I had been chasing a villain we had dubbed 'The Sludge Villain' throughout the city for the past hour or so now. He crawled into a sewer not too long ago, and I had been trying to locate him ever since. I was about to make my entrance when I heard the noises of someone in need.

Shooting up to the surface, I clocked the villain in the face — crying out the name of my signature move in the process — but not without noticing a figure lodged inside the sludge. Quickly, I bottled up the villain inside some litter I found in the tunnel — scoffing inwardly at the blatant disregard people seemed to have for the environment in this neighbourhood — and then ran towards the figure.

Finally having a minute to breathe—now that the villain had been captured—I turned my attention back to the figure, and instantly recognized them as my son. Although I knew it was him, due to his hair and eye colour—inherited by his mother—and my ruffled hair that he fell heir to, he looked so awful I felt taken aback by his appearance. His face was bruised and cut, and his uniform was dirtied and even somewhat stained with both dried and fresh blood. Not only that, but his form looked sunken, and even his naturally full face seemed more defined than what was healthy for a fourteen-year-old boy. Making a mental note to discuss these observations later this evening, I lightly tapped his face.

As Izuku woke up and noticed who I was, he began to freak out.

Of course he would, his room is practically a shrine of my merch.

He stood up and asked me to sign his notebook, acting more like a stuttering mess than I had ever seen. I was caught off guard, to say the least.

Had he always been this way?

I didn't recall ever seeing him like this.

Come to think of it...

I was brought out of my thoughts by a particular question — one that caught me off guard more than his odd behavior.

"Can someone without a quirk become a hero? I'm a normal kid without any powers... could I ever hope to become someone like you?"

With his words, I was frozen. I was about to change back, so I didn't have much time to answer. Of course, as a hero, I should always inspire my fans; although, as a parent, I certainly wouldn't want my quirkless, defenseless son to be put in any direct danger. Example: Just a few minutes ago.

I've heard the argument that quirks don't make a hero—being in that same position in the past, I somewhat agree—and I've heard of the comparison between heroes with erasure quirks and the quirkless, but honestly, it's not really that simple. The difference between someone with an erasure quirk and a quirkless was that people with erasure quirks still had quirks, they just weren't as flashy as others, but they were still just as useful. With an erasure quirk, heroes can remove a villain's quirk for a short amount of time and level the playing field.A fight between a hero and a villain would then become a fight completely dependent on hand-to-hand combat or quirkless weapons—which weren't typically carried by cocky villains with strong quirks.

However, a quirkless hero wouldn't have the luxury of a somewhat fair fight. They can't remove a villain's quirk and level out the battle, all they can do is fight as well as they can with what they've got, and when you're up against villains with strong quirks, no mercy, and no remorse, that's just not good enough.

As a parent, I just couldn't let my son get himself hurt, or worse, killed. So, after thinking it through a little, I answered.

"I'm sorry, but without a quirk... No, I honestly don't think you could become a hero."

He looked shocked at first, but quickly, his smile reappeared on his face. I was appalled at how well he was taking this. Of course, in an accepting environment and loving household such as ours, I'm sure he feels like he has more than enough support. Especially with a sister and friends like his.

He truly was lucky.

When I was quirkless, I had it was much more taboo than it was today. Peers snubbed and sneered at you, some wouldn't even touch you, or look at you, for fear of becoming "infected" with our "ailment". But worse than that, was how my family reacted.

After the way I was treated by my family, I knew I had to be different with Izuku than my family was with me, and I'm glad to know it at least paid off to keep him from feeling absolutely devastated by my words.

"I see... Well, thank you for saving me, All Might..." He said through his smile.

And with that last sentence, he left. After making a quick stop at the Police Station to drop off my new sludge-y friend, I began flying home and saw my precious daughter, Izumi, walking home. She seemed nervous. I flew down and thought this was as good a time as any to tell her my secret.

Landing, I spoke my catchphrase before bursting into a puff of smoke. There in the midst of all the commotion, I stood in front of her in my skeleton form. She jumped and took a moment to process everything. Then I told her the truth about my quirk.

As I was walking home, crying, I was trying to think.

Why did he say I couldn't become a hero if he had always said 'anyone can become a hero'?

It was really contradicting. I mean, I suppose he didn't know me. He didn't know my life, my motives. All he knew was the fact that I was quirkless, and like every other kid my age, I wanted to become a hero. It didn't really say much about me, I suppose. I didn't want to think that he was lying when he was on the news that day...

I started to turn the corner when I heard All Might's catchphrase erupt from the silence present during my walk.

"I am here!"

Looking towards the source of the noise, I saw All Might with my sister. Then, all-of-a-sudden, All Might's large, muscular figure was enveloped in smoke. Standing in the midst of the smog, was a man. Not a man covered in muscles and pride, but a man with sagging skin and deep-set wrinkles in his face. A man with skin as thin as paper. A man without visible muscles. A man, opposite of All Might.

My father.

I stood, not even ten feet away, behind a wall, listening to their conversation, but the more I heard, the more annoyed I felt. I could feel my body beginning to shake, I could feel my chest beginning to tighten, and I could feel what was left of my dream beginning to shatter.

No way.

He explained his quirk to her, not yet acknowledging my presence. He declared his quirk was called One For All, and that he could transfer it. To her. Although, all throughout their conversation, all I could think about was our earlier conversation.

That he could have done something.

That he could have given his quirk to me, and I could have become a hero like him.

Although selfish, it was how I felt. I felt hurt and betrayed. He should have known my motives and aspirations. He knew I'd idolized him my entire life. So, instead of my own father giving his quirk to someone whose intentions were pure — someone who wouldn't dare hurt a fly — he decided to give his quirk to Izumi. He decided to give his quirk to an abuser.

That's practically like my father, giving my bully another stick to beat me with.

Actually, considering the power of his quirk, it's more like a metal bat.

I felt so hurt. Again. I ran home, making sure to stay out of sight, running so fast, that my legs felt like they would fall off if I ran any faster, or my lungs would burst. I ran inside and made such a ruckus that my mother looked at me. She hardly ever looked at me. I then ran to my room and cried my eyes out.

Liars.

They're all liars!

Hypocrites.

They didn't care about the quirkless.

They didn't care about the weak.

They didn't care about anyone. Anyone other than themselves.

They were all so misleading. Every single one of them. This society—this world—needed to be cleansed of its ostracism, discrimination, abuse, and of its heroes.

Laughing at the irony of my misfortune, I began destroying anything hero-related in sight. I tore the posters in my room to shreds and wrecked the action figures. I was tipping over All-Might-themed furniture, and with every passing second, my eyes became puffier, my cheeks more tear-stained, and my heart more mangled. I was a complete mess.

I just want to let this all out for once in my life.

I then started packing. I couldn't be here anymore; I couldn't do this anymore; I couldn't live like this anymore. I couldn't bring myself to stay even another day. I didn't want to stay. Here, I had to sleep with one eye open constantly. Here, I had to invariably watch how I sat, and how I slept, as to not agitate the constant bruises and gashes I came home with. Here, I was trapped.

I grabbed everything of use that I could find: Fresh clothes; food; water; cash; the necessities. I even grabbed my analysis books, figuring one day, they'd be of use.

I opened my door—my beat-up, yellow backpack resting on my shoulders—to be met with my family outside my room. Dad looked really nervous. It could have been because I was screaming bloody murder, or because of all the noise coming from my room. Looking at the three with puffy, red eyes, I walked out. Just as I was putting on my shoes, dad asked me where I was going.

I truly didn't know what to say. I didn't even know where I was going. I stopped in my tracks and looked to the side — tears filling my eyes, threatening to spill. I could barely bring myself to look him, or any of them, in the eyes. I felt so betrayed. I felt so stupid for ever believing in these people; in these heroes; in this society. I then opened the door and left. These 'heroes'; these hypocrites; these liars.

They don't know what they've lost today, and I don't plan on soon letting them forget.