chapter1

A four-year-old boy, who is quirkless, is introduced to the cruelty of society. He meets Shota, a pro hero, when he is five and is injured on the playground. Shota helps the boy and realizes the discrimination against those without quirks. He takes the boy home and discovers that he was bullied by older kids. The boy's mother tends to his injuries while Shota offers advice on treatment. Hello, my name is Kaylee and welcome to my channel. I will be reading System Synthesis on AO3 by Royalty underscore O T's Seven Army. The summary of this fanfiction is, he was four when he was declared corkless. Four years old when he lost his best friend. He was a four year old who had no idea why he was born like that. Why his mother was saying sorry when an apology is not what he wanted. He was four years old when he was introduced to the cruelty of the society. He was five when he met him. He was five when he was laying limp on the ground, whimpering in pain when he came. He was five when another hero was written right next to All Might, squiggly handwriting in black ink. He was six when he got his friend back and seven when he realized there were only two adults in his life that made him feel safe. He was also seven when he got a person to call dad. He was twelve when he died and twelve when he found out that apparently the gods and luck hadn't entirely abandoned him. It was also when he was twelve that his rose tinted image of heroes shattered. His dreams crushed mercilessly as he was left alone on a rooftop. He was fifteen when he entered UA and he was fifteen when he took the hero industry by storm. He was five when Shota first met him, beaten and battered, laying worryingly limp on the soil of the playground. Now Shota was a pro hero, albeit a new one, and was known for having minimum to no emotions showed outwardly. But even he couldn't help but visibly panic when he saw the kid on the ground. He sprinted from where he stood a few meters away from the playground and crossed the road without looking anywhere apart from where the kid was lying. The way he was eerily unmoving with his eyes opened and staring at the sky made him think of the worst, but once he was close enough he noticed the minimal rise and fall of the kid's chest. Some of the tension unwinded from his shoulders and he allowed himself to take a breath before he approached the kid. Knowing the kid wasn't dead surely was a relief, but he noticed the injuries and the worry came back anyway. Apart from the very prominent bruises against his pale skin, his shirt was singed around the collar and a few tufts of his green hair were burnt as well. A kid, Shota awkwardly and stupidly nudged the boy's arm with his knuckle. Why? Why am I like this? The kid thankfully blinked and slowly turned his head towards him. Shota noticed how painfully dull his eyes were and the bags around his eyes as well, but the moment the boy's eyes fell on him he gasped quietly and some shine returned to his eyes. It erased her head. Shota blue screened for a hot second because 1. most of the above ground heroes didn't know him. 2. civilians didn't know him at all. 3. a fucking kid of all people recognized him by just one look. Shota suppressed the mini-tornado of confusion and panic in his mind within a fraction of a second and focused on attending to the injured kid. Yeah that's me kiddo, now tell me can you get up? The boy made visible efforts to push himself off the ground, but failed as tears started blooming his eyes as his lips wobbled. I can't, I'm sorry. Hey, hey, hey, now. Shota realized he isn't good with children, much less crying children. He was half tempted to rip out his phone and call his best friend, Hisashi, for this, but his best friend would be patrolling around the city right now and he didn't think it was a good idea to make him come all the way here just for this. Something he should be able to do. He was a competent adult after all, or at least supposed to be. It's okay, don't cry. Can you tell me where it hurts? He acts trying to keep his voice as gentle as he could without sounding fake. He imagined the little boy in front of him to be a kitten in order to help it. Everywhere the kid whined. Oh, that was not a good sign, and Shota hoped the reason he was hurting anywhere was because his muscles were exhausted beyond the limit. Okay, I'll try to pick you up. If it hurts, let me know right then and I'll stop, okay? Oh, okay. Putting down the grocery bag he was carrying, Shota reached out to the kid, lifting his head gently before he snuck his other hand underneath his knees. Then slowly, he lifted him off the ground. Does it hurt? He asked, letting his arms hover a few centimeters above the ground. The boy stayed silent for a second before shaking his head. It just feels weird, like jelly. Exhausted muscles, then. Alright, okay. I'll help you get home first. Your parents must be worried. Then they can take you to the hospital. No hospital, the boy croaked. Won't help. Shota frowned. What do you mean? Quirkless, the boy whimpered. Shota almost, almost made the mistake of freezing in his spot. But he had always been quick at making decisions, realizing, analyzing, and deciding when required. His quirk made him fight essentially quirkless during his patrols, and in order to minimize his injuries, he had to learn how to make split-second decisions as well. Plus, he had trained himself for years to gain almost complete control over his body. But then, the first half of the boy's reply hit him, and he almost activated his quirk from rage. He knew quirk discrimination was a huge thing in the current society. 80% of the entire world is awakened with quirks. And while 20% sounds like a lot, it wasn't. Not in Japan, that is. Because what was 20% for the world was only 5% in Japan. And even from that 5%, a minimum of 4% were old people from back when quirks first started out. Quirklessness in the current times is extremely rare, and therefore ostracized. Suddenly, the image of the kid laying limp in the playground for God knows how long while the other adults ignored him like he wasn't even there makes so much sense. And the clearer the image was in his head, the more furious he became. He cursed quietly under his breath and shook his head. Alright then, kid. Give me your address so I can take you home. Shota was a patient person and listened patiently as the kid mumbled out his address while walking paced. And as soon as he got the full address, Shota was running. He positioned the boy in his arms so he didn't jerk him too much while he was running. It took 10 minutes to reach the residential complex. When he knocked on the door, he was met with a woman. And anyone with a pair of working eyes would know she was the kid's mother. Green hair wasn't really common, naturally that is. She looked surprised at first to see him, but then her eyes were on the boy in his arms and she gasped. Eyes going wide in shock and surprise and her hands flying to her mouth. What happened? She almost shrieked. I found him like this in the park. I offered to take him to the hospital, but he didn't agree with me. So I brought him home as quickly as I could. Shota quickly explained. Baby, the mother gasped, gently taking the boy from his arms. Shota pressed his lips in a thin line, suddenly feeling awkward as he stood at the doorway. What was he supposed to do? Leave? He was a little worried about the kid, but in most cases that involved kids, he left as soon as the kid was handed over to the required authority. He did that for all cases to be honest. Job done. Goodbye. Shota felt a sudden tug on his shirt and paused. He noticed the mother looking in his direction with a stern glare and a finger pointed towards him. Please don't tell me she thinks I'm involved in some way. I need to know what happened, sir, so please come in, she said instead. Okay. Shota watched as the woman hurried inside while he removed his boots. He hesitated for a few seconds before walking in. As soon as the mother noticed him standing around the corner, she said, Can you help? Hold the ice packs for me. I'll go grab the first aid kit and a washcloth. Shota nodded dumbly as he took the ice pack he was handed and sat down on the couch where the boy was lying. Gently, he pressed the ice pack on his black eyed fist. The boy whined in response. I know it's cold, but trust me, it'll help. The mother came back with rust footsteps before kneeling down in front of the couch and fishing out a bottle of rubbing alcohol, some cotton, a pair of tweezers, and several hero-themed band-aids. You're a little too trusting, ma'am, Shota said. The woman looked up at him with furrowed brows and a confused expression. She lowered the ice pack from the kid's eye to his jaw and continued, I'm a laserhead, a pro hero, he added and then continued to explain. I found him lying on the ground like this. I would say he had a fight with his friends, but the injuries looked too severe for that. He stopped and tugged at the hem of the kid's shirt. Kid, I need to check if you have any more bruises, so I'm going to have to take off your shirt. Is that okay with you? Yeah, the boy sniffled. With a nod, Shota looked to his flustered looking mother, who nodded a bit later and carefully removed the shirt. He frowned when he was met with the sight of two huge bruises forming on his chest and stomach. I suggest taking him to the hospital just to make sure he doesn't have any broken bones, and I'd advise just a cold bath filled with ice as well. It'll help with the bruising. The woman nodded, breaking out of her previous days and quickly worked to clean the cuts. The kid, to his credit, didn't complain about the sting from the alcohol, only scrunching up his face and whining each time his mother tapped the cotton against his skin. Kid, who did this? Shota asked. Don't know, the kid answered. Shota frowned. Never met them before. You mean some random kids did this to you? Shota asked. The kid nodded. Kacchan and his friends were fighting with some other kids, and I tried to stop them because the other kids were older than Kacchan. But then Kacchan got mad and left, and the older kids hurt me. His mother's gaze steeled. Shota prayed for the kids if they ever came across this woman. Once all the injuries were cleaned and covered, the woman stood up and bowed to him. Thank you so much for helping us erase your head. Shota nodded and waved his hand dismissively. It's fine, ma'am. You don't need to thank me. I'm just doing my job. He turned to the kid and gave him what he hoped was a non-scary smile. You, kid, take care, and try not to get into any more fights. If you see other people fighting, ask some adults for help or throw something at them and then run. The kid snickered and nodded. Thank you, erase your head. It wasn't until he left that Shota realized he forgot to ask how the kid recognized him. It's called the Vader-Meinhof Phenomenon, a frequency illusion in which, after noticing something for the first time, there is a tendency to notice more often, leading someone to believe that it is present everywhere. Like the one time Shota saw one black cat with white patches and green eyes, and then he started seeing it everywhere to the point he wondered if the cat had quirks too and was following him. Anyways, this time it was the green-haired little kid from two weeks back. It's probably because they are in the same neighborhood that it happened, but in the last week, he had spotted the kid eleven times from the corner of his eye. Shota recently moved to this district. He likes to keep his work as far away from his house as he can. The second time Shota met the kid was three weeks after the first time. It was raining heavily. He had been walking down the street when he saw him. He stopped right away, his eyes focused on the kid, crouching underneath the shade of a shop, soaking wet and trembling. He was about to leave, wanting to get back home as quickly as he could before the rain got worse, but the kid was shivering, and he looked so small like that, all alone in front of the closed shop, and he was a pro hero. With a sigh, he jogged over to the kid. As soon as he got close, the kid looked up and blinked. Then a smile spread on his face. A face ahead! Hey, kid, Shota replied nonchalantly, and crouched down next to the kid. What are you doing out here in the rain? Went to play, the kid answered, but then it started raining. Shota hummed, Want me to take you home? He nodded his head, Sure! You're too trusting, kid. You shouldn't just go with anyone you know, Shota replied, standing up. But you're not anyone. You're a race ahead, a hero, the boy answered. Plus, we've already met once, and you helped me. Oh, how naive and innocent a child's thinking was, Shota thought to himself. He was almost a little jealous of it. With a sigh, he held out his hand for the kid to take before they started walking. Shota didn't have to go all the way to their apartment before they met Mrs. Midoriya. Her face lit up with relief the moment she saw her son and rushed over. Oh, my! Izuku! I'm so sorry for being late. She apologized, crouching down to her son. It's fine, Mama, her son replied enthusiastically. A race ahead! Thank you so much for helping my son again, Mrs. Midoriya. Mrs. Midoriya smiled, bowing slightly. It's fine, ma'am. And please, call me Aizawa. Shota replied. He would rather not have unwanted ears figuring out his civilian identity. The kid tugged on his mother's skirt, and she crouched down. He quickly whispered something in her ear. The mother smiled and nodded before standing up once again. Would you like to come with us, Aizawa-san? She asked politely. Um, please? The boy pleaded, big, dull, green eyes looking up at him. Uh, pretty please? He almost whined, his eyes widening even more. And a much softer and pleading look, if that was possible. Shota swallowed. Uh, okay. Fuck. Here, have some coffee, Mrs. Midoriya said, pushing forward a white cup full of steaming coffee. Would you like some milk? And sugar? No, thank you. I prefer black, Shota replied. He had patrol in four hours, anyway. Honestly, Shota had expected spending time here until the rain stopped to be awkward. However, it was anything but so far. Shota had no idea how, though. Mrs. Midoriya smiled at him kindly before heading back to the kitchen. And meanwhile, the kid waddled up to him, a paper clutched tightly in his hand. He held it up with a shy yet proud smile. Shota raised an eyebrow and took a sip from the cup before putting it down and taking the sheet of paper. From some of his co-workers who were married, he had often overheard them talking about their children showing them their paintings. And them being ridiculously proud of it. Shota had expected a drawing as well. Because from his painfully limited knowledge about toddlers, that's what he knew. But instead, what he got was a hero analysis of him. The long, black floating hair. Red circles for eyes. Gray ringlets around his neck. All black costume. Yeah, it was hard to miss. His hero name was scribbled messily on the top with a bright red marker. And alongside the crude drawing of him were several notes written with a black glitter pen. The sentences were incomplete. The handwriting was illegible at worst. And messy at best. The notes were scattered haphazardly all over the paper. But this was a hero analysis by a five-year-old. Who is Erasurehead, an underground hero? What is his quirk? Don't know for sure. Erasing quirks? He's a really good fighter. Like that, the kid wrote his own questions and answered them. From the difference in handwriting, he assumed they were written at different times. Ever since he met you, he looked for your videos all over the internet for hours. Couldn't get him to stop until he was satisfied with his little report. Miss Midoriya said with a chuckle. He was so upset when I told him that as an underground hero, there won't be that many videos of you. Gave me silent treatment for a whole hour. His previous record was 30 minutes when I told him he couldn't get the All Might Runs box. Shirota turned back to the kid. Lips twitching and raised in eyebrow. The boy blushed ferociously. And ducked his head, letting out a quiet eek sound. You like heroes, kid? Shirota asked, handing back the paper. Yeah, I love them. They're so cool. All of them. The boy chirped. God, his smile was big. Shirota could feel his own cheek ache. But then he, for some reason, his smile dropped and he once again ducked his head. But this time, all the previous excitement was suddenly gone. Instead, his shoulders dropped and he fiddled with the hem of his shirt. As I was saying, can I ask you a question? Sure, kid. Shirota replied, taking a quick glance at his mother. He assumed Ms. Midoriya knew what question her son was going to ask. Giving the forlorn look on her face. Can I become a hero too? He asked in a voice so hesitant and anxious, it didn't suit the kid's age. It felt like a physical blow to him. So, see a child who should be jumping with excitement at the prospect of becoming future heroes, questioning his worth even though I'm quirkless? Kid, Shirota started, collecting the words in his mind carefully so as not to unintensely break the kid's heart. Having a quirk isn't what makes someone a hero. The way the boy looked up at him, like he was sharing the answer to some age-old mystery, honestly startled him. He wasn't used, it's just pure admiration and awe. Swallowing, he continued, quirks are only tools. Some have better tools, some don't. But depending on how they use them, the better they become. You get it? The kid nodded his head earnestly. So fast, Shirota felt the urge to stop him, lest it fell off his shoulders. Sure, having a strong quirk as a hero makes a job easier, but just because you have a weak quirk or no quirk doesn't mean you can't be a hero. It just means you have some disadvantages. But you can always get over it with hard work and determination. So I can be a hero? The kid asked, big, dozed eyes glazing over with unsaid tears as his lips quivered. Shirota never liked lying, so he said, yeah. Then before he knew it, the kid barreled into him, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug, sobbing, he babbled, thank you, thank you, thank you. Shirota threw a glance towards his mother once again and found her looking at him, hands clasped over her mouth and eyes teary. When she noticed him looking her way, she removed her hand from her mouth and smiled. Then she quietly whispered, thank you. And that's when it started, Shirota slowly and gradually being pulled into the Midoriya family, until he became one of them. That is the end of this chapter. I'm sorry for any stumbling or mispronunciations I made. Thank you for listening.