Midoriya Izuku had a habit of muttering to himself.
Well—everyone else called it muttering. To him, it was analysis. Recording observations. Compiling data. Heroes were puzzles, and he loved nothing more than piecing them together.
He flipped his battered notebook open as he walked to school, mumbling under his breath. "Mt. Lady's size quirk is efficient for crowd control, but creates collateral damage… Best Jeanist uses fiber manipulation for both offense and capture… Eraserhead—quirk canceling, tactical capture scarf… probability of fatigue… limitations of blinking duration…"
He scribbled frantically, hardly noticing the world around him.
At least until a familiar voice cut through the morning air.
"Outta the way, Deku!"
Bakugo's hand slammed into his shoulder, shoving him aside with casual cruelty. Laughter followed from the usual group of classmates who trailed behind him like an entourage.
Midoriya staggered, clutching his notebook to his chest. "S-sorry, Kacchan," he mumbled automatically.
Bakugo sneered, already bored. "Still dreaming about being a hero, huh? Pathetic."
The laughter stung, but Midoriya swallowed it down. He always did.
Later that day, Midoriya sat alone at the edge of the cafeteria, flipping through his notebook. He wasn't really paying attention to the food in front of him—his mind was too busy cataloguing another hero's moves he'd seen on TV.
That was when he noticed him.
Harry Potter.
The boy with the messy black hair and the scar on his forehead. The one who got bullied almost as much as Midoriya himself. Quirkless, the rumors said. Always scribbling furiously in his notebook, even during breaks.
At first, Midoriya had assumed Harry was doing the same thing he was—quirk analysis. But his diagrams didn't look like Midoriya's. They were… stranger. Circles, lines, strange symbols that reminded him of electrical circuits or scientific schematics.
And Harry never seemed embarrassed to write them, even when people mocked him for it. He wrote like it mattered more than anything else.
Midoriya found himself staring.
He's… different. Weird. But he doesn't look hopeless.
Something inside Midoriya stirred.
Before he knew it, his feet were moving. He walked over to Harry's table, tray clutched awkwardly in his hands.
"U-um," Midoriya stammered, "is it okay if I sit here?"
Harry blinked up at him, surprised. Then, with a small nod, said, "Go ahead."
Midoriya slid into the seat, heart hammering. For a few moments, the only sound was Harry's pencil scratching against paper.
Then Midoriya couldn't hold it in anymore. "Those… diagrams," he said cautiously. "Are you analyzing quirks?"
Harry froze for just a second, then closed the notebook halfway, like he was guarding it. "Something like that. An experiment."
Midoriya's face lit up. "That's amazing! I do quirk analysis too! Well, not experiments—more like observations. I track heroes, their weaknesses, potential counters. Stuff like that." He flipped open his own notebook, showing Harry the crowded pages of notes and sketches.
Harry stared, eyebrows raised. "Wow."
Midoriya flushed, ducking his head. "It's nothing special. Just… a hobby."
"No," Harry said quietly. "That's dedication."
Midoriya blinked at him, stunned. Dedication. No one had ever called it that before. Not even his mom.
The two boys sat there for a while, scribbling side by side. Two outcasts, two notebooks, two obsessions.
And for the first time in a long while, Midoriya didn't feel quite so alone.
Of course, peace never lasted.
"Oi, Deku," Bakugo sneered later that week, storming into the classroom. His eyes flicked to Harry. "And Scarface. What're you two losers plotting over there? Writing fanfiction about being heroes?"
The other students laughed.
Midoriya's face burned. He curled protectively over his notebook, wishing he could vanish.
Harry, though—Harry didn't flinch. He just stared back, calm and steady, before returning to his writing.
It only infuriated Bakugo more.
He slammed a hand on Harry's desk, making the pencil jump. "You think ignoring me makes you tough? You're nothing. Both of you."
Midoriya's chest tightened, expecting Harry to break. But Harry just picked his pencil back up and kept writing.
Bakugo snarled, frustrated, then stalked away.
Midoriya stared, wide-eyed.
How does he do that? How does he not crumble?
During another lunch break, Midoriya found himself blurting out a question. "Harry… if a hero had to stop enemies fast, but without hurting them… what would be the best way?"
Harry tilted his head, curious. "Why?"
Midoriya's face flushed. "I-I was just thinking about it. I mean, quirks that use light to blind people, or sound to overwhelm them—they're effective in crowd control without being lethal. Heroes like Present Mic or Kamui Woods use similar strategies…"
He trailed off, embarrassed by his own rambling.
But Harry wasn't laughing. He was… listening.
"Light and sound, huh?" Harry muttered, jotting something down in his notebook. "Overloading the senses…"
Midoriya blinked. He actually cares what I said.
For once, his nerdy rambling wasn't met with ridicule—it was taken seriously.
Weeks passed, and Midoriya found himself seeking Harry's company more often.
They weren't exactly friends—not yet. But there was an understanding. A quiet companionship in their shared notebooks, their shared status as outcasts.
Midoriya noticed things.
Harry got beat up, but never stopped writing. He asked strange questions, but always seemed to be searching for answers. He looked tired, sometimes, like he stayed up all night. But his eyes always burned with a strange determination.
And Midoriya… admired him.
He's quirkless too, Midoriya thought one day, watching Harry scribble diagrams furiously. But he never looks defeated. He looks… like someone building himself into something new.
Maybe… maybe Midoriya could do that too.
That night, Midoriya lay in bed, notebook open on his lap. The words of Bakugo's jeers still echoed in his ears. Quirkless. Pathetic. Worthless.
But then he thought of Harry—of the way he'd kept writing even as Bakugo tried to tear him down. Of the quiet fire in his eyes, the way he worked like it mattered.
Midoriya clenched his pencil tighter.
If he can keep pushing forward… then so can I.
He scribbled across the page in bold letters:
I will be a hero.
No matter what it took.