Age: 8
The air left my lungs in a forced hiss when Izuku's back slammed into my chest.
He didn't punch me. He used his center of gravity, lower than mine, to destabilize me just as I was throwing a high kick. It was a basic judo move, but executed with a precision he didn't have a year ago.
I took two steps back to regain my balance, smiling internally.
"Better," I said, wiping sweat from my forehead. "But you telegraphed the move. You looked at my feet before moving."
Izuku was panting in front of me on the tatami, his gi messy but his stance solid.
"It's hard not to look... your explosions usually come from above, but your footwork is fast, Kacchan."
"If you look at the feet, I hit your face. If you look at the face, I sweep your feet. Look at the center. The solar plexus. From there, you see everything."
Sensei Ogawa nodded from the corner, approving the lesson.
It's been four years since I "woke up" in this body. In the original timeline, at this age, I would have already reduced Izuku's self-esteem to ashes. He would fear me, hate me, and admire me in a toxic mix.
Now, as I handed him a water bottle, he smiled at me. A smile of trust, of camaraderie.
I have become his big brother, his mentor, and his guardian. It's a strange role. Sometimes it weighs on me, feeling like I'm the only wall between him and a world that wants to devour him. But then I see him block a hit that would have made him cry before, and I think that maybe, just maybe, I'm building something stronger than One For All: I'm building a complete person.
"Shower fast," I ordered. "Flash-Bang is coming to the mall today. You wanted to see him, right?"
Izuku's eyes lit up like two headlights.
"Yes! They say his new suit has a titanium alloy to reflect his lights!"
The mall was packed. Heroic consumerism at its finest. Balloons, loud pop music, and a line of kids and parents waiting to see the hero of the moment.
Flash-Bang. A low-mid rank hero, popular for his shiny aesthetic and his Strobe Light Quirk. Useful for disorienting villains, but useless for heavy rescue.
We stood in line for thirty minutes. Izuku vibrated with excitement, hugging his notebook and a pen.
"Almost there, Kacchan. I'm going to ask him about the radius of his flashes."
Finally, we reached the front. Flash-Bang was sitting on a prop throne, with a smile of teeth so white they looked fake.
Izuku took a step forward, shy but eager.
"Hello, Flash-Bang! I'm a huge fan. I wanted to know if..."
The hero didn't even look at him. His eyes were scanning the line behind us.
"Sure, sure, kid. A quick photo," he said with a game show host voice, waving a hand to brush Izuku aside. "Next! Look at that Quirk!"
A kid behind us had small angel wings on his back. Very photogenic.
Flash-Bang ignored Izuku's outstretched notebook and pulled the winged kid in for the photo.
"Now this is front-page material!" the hero exclaimed, posing for the local press cameras. "Look at this future hero we have here!"
Izuku stood there, hand extended and notebook open. The security guard pushed him gently.
"Move, kid. You're blocking the shot."
I saw Izuku's shoulders slump. The little light in his eyes went out, replaced by the familiar shame of knowing he was "less."
I didn't cause a scene. I didn't blow anything up. I simply walked over to Izuku, put a hand on his back, and guided him out of the crowd. As we passed Flash-Bang, I shot him a look. Not of hate, but of clinical analysis. A look that said: I see you. And you are worthless.
The hero blinked, losing his smile for a split second when he met my gaze, but recovered it instants later for the camera.
We bought ice cream and sat on a bench, far from the noise, watching the river that crossed the city. Izuku ate his vanilla ice cream in silence, staring blankly at the water.
"It's not fair..." he finally murmured. "He didn't even listen to me."
"He's not interested in you, Izuku," I said, biting my popsicle. I was brutally honest, because lies are poison. "You aren't a commercial product to him."
"Product?" Izuku looked at me confused. "But he's a hero. He saves people."
"He saves people when there are cameras," I corrected. "Listen carefully, Deku. There are two types of heroes: those who see heroism as a service, and those who see it as an industry."
I nodded toward the mall, where shouts of euphoria could still be heard.
"Flash-Bang is a brand. He sells toys, he sells an image. You, without a Quirk, are useless for his Instagram photo. The kid with wings is useful. It's basic marketing."
Izuku lowered his head, clenching his fists on his knees.
"That... that's wrong. All Might isn't like that."
"All Might is the exception that proves the rule." I sighed, looking at the sky. "In the future... there will be people who realize this. Dangerous people."
I thought of Stain. The Hero Killer. In my past life, I despised him for being a bloodthirsty madman. But with an adult mind, I could see the nuances.
"There is an ideology that says current society is full of 'false heroes,'" I continued in a serious tone. "Heroes who only seek fame and money. That ideology says these guys are an infection that must be purged."
"Purged?" Izuku shuddered at the word.
"Yes. Eliminated." I turned to him. "Listen, Izuku. Those people's methods... killing, hurting... are wrong. They are villains because they impose their will with blood. But their diagnosis..." I looked back at the mall. "Their diagnosis isn't entirely wrong."
"So... is Flash-Bang a villain?"
"No. Flash-Bang is just a symptom." I finished my ice cream. "Society allows it. We allow it because we buy his merchandise and stand in line to see him. He doesn't break the law, but he violates the spirit of what it means to be a hero."
Izuku looked at his notebook, where he had a blank page reserved for the autograph he never got.
"I don't want to be like that," he said firmly. "I don't want to be a plastic hero."
"Then don't worry," I replied. "When you have power... and you will... remember how you felt today. Remember that a true hero signs the autograph for the Quirkless kid before the kid with wings, because the Quirkless kid is the one who most needs to believe it's possible."
I stood up, dusting off my pants.
"Stain... I mean, the radicals... are wrong to believe they can fix the world by killing bad heroes. The world is fixed when good heroes are so brilliant that the fake ones are exposed in comparison."
I extended my hand to Izuku.
"You will be brilliant, nerd. So stop crying over a clown with neon lights and let's go home. Tomorrow we increase the load on squats."
Izuku looked at my hand and then at his notebook. He snapped it shut, as if closing a chapter of naivety. He took my hand and stood up.
"Yes, Kacchan."
As we walked back, I saw Izuku throw the pen he had brought for Flash-Bang into the trash. He didn't say anything, but his look had changed. He no longer sought approval from anyone with a cape.
Innocence was shattering, yes. But underneath, steel was being forged. And I would make sure that steel never bent before the hypocrisy of this world.
[End of Chapter 8]