it classifies us from birth. Today we had won a small battle against that lie. But I knew that outside these four walls, the world was much harder than Mr. Tanaka.
You'll have to be stronger than this, Izuku, I thought, watching a leaf fall from a tree in the courtyard. Because the world won't give you an A-minus. The world will try to crush you.
But for today... for today, it was enough.
[End of Chapter 7]