Elementary school did not feel heroic.
It felt restrained.
Dave understood that within the first week.
There were rules posted on every wall—brightly colored, written in friendly fonts.
No running in hallways.No fighting.No quirk usage on school grounds.
The last one was underlined twice.
Teachers repeated it often, not because children disobeyed, but because they wanted to.
Dave noticed the tension immediately.
This was a world where power existed everywhere—and was almost never allowed to move.
Children talked anyway.
About quirks that had appeared at home.About sparks, strength, heat, light.About what they would do later.
Bakugo Katsuki dominated those conversations.
Not by using his quirk.
By narrating it.
"My explosions are way bigger now," Bakugo said loudly during lunch. "Dad says I'll be a top hero."
Kids leaned in.
Questions followed.
Bakugo answered them like facts, not boasts.
Dave watched the group dynamic shift naturally around him.
Power didn't need to be demonstrated.
It only needed to be believed.
Izuku Midoriya sat two seats away from Dave.
He ate quietly.
Listened closely.
Never joined in.
Dave noticed how Izuku's eyes followed every conversation about heroes, every exaggerated claim Bakugo made.
Not with envy.
With focus.
Izuku's notebook lay open beside his lunch tray.
Dave glanced at it by accident—and then on purpose.
The pages were dense with writing.
Hero names.Costume sketches.Quirk breakdowns.Speculation layered over observation.
This wasn't childish admiration.
This was study.
Bakugo noticed Izuku looking.
"Deku," he scoffed, "what're you gonna do, analyze your way into being a hero?"
Laughter followed.
Not everyone laughed.
But no one spoke up.
Izuku flinched, shoulders pulling inward automatically.
"I-I just like heroes," he said quietly.
Bakugo snorted. "That's all you can do."
Dave felt Hive react—not with action, but with recognition.
This was a system enforcing hierarchy.
Dave had seen it before.
Later that day, during class, the teacher asked them to draw what they wanted to be in the future.
Heroes filled the room.
Costumes.Powers.Explosions and light.
Izuku froze.
His pencil hovered.
Dave watched him hesitate—not because he lacked imagination, but because he had too much.
Finally, Izuku drew anyway.
All Might.
Detailed.
Precise.
Every muscle intentional.
When the teacher passed by, she smiled.
"That's very good," she said kindly.
Izuku smiled too.
Just for a second.
Bakugo leaned over. "Still dreaming, huh?"
Izuku didn't answer.
Dave did.
"He's accurate," Dave said calmly.
Bakugo blinked. "What?"
"The proportions," Dave continued. "He studies."
Bakugo stared at Dave for a moment, then scoffed. "Whatever."
He turned away.
The moment passed.
But Izuku looked at Dave like something important had just happened.
They walked home the same way by coincidence.
Or maybe not.
Izuku spoke first, nervously. "You… you really think that?"
"Yes," Dave replied. "You notice things."
Izuku's grip tightened on his backpack straps. "People say noticing doesn't matter."
"They're wrong," Dave said.
That wasn't encouragement.
It was fact.
Izuku looked relieved—and more frightened at the same time.
Over the next weeks, Dave observed more.
Izuku never talked about being quirkless unless forced.
Bakugo never mentioned it directly—but everything he said implied it.
Teachers stopped arguments before they escalated.
But they never addressed the imbalance.
Because nothing illegal was happening.
Dave understood then.
The law wasn't the problem.
The culture was.
One afternoon, during free reading, Izuku slid his notebook toward Dave hesitantly.
"Can you… check something?" he asked.
Dave flipped through the pages.
Hero weaknesses.Rescue failures.Collateral damage notes.
Hive analyzed silently.
This wasn't fantasy.
This was preparation.
"You know," Dave said slowly, "most people don't think this far."
Izuku's eyes shone. "I have to. If I don't, then—"
Then I really have nothing.
He didn't say it.
Dave heard it anyway.
That night, Dave lay in bed thinking.
Hive presented options.
Encourage Izuku more.Shield him socially.Intervene against Bakugo.
Dave rejected them all.
Not because they were wrong—
But because they would break Izuku's agency.
Dave remembered being underestimated.
Remembered dying because someone assumed another would act.
"I'll walk beside him," Dave decided.
Hive approved.
Not because it was optimal.
But because it preserved choice.
The next day, Dave sat next to Izuku again.
Bakugo noticed.
Scoffed.
Moved on.
Izuku hesitated—then stayed.
That was enough.
Dave understood now.
Izuku wasn't weak.
He was contained.
And one day, if the world ever gave him room—
He would run.
Dave intended to be there when that happened.
Not ahead.
Not behind.
But close enough to matter.
End of Chapter 8