Izuku ran because his mother had told him to.
He ran through the broken doorway, past pieces of wall scattered across the corridor and down the stairs as quickly as his bare feet could carry him.
Behind him, the apartment screamed.
Metal twisted.
Glass shattered.
Something heavy crashed through the floor.
Men shouted words Izuku could not understand.
Above all of it, he heard his mother.
“Run to Auntie!” He clung to those words.
They were the only thing in the world that still made sense.
His hand struck the stairwell railing when he turned too quickly.
Pain travelled through his fingers, but he did not stop.
He stumbled down another flight, caught himself against the wall and kept moving.
Fourth floor.
Third floor.
Second floor.
The building shook around him.
Dust drifted from the ceiling like dirty snow.
A door opened below.
An elderly man leaned into the stairwell, his eyes widening at the sight of a barefoot child racing towards him.
“What happened?” Izuku could not answer.
The man reached out.
Izuku screamed and veered around him.
“Wait!” Footsteps struck the stairs above.
Not his mother’s.
Men’s shoes.
Fast and heavy.
“The kid went down!” Izuku ran harder.
The lobby doors stood open.
Cold night air rushed inside, carrying the smell of rain, smoke and something electrical.
He crossed the tiled floor and burst onto the pavement.
The city swallowed him.
Streetlights stretched into bright smears through his tears.
Cars moved along the road, their headlights stabbing at his eyes.
Somewhere nearby, an alarm began wailing.
People had stopped to look towards the damaged apartment building.
No one looked down.
Izuku ran between adults whose bodies seemed as tall as buildings.
He slipped through coats and shopping bags, nearly collided with a bicycle and reached the opposite pavement without remembering crossing the road.
A horn blared behind him.
Someone shouted.
He kept running.
Auntie Mitsuki’s house.
He had to reach Auntie Mitsuki.
He knew the way.
He had walked it many times with his mother.
They left the apartment, turned near the bakery, crossed beside the shop with the green awning and followed the road past the little shrine.
It was easy.
Except the bakery was not there.
Izuku reached a corner and stopped.
A pharmacy glowed on one side of the street.
A restaurant stood on the other, its windows filled with people eating beneath warm yellow lights.
Neither belonged on the way to Auntie Mitsuki’s house.
He turned around.
The street behind him looked different from the one he had just crossed.
His chest tightened.
He chose another road.
His mother’s voice followed him.
Run to Auntie.
“I’m trying,” he whispered.
He ran beneath a railway bridge.
A train thundered overhead, shaking the metal supports and sending him crouching against the pavement with his hands over his ears.
The sound became the gunshot.
Then the apartment collapsing.
Then his mother screaming.
Izuku squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them, the bridge was empty.
No one was chasing him.
Not yet.
He pushed himself upright and continued.
The neighbourhood changed as he ran.
The bright shops disappeared first.
Their place was taken by shuttered windows, warehouses and buildings with dark gaps where signs should have been.
The roads became narrower.
Litter gathered against walls and beneath rusting fences.
All Might still smiled from advertisements above the street.
One enormous poster showed him raising his fist over the words: FEAR NOT, CITIZEN.
I AM HERE.
Someone had drawn thick black lines through his eyes.
Izuku stopped beneath it.
“All Might?” The poster did not answer.
He thought of Rampart standing in the bedroom doorway.
A hero.
Rampart had appeared on television.
He had saved people.
He had told children to protect those weaker than themselves.
Then he had hurt Izuku’s mother.
Perhaps heroes changed when the cameras went away.
Perhaps All Might changed too.
Izuku backed away from the poster.
Footsteps sounded at the end of the road.
He ran.
He did not know whether they belonged to Rampart’s men.
They might have belonged to someone walking home.
It did not matter.
Every stranger had become dangerous.
Every shadow contained a face.
Every voice might say his name.
Izuku squeezed through a narrow opening between two buildings and found himself behind a row of shops.
Overflowing rubbish bags covered the ground.
The smell made his stomach twist.
He crouched behind a metal bin.
His lungs burned.
His feet hurt.
He looked down for the first time.
The soles were grey with dirt.
A thin cut crossed one heel, and small stones had embedded themselves in his skin.
One toe was bleeding.
The extra joint was inside that foot.
The useless bone the doctor had used to decide he could never become a hero.
Izuku touched his smallest toe.
“Stupid,” he whispered.
He did not know whether he meant the bone, the doctor or himself.
His mother had told him to reach Auntie Mitsuki.
He had failed before finding the first familiar street.
A noise came from the other side of the bin.
Izuku pressed himself against the wall.
Something moved beneath a pile of cardboard.
A pair of yellow eyes opened.
Izuku stopped breathing.
A man slowly sat up.
At first, Izuku thought his face was covered by a mask.
Then the man turned towards the light, and Izuku realised the long muzzle, flattened nose and coarse brown fur belonged to him.
A mutation-type Quirk.
The man wore several coats despite the mild night.
One sleeve had been repaired with silver tape.
His pointed ears moved as he studied Izuku.
“You’re loud,” he said.
Izuku scrambled backwards.
The man lifted both hands.
“Easy.” “You’re going to take me.” “Wasn’t planning to.” “The men are looking for me.” “What men?” Izuku shook his head.
Saying Rampart’s name felt dangerous.
The walls might hear.
Heroes might hear.
The man looked towards the alley entrance.
“Did you run away from home?” “No.” “Where are your shoes?” Izuku looked at his feet.
He had left them near the front door.
His mother had checked every lock before bed.
He had followed her around the apartment.
Front door.
Balcony.
Windows.
Everything secure.
Except it had not been secure.
The furry man reached slowly into a bag beside his cardboard bed.
Izuku prepared to run.
The man removed half a bread roll wrapped in paper.
“You hungry?” Izuku’s stomach answered before he could.
The man heard it.
“So that’s a yes.” He placed the bread on the ground between them and moved away.
Izuku stared at it.
His mother had told him never to take food from strangers.
His mother had also told him to run to Auntie.
His mother was not there.
The bread smelled sweet.
Izuku crawled forward, snatched it and retreated behind the bin.
The man did not follow.
Izuku took one bite.
Then another.
The bread was stale, but his mouth filled with saliva so quickly it hurt.
He swallowed too fast and coughed.
“Slow down,” the man said.
“No one’s stealing it.” Izuku clutched the bread tighter.
“Why are you outside?” The man’s ears lowered.
“Because the shelter won’t let me in.” “Why?” “They say my Quirk makes the other residents uncomfortable.” Izuku looked at the man’s muzzle.
It reminded him of the dog that sometimes waited outside the bakery near Auntie Mitsuki’s house.
“You look nice.” The man laughed once.
It was not a happy laugh.
“Don’t let the neighbourhood hear you say that.” Izuku did not understand.
Mutation Quirks were normal.
Some people had horns.
Some had tails.
A girl in the clinic had flowers growing from her hair.
“Can’t you go home?” “Not anymore.” “Why?” The man studied him for several seconds.
“Maybe the same reason you can’t.” Izuku’s throat tightened.
“I can go home.” The words felt like a lie.
The man did not challenge them.
He pointed towards a dry space beneath the metal stairs.
“You can stay there until morning.
Better than wandering.” Izuku looked at the darkness beneath the steps.
“What if you grab me?” “I won’t.” “What if you’re lying?” The man selected an empty plastic bottle from the ground and rolled it towards him.
“Then hit me with that.” It weighed almost nothing.
Izuku doubted it would stop Rampart.
He took it anyway.
The space beneath the stairs smelled of rust and damp cardboard.
Izuku curled against the wall and pulled his knees to his chest.
The stranger lay down again on the opposite side of the alley.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Izuku hesitated.
Names could be used to find people.
“Deku.” It was the first answer that came.
The man made a quiet sound.
“Interesting name.” Izuku closed his eyes.
He heard his mother inside the apartment.
Run to Auntie.
“I’m resting,” he whispered.
“Then I’ll run.” He thought he would remain awake.
He did not.
Sleep pulled him under like deep water.
The apartment waited there.
Rampart stood in the kitchen.
Blood covered his face.
His barriers filled every doorway.
Inko stood between them, her eyes red and wet.
She reached for Izuku.
Her fingers stretched across the room.
“Run.” “I don’t know where.” “Run.” “Mum, come with me.” “Run.” “I’m scared.” “Run.” The apartment folded around her.
Izuku woke with a scream trapped inside his throat.
Morning light filled the alley.
The man with the fur was gone.
So was the bread wrapper.
In its place, someone had left a pair of worn slippers.
They were much too large.
Izuku pushed his feet into them anyway.
He stepped out from beneath the stairs.
The city looked different in daylight.
Not safer.
Only clearer.
People slept beneath blankets along the walls.
A woman with scales across her face washed herself using water from a bottle.
A man argued with a shopkeeper who refused to let him enter because his horns might damage the shelves.
“No mutants,” the shopkeeper said, pointing towards a handwritten sign beside the door.
The horned man lowered his head and walked away.
Izuku stared at the sign.
He knew the word mutant from school programmes.
It meant someone whose Quirk permanently changed their body.
The programme had said all Quirk types were equal under the law.
The shopkeeper had not watched that programme.
A hero agency stood at the end of the street.
Its silver sign was spotless.
Two sidekicks came outside carrying cups of coffee.
They stepped around the sleeping people without looking down.
One of them complained about the smell.
Izuku backed into the alley.
The sidekick wore a bright costume.
A hero.
His heart began hammering.
He pulled the oversized slippers from his feet and ran before the hero could see him.
Mitsuki Bakugou arrived at the Midoriya apartment building before sunrise.
Police vehicles crowded the street.
Emergency lights painted the surrounding buildings red and blue.
A barrier had been erected around the entrance.
Rescue workers moved in and out wearing helmets and breathing masks.
Mitsuki shoved past the first officer who tried to stop her.
“My friend lives there.” “You need to remain behind the line.” “Where are Inko and Izuku?” “We’re conducting a search.” “Then conduct it faster.” Masaru caught up behind her, breathing heavily.
Katsuki remained with a neighbour, still asleep and unaware of the smoke rising above the city.
Detective Mori crossed the pavement towards them.
His face told Mitsuki something before his mouth did.
She grabbed the front of his coat.
“Where are they?” “Mitsuki,” Masaru said softly.
“No.” She did not look at him.
Detective Mori lowered his voice.
“The structural damage is severe.” “That wasn’t my question.” “Rescue workers located a body inside the apartment.” Mitsuki’s fingers tightened around his coat.
“Whose?” “We believe it is Inko Midoriya.” The world narrowed.
The emergency lights became distant.
The voices of the rescue workers faded.
Mitsuki remembered Inko sitting in her kitchen, both hands wrapped around a cup of tea.
I need to go home.
Mitsuki had argued.
She had warned her.
Then she had allowed her to leave.
“Where’s Izuku?” Detective Mori hesitated.
Mitsuki saw it.
“Where is he?” “We’re still searching.” “That means you haven’t found him.” A second officer approached.
Sugimoto.
Mitsuki recognised him from the hospital investigation.
He wore the solemn expression of a man who had already prepared his condolences.
“There were two victims,” he said.
Detective Mori turned sharply.
“What?” Sugimoto held up a preliminary report.
“Rescue recovered additional remains near the rear bedroom.
The size is consistent with a child.” Masaru made a broken sound.
Mitsuki released Mori.
“No.” Sugimoto looked down.
“I’m sorry.” “No.” Her voice rose.
“You didn’t find him.” “The damage…” “You did not find him.” “We found what appears to be…” “Appears?” Sugimoto’s expression hardened slightly.
“Identification will require testing.” “Then don’t tell me he’s dead.” Mitsuki shoved past him towards the building.
Two officers caught her.
She fought them.
She kicked, swore and screamed Inko’s name until her voice tore.
Masaru wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“Mitsuki.” “I told her to stay.” “Mitsuki.” “I should have made her stay.” “You couldn’t force her.” “I should have tried harder!” She collapsed against him.
Above them, smoke drifted from the broken windows.
Officer Sugimoto folded the report and slipped it into his coat.
Behind his carefully grieving face, he felt nothing.
By midmorning, the official bulletin stated that Inko Midoriya and her four-year-old son were presumed dead following a suspected criminal attack.
No citywide search for Izuku was authorised.
No missing-child alert appeared on public screens.
No heroes received his photograph.
The city continued moving.
And Izuku continued running through it alone.