Informant Izuku Taking on the World
He didn’t know the exact moment when he snapped. Maybe he cracked a few times first, felt his iron-clad resolve crumble around the edges in warning.
When he was told to kill himself by his old best friend.
When attacked by a villain, and it finally sinking in just how useless he was.
Told by his idol, his hero, his shining beacon of hope-
That he was nothing.
Heading home, despair in his heart, tears in his eyes.
Saving a life. Getting yelled at. He talked back to the heroes (why didn’t they do their jobs? He had looked up to Kamui Woods- had he always been so… so…) and got yelled at more. Kachan threatened (?) him on his way home, and All Might appeared again, presumably to rub it in.
He had seen him looking for him in the crowd. Using his long honed skill of diseapring, he escaped notice.
Finally coming home, admitting to his mother that his dream was ashes in the wind.
She cried.
From joy.
She made comfort food, of course. Smiled sadly at him, wrapped him in blankets with a hot cup of tea and a movie marathon on the TV, cuddles on the way.
For a few days, he was blank. He took it all with a calm he had never experienced before. It wasn’t true calm, it wasn’t contentment or finality or anything else-
It was an absence. A void.
He moved all his hero merch into boxes, and sold them off for money. Quite a bit of it too- a lot of the stuff was rare or old, and all in excellent condition.
He didn’t tell his mother where the money came from when he offered to help her pay the bills. She didn’t ask why he had suddenly redecorated, his room a world of soft textures and deep color. Pine, black, gold, red, blue.
He went to school, got hurt, had a few dozen insults ping right off him, patched himself up, and returned home feeling no pain. He was numb in more ways than one it seemed.
And then there was one day where he couldn’t bring himself to sit up. To staunch the blood and apply the creams and bandages, to soothe the hurt.
He laid there, in the back alley behind the school so terribly blank. Staring up at those clouds, slowly gathering above him, and thought about nothing at all.
Then the voices came.
“Okay, so, the vending machine on the corner right? Totally broken, no one can get to it. So, I looked up a tutorial, and you can totally get all that stuff out, no problem! No damage either, so no property charges, and the food doesn’t go to waste eith- wait-”
Sudden quiet. The lively air disappeared as quickly as it came, a brief snapshot through the paper shredder.
“Ok, buddy. Hi, there.” Footsteps running to him, figures kneeling at his side. Gentle hands at his head, his torso, his arms.
He felt nothing. No, he felt the nothing, right there in heart. Does that still count?
“How’d this happen?” A perfectly regular face, black hair, dark eyes drawn in concern. He blinked slowly at them, feeling the quiet grow.
“Ok, ok. Uh, we have med stuff, it’s alright. Hey, pass me the bandages, his head- is that why you’re acting like this?”
No.
They were kind, those strangers. They patched him up, sat him up by the brick wall, listened to his monotone ramble. His life, laid out in bare facts. This happened, that happened. He was a fool, they were his betters. They fed him a protein bar and a bottle of water, made him change in a public bathroom to get the smoke (destruction betrayal hurt pain bad no stop why) out of his nose. (But not his memories.)
He memorized their faces, their personalities. In case he saw them again. He hadn’t thought to give them anything in return at the time.
He came to a few conclusions in that time of his life.
His mother was overbearing. Her comfort felt stiffelling, her worry claustrophobic. Treated like a piece of glass waiting to be broken. (He was already broken. But he hadn’t had to be. He could have been happy-)
He tried talking to her, even looked up good methods. Don’t accuse the other person in the conversation, keep voice down and body language neutral. Stick to the facts, not the jabs.
He tried many times, actually.
She got defensive. She broke down crying. She outright denied her actions, his past, what he lived with. (It’s not that bad, Izuku, it can’t be…)
He kept up his analysis. It didn’t make him happy anymore, but it made him no longer in that boxed in, darkened state. Instead, he was all agility and speed, if only mentally- theories and concepts lightning fast, pencil flying, drawings and graphs and endless fascinating facts and hypotheses. He was unstoppable, he was… something.
He even started a blog for it. Posting pictures of his notebook, originally, then actually typing out the entire ramble and editing it to be coherent later, when he found he had nothing better to do.
He gained a following, to his everlasting surprise. Who’d want to listen to the Deku?
He told them that, too. That they were wrong- he wasn’t smart, this wasn’t good, he was dumb and useless-
It was even in the name, you’d think they’d get it. Deku_Thoughts, that was pretty explicit, wasn’t it?
Thinking about following a certain old friend’s advice, he decided to satisfy all his hidden curiosities. He surfed the dark web, was disgusted and angry in the first serious spike of anger for the month, and crashed the entire website, sending a virus into any other computer who logged onto the website.
Learning to code overnight had been fun. Like a new language.
He left. Packed up his stuff, all his new, boring, soft stuff, and left. His mother wouldn’t help him, (was hurting him) and wasn’t a good part of his life. And the only thing he had ever been good at was running.
He lived, barely. Wandering from alleyway to streetcorner, subway car and train station. A ghost, a phantom, a nobody.
He used his merch money on food and that was about it. He ate his favorites, visited sites that he always had wanted to. Wrote a scientific paper on the effects of quirk discrimination in society, to the quirked and the not, the strong and weak, and how it hurt both sides (like Kachan and his lovely ego) and published it anonymously. He gave money to other lost souls freely- he didn’t care. Everytime someone tried to rob him, he just asked how much they wanted from him.
They didn’t scare him. Only one person could anymore, and that was just barely.
Looked into UA. They didn’t even accept quirkless people.
Principal Nedzu would find his email hacked and a strongly worded letter (rant, argument, cry for help) in his inbox the following morning.
He tried coffee, found he didn’t really like it, and gave it to someone else. Got into deep quirk theory, as well-read as any expert. Some thought quirkless people were actually valuable; besides their worth as a sort of indicator species for the culture, they could help stop the eventual possible quirk calamity where quirks just get too powerful as generations go on.
He snorted at that, then laughed.
Quirkless people being useful? Who had ever heard of that?
He was absorbed into the underground with ease. People talked when they didn’t realize someone was around, and he learned.
Heroes helped when it suited them. People saved each other more often than not, but some betrayed with an almost vengeful force. There were unspoken lists of people to avoid, groups to steer clear of.
There were lists of people that were pretty alright.
The League of Villains, a fledgling organization with a big mystery sponsor, was tentatively on that list.
They were a moral, desperate man’s group. They were the people you joined when you didn’t actually want to do any harm. They were the gang you ran with because every other group would be a living hell to you.
Of course, Izuku scoped them out.
They lived out of a bar that was hardly ever open, and had few members. Toga, a blonde schoolgirl with a blood-related quirk and likely a vampiric diet, Dabi, a man on a manhunt for his abusive father, Twice, a man struggling with how his quirk affected his DID, Compress, which had some crazy family issues, Magne, who had been pushed out of her old life for being trans, Spinner, who had experienced discrimination his whole life due to his mutantion quirk, Kuriogiri, the one keeping everyone alive that was pretty obviously either blackmailed, kidnapped and manipualted, or forcibly wiped of memories, and Shiagraki, the supposed leader, who had been groomed from a young age to be the heir to the real threat involved, his Sensei who spied on them through the TV and was generally text-book evil.
Hearing his deeds, Izuku felt something he rarely felt, even when he had been emotional, swell.
How dare he do this? To innocents, people who couldn’t defend themse-
People like him, then?
He remembered his past. Every burn, every slight, every piece of heartbreak and injury given by cruel hands.
Anger, the emotion he was never allowed to feel, roared to life in his gut. And there was no one there to stop it now.
He glanced at the League’s bar, a plan gathering in his mind.
It was rather convenient in the end- Shigaraki, having come to the conclusion that he was a terrible strategist, had been on the lookout for a suitable recruit. And he had been commenting on Deku_Thoughts for days now.
Rolling into their HQ without a word and fending off the attacks until roughly shoving his screen open to his account and the latest comment was easy to someone who doesn’t care about their wellbeing.
They tested him of course.
He just plopped down in front of their TV, turned to the news instead of that static, and let his brain run loose, choosing to ignore how he was looking into the mug of a monster.
The offered three-and-a-half pages of notes were deemed more than enough, and they had stopped him before he could polish, or even draw any diagrams or drawings.
They had an upstairs to the place- it was all one room, or at least in now was -all the walls had obviously been knocked down to make space- bits of rubble had been melted into the floorboards instead of being cleaned up.
He didn’t mind- he set up his ‘bed’ setup in a corner closest to the exits, (windows included) along with his bag. He didn’t take out all of his stuff- even his notebooks, even though they knew and seemingly respected his hobby.
Force of habit, he supposed.
He still felt spacey- time didn’t really feel how it should any more. But a constant sense of rage had settled under his skin, intermingling in his muscles. Every movement was fueled by an anger burning in him.
He made lists- he needed the order. Every child that had ever turned on him, hurt him, etc. Everyone who hadn’t helped. Someone who hadn’t physically chipped in but actively made it worse. Every adult who had ever hurt him in any way.
He didn’t need a list for the last category- people who had helped him. One. His mother.
Barely.
He made plans. What to do politically, about UA mainly out of obligation to his dead dream, about All For One, All Might… Bakugou.
Another convenient thing- the League was already planning on making a statement by attacking UA.
When he heard the plan, however, he honestly felt his soul leave his body.
What kind of statement was that?! No self-done publicity, no obvious showing of an agenda, and no planning past ‘show up and hope?’
No wonder Shigaraki had been looking for a strategist.
He had taken over all planning in a fit of ‘how dare you all be this dumb’ and was pretty sure they were still planning around his own outline, but honestly if they stuck to the plan and didn’t get killed he didn’t care all that much. (“Class A, then? That’s the one with his abuser-” Heard around the corner, he twitched, a full-body tick. He curled up in his sleeping bag and did the rest of the planning for the day in a mass of blankets.)
He didn’t have to physically go. They had no backup if he were to be incapicitated, so he was too valuable (hah) to risk in a physical firefight.
He grudgingly agreed on USJ, because it was much less armed and staffed than literally anywhere else where a whole host of pros could come running with a simple alarm. (a public pace still would have been better, though they would have to find one suitably relatively deserted at routine times) He hacked the camera system and had it on a timer to begin streaming on Channel 7, the most watched news channel at that time of day, because this was supposed to be a statement, damnit.
He wasn’t happy about it, but it was happening. Because Shigaraki was self-sacrificing and his Senei was a monster of a man.
Why couldn’t they have done something less physical? Like hacking the Commision and making it known, or airing a hundred heroes’ dirty laundry on every major social network and TV channel? Was he the only one that saw the merit in non-physical attacks?
He did his research, because information was valuable.
Most of Bakugou’s new classmates had shiny and clear records. One had a history of female harassment, but Eraserhead dumped him from UA as a whole (not just his class) three hours into the first day of the semester. He had quickly been replaced by one Shinsou Hitoshi, a boy with a fascinating brainwashing quirk whose past spoke of bad foster homes and bullying taken too far.
It was easy to get Kuriogiri to get the others to leave him alone.
A frog quirk, an animal-communication quirk that left so many questions unanswered (did human count? All animals, or just mammals? All living things, like trees, or no? Did animals have different languages, speech patterns?) engines in the legs, (brother of Igenium, autistic, best to keep him busy) anti-gravity, acid (oooh, what sort of acid? What could she do?) an electricity quirk that was fantastically incorrect based on street cam recordings and the base description given in the file. No notable medical things of note past a shellfish allergy from one Hagurake Toru and a mildly suspicious series of incidents on the file of Fumikage Tokoyami, leading to a research spiral that ended with a satisfying end in the form of a happy adoption with two lovely lesbian ladies and no lasting damage, including to his delicate feathers or beak-teeth situation.
He reviewed every thug personally. Medical history, as much of a comprehensive history on them as he could get, their story, their life. Their preferred way of burial, if it came to it. Quirk, temperament, family and friend relations. Thoughts on others, including any past of discrimiantion or abuse towards others.
He and Dabi had been particularly adamant about that last bit.
He kept himself busy, really. Made an expose on a dozen heroes and government officials, kept up with his blog, arranged for proper nutrition for the rest of the League because he could only stand to live off of instant ramen and microwave meals for so long. Food had always been the sole showing of any sort of love in his childhood, and while the meals now were filled with little more than vague care about his continued existence and decent health, it was an improvement.
This also involved getting to know more about Toga’s vampiric quirk, a fascinating venture where the girl had been at first hesitant before quickly turning ecstatic. She needed a certain amount of others’ blood in her system approximately every three days to stay mentally balanced, and the most effective method was digestive rather than direct through a transfusion, say.
He bought a cheap pair of gloves and hacked off all but the middle finger and gave them to Shigaraki at the fifth disatagrated door knob.
Ignoring the short hissy fit after that incident, things were going well.
And then the fateful day arrived.
They would make their entrance at 8:52, enough time for the bus to have arrived, unloaded, and for everyone to be inside the building with a handful of minutes to spare if everything went smoothly. He would be monitoring through the security system, making sure that even if the man with the electricity quirk went down and a distress signal was able to get out, it wouldn’t get anywhere before they were long gone. He would watch, plan accordingly, and help Kuriogiri move people around. An unedited recording of the event would hit Channel 7 on a timer starting exactly when the exit portal closed, giving UA no time for damage control or to take the reins of the narrative.
A medical space was set up in a cleared out warehouse for any injuries, in return for the trust in him with their files all crimes (minor, or they were no longer a part of the operation) were wiped from every files he could get his virtual hands on, so any arrests made would be short and as non-traumatic as possible.
His proposed policy of looking after their own, even temporary members, had worked splendidly after a token protest from Shigaraki for the spoopy TV, no doubt. In JSL, he later apologized for the jab made at Izuku, who accepted easily. The verbal blow may as well have never landed.
He was huddled in the rafters of said warehouse, in a relatively well-fitting hoodie with a fluffy interior lining and a thin blanket between him and the chilled metal. Several easy escape options were within easy reach- a carefully engineered path to the pile of wooden storage crates, an open window plenty big enough for him to slip through, a back door left unlocked.
He watched the crowd of people milling around below him carefully, looking out for any major conflicts, independently or due to Shiagraki’s spectacular lack of social experience.
Fortunately, the scripted speech went over well, and Shigaraki, Dabi, Spinner, Toga, Compress, and Twice stepped through the ‘leadership’ portal just on time, while the larger one for the rest of the crowd opened on cue as the smaller snapped shut.
The UA security system was a doozy, and Nedzu would soon know someone was inside if he was anywhere near his office. Fortunately not as well-protected as the main files of the students, (which had taken him days to get into) let alone the enclosed camera system and personal files of faculty, neither of which he had touched, but the point still stood.
Still, he had and maintained contact. The myriad of security measures would not take effect unless he wished for them to, and none of the emergency signals would reach the main campus until far too late.
He watched passively the required dramatic drivel Shiagraki had felt the need to spout in case he or Kuriogiri had been bugged or anything similar. The students were split into many smaller groups, among each of the main members. The two pros were dumped into the middle of the crowd of thugs, and would hopefully be subdued with minimal issues. None of the grunts had any grudges to act on with the pair, and as for the heroes, Eraserhead was better suited towards sneak attacks, and Thirteen didn’t have much battle experience due to being a rescue hero. Even if they were to not be so easily overrun, it would take too long for them to put every one of the paid fighters down and get to their charges, so there really were no downsides here.
Compress had no one with any villain ties, Toga was not within range of any attractive males and was well-fed right before showtime, Twice had taken his medicine and had several backups of his mask, Dabi was capable to taking care of himself for fifteen minutes but just in case only two people with a past of discrimiantion or abuse had been sent his way, because frankly he didn’t want to give Shigaraki any reasons to go off the handle more than he did Dabi. Shiggy received those more likely to take a hint or who knew JSL, code words and common ciphers or morse code. Spinner had been tasked with the majority of the mutant-quirked as well as the rest of the abused, and Kuriogiri was being kept well informed of all of the above by the stream of soft chatter he kept up through the ear piece. (Muttering comes in handy at the strangest of times.)
Bakugou Katsuki had been meant to be in Compress’ group, due to his familiarity with complicated morals, weird childhoods, and strange relationships, but apparently Toga and Dabi had something else planned for him.
While Dabi put the fear of god (fear of Dabi) into nearly a dozen teenagers, Toga dragged Bakugou Katsuki through a portal. Speaking of, an identical one had just appeared on the crates below him.
He closed his eyes as the familiar yelling and sound of low explosions became more real in his ears. He murmured to Kiriogiri that he would be going off line for a few seconds and delicately took the modified earbuds out, putting them to either side of him.
His eyes met Kachan’s with a level of apathy that surprised even him. None of Toga’s usual giggling or smiles were present in the sudden tension-filled air.
“Hello, Kachan.”
Bakugou(?)(he wasn’t sure what their relationship was yet anymore) took in a sudden breath like he had momentarily forgotten how to use his lungs, producing a quiet strangled sound, like an aborted scream.
Izuku felt no need to get from his comfortable position, as cornered as he was. He certainly wasn’t going down, and through the window would involve being directly up from Katsuki(?) and being unable to see him for entire seconds, so that was out.
“Deku-” The word was garbled with emotion and shock, and he peered down at the subdued teen carefully. No flash of explosions, no sneering or snarls. Not even a bit of posturing either, he almost felt like laughing.
“No. Sorry, Kachan, but I’m not the kid you knew anymore. I- I think…” He tilted his head, looking him in the eye. “I think I’ve snapped, really. But no, I’m not dead. Or useless, as it turns out. Seems people really like these stalker books of mine, huh?” He smiled hollowly, and turned his attention to Toga.
“Bring him back, please. I’m going to have an emotional breakdown after this, and we’re going to have to talk about this and all.” Toga nodded, somewhat confused at his seeming lack of a reaction. All she knew was violent fistfights and more recently, knives.
She had likely brought the ash-blonde boy here for him to get some sort of physical revenge or closure.
Apparently the idea of him having a very different style than his new colleagues hadn’t yet sunk in. He’d have to show off his exposes, make a point out of it.
He slid the earbuds back in, feeling slightly hollow inside, but vaguely grateful at the lack of violent sobbing, urge to punch something, or any kind of feeling of betrayal. He understood at least one thing, and it was that Toga hadn’t meant any harm. And that meant the world to him, somehow.
“I’m back, Kurogiri.” His voice was softer now in his ears, and he could practically taste the mist man’s worry, but dived right back into progress reports, and let his mind get away from him with analysis for now.
He’d deal with this eventually, just not now.
Once he wasn’t useless, or unloved, or unwanted. And maybe just a bit more stable past the void in his heart.
It went well. Only a dozen people were arrested, none of which being the main League members. No major injuries on either side, no immediate emergency-inducing incidents. Both pros were only minorly injured, having successfully been kept out of the way with only a little bit of use of the built-in security systems on his end at the last minute. (The clip of the wall coming out the restrain Eraserhead, red eyes wide, midair and likely on his way to a heart attack, would be treasured forever. He respected the man as a rare true hero, but it was too funny to not keep.)
20 future soldiers of the light or whatever had been introduced to a crucial new perspective, along with however was watching the ongoing recording on air right that moment, and they had essentially gotten off scot free.
He could have cried. In fact, he did, but not from relief, though that was welling up just fine in his chest.
The bundle of hurt he had carried with him all these years ached, and he curled up in his little cocoon, hugging his knees.
No one made any move to yell at him, to climb up and hit him, or stop him, or anything else. They were awfully respectful actually, though Toga was frowning from where she waited on a cheap folding chair to comfort him, and Dabi looked distinctly guilty.
A good day, all told.
His exposes were published the next day, once he wiped the tears and felt his head clear once again. An internet firestorm quickly developed as die-hard fans contended with surfacing stories of abuse of power and discrimination. Some licenses were quickly revoked in the face of oncoming charges of various crimes from public intoxication to manslaughter to human trafficking. Other were being hotly debated as the Hero Commission attempted to desperately quell the suspicions, accusations and rumors with various tactics such as bribery, threats, blackmail, blacklisting, and more, all of which he documented and published as much as he could as further evidence of wrongdoing, edited to remove any personal information, contact info, or embarrassing or ruining stories and such.
The internet at large exploded overnight, and he smiled every time he checked his phone, cooking calmingly in the renovated kitchenette Kuriogiri and he had fashioned out of the upstairs living area.
He avoided katsudon, nowadays. When he was already feeling bittersweet, maybe, but now today.
Didn’t mean he couldn't make a sweet pork dish, though.
So. Pork buns.
Baking was surprisingly therapeutic; it got out some of that energy he was used to burn off running around city to city gathering data. He couldn’t do that now of course, being a wanted fugitive, so it was soothing. A balm on his agitation.
It didn’t make the problem go away, but it did buy him a few hours of piece.
Though, at this rate Kuriogiri would start coming after him about the amount of sweets he was eating.
He munched on one contendely, having waited just long enough to not burn himself (he had had enough burns-) and puffed awkwardly to get rid of the still-uncomfortable level of heat, even as he hummed at the flavor and texture. It was good; he couldn’t remember him or his mom (mother?) making anything like this in the past.
Should he explain himself to them? He stopped short, thinking hard as he stared up at the dingy ceiling above him, ignoring Kurogiri swirling slightly faster in place in the corner of his vision at the action. His mother, Bakugou. It wasn’t a long list of those that had been close to him, for better or worse. It wouldn’t be much effort.
But it wouldn’t be much effort for them to open their eyes and see his agony, blood sweat and tears over the years either.
He closed his eyes and took another bite of pork bun, and sighed as he typed the ‘buns are ready’ in the fortified group chat. He snorted at the inevitable sex joke and slunk back upstairs to be only vaguelly unhappy for a few hours before getting to serious ruining-people’s-lives business.
BREAKING NEWS
VILLAIN DEKU PUBLISHES DOZENS OF EXPOSES ON HEROES-AND THEY’RE ALL TRUE
50 HEROES YOU CAN’T TRUST
THE MAN OF THE HOUR: DEKU, ANALYSIS VILLAIN
THIS VILLAINOUS GENIUS IS TAKING THE INTERNET BY STORM
DEKU; WHO IS HE AND CAN WE TRUST HIM?
He had done his best to have a hold-your-hand approach to each of the exposes as well as the general overview paper that acted as a kind of TLDR umbrella statement. It probably came off a little insulting, but in true Izuku Midoriya fashion, he got anxious and tagged on another paragraph. Some mess along the lines of ‘I’ve never shown anyone else any of my work. It’s usually a long incomprehensible ramble on paper, and if I published that no one would know what it said including me.’ shortly before the sketching section, since he was rather proud of some of those drawings, and the diagrams were downright useful.
If he supplied a general how-to-beat-up-this-person as he usually would in his notes, in the form of comments on their style and strategy, well. Earning that villain title or whatever.
The papers on Death Punch, Kamui Woods, Mount Lady and Backdraft were an extra two pages in length purely out of spite. In fact, the Death Punch one actually started out with a quick explanation for anyone that hadn’t been involved, and a letter to those who had. Which started out with the loving intro of ‘HEY, DIPSH*T’ (that curse had felt particularly good, even though he had started swearing about halfway down the page since it had actually been Toga writing down his infuriated rant while recalling the day. It was meant to be an exercise in like ‘if I could tell him now how I felt’ and bam, there it was. He hadn’t even been mad) and first went about describing his day up to that point in blank, clinical terms, before an in depth analysis of just how badly they had failed that day.
He was done keeping quiet. In fact, his power would be his words.
23 heroes lost their licenses in record time. Public outcry followed the ‘low’ number (though he internally celebrated at the lowing rate of human trafficking and corruption, since heroes never got prosecueted) and soon enough another six lost their lives to Stain’s sudden uptick in activity after a stern rant about three-per-city being more of a publicity stunt he may or may not have give while the man was stuck bleeding into their couch. Seven more were publicly humiliated in various ways, and 2 were actually injured when attempting to help a civilian when said civilian took a swing at them. The last twelve quickly dropped off the map, physically, virtually and socially. It was theorized that one, Tsunami the Water Hero, now famed for orchestrating dangerous incidents within their patrol areas for more publicity and allowing those disasters to grow worse before swooping in, etc, had actually fled the country, to his immense satisfaction.
It was soon publicly announced that all 50 would not be performing their hero duties for the foreseeable future, for their own and the public’s safety. To which the resounding response was a hearty ‘NO SH*T.’
His account, Deku_Thoughts, was taken down within 13 hours of the published documents. Or, it was supposed to be.
See, the internet never lets anything die. Especially something it wanted to live.
Screenshots were passed back and forth, reaction videos gained millions of views, and he reuploaded again and again in temporary accounts to make sure things stayed accurate and relevant. Eventually he just revived his original one with a fun algorithm attached that if anyone tried to take it down, they either instantly got a nasty virus to every single piece of equipment in the computer or would be told perfectly normally that the account had been deleted while in actuality it was completely unaffected. This really only bought him a few hours at the most, since people checked in with one another and all, but it was totally worth it.
Toga and Twice thought the resulting memes hilarious, and he particularly enjoyed the flood of stories to the effect of ‘this hero wronged me but I couldn’t say anything up until now.’
He cried the first time he saw a responding post calling him a hero. Dozens more videos and replies ended with the conclusion of Deku being their hero.
He was still working on the Endeavor one- he wanted to make sure he got everything now, every story, ever misfortune, breach of power, act of discrimination, abuse, murder he had gotten away with.
It would be scathing at this rate. However, he’d have a problem with actually having people seeing it- having the blog deleted or seem to be deleted every few hours wasn’t great for traffic flow, and he was already pretty infamous in hero-loving circles. He had unintentionally shut himself out from a whole group of people.
Maybe he could make a new blog to post it on and only tag it on the original? Spread to other platforms? What if he were to… create a video channel instead?
The video is taken with a decent-quality camera at about hip-height, aimed at a cheap wood table with a stained and ripped spinning office chair behind it. Perched on it was Deku himself, in a green vest with a plain black mask over his face. As time would go in he would get increasingly comfortable, or maybe just zone out and get hyper-focused, and would eventually migrate into a full sprawl in the chair.
It starts out formally enough- he looks right at the camera, hands folded in front of him, and talks evenly and much slower than normal in an effort to be heard and understood.
“Hello. Seeing as my blog is a mess right now due to inference and security measures I’ve been forced to take, I’ve decided to expand. Welcome to my channel, for however long it lasts. My name is Deku, and I’ve done a lot of research.”
He leans over and picks up the stacks of paper that were his printed out exposes and plops them down with a slight thump, making an impressive tower on his left side. “My exposes have gone viral in a short period of time. However, they were only the first step. The next will be coming soon, but in the meantime, a sort of intermission. An explanation, maybe.”
He leans forward, deep green hair shadowing his already dark mask, creating a haunting effect. “Let’s talk about culture, history. Overall, quirks. There’s lots to discuss, so I apologize if it is long. On that note-” His hands temple together, and one gets the sense Deku is grinning behind the mask.
“Let’s begin.”
He talks about many things. His own life, barring the names and locations, including his quirklessness. In insurance of that act, he then walks the audience through quirk discirmination and how it hurts the strong and the weak, using his lovely old bully Kachan and his anger and ego issues as an example. They zoom out to how this affects their current society as a whole, and then of course, the hero system.
Oh, the hero system.
The video gets less serious as it goes on. Of course, the subject matter stays just as heavy, but the mood doesn’t. Deku slowly shifts from upright and almost gentlemen-like, to occasionally breaking into rants, using more hand gestures, generally being less composed even while still completely sane, and even vaguely emotional. No tears, of course. Nothing drastic or sudden.
Editing is magic, really.
“So. I can’t go hero-by-hero, case by case, obviously. Well, I could, but no. Just no. So- how about we fix the system first?” A raised pointer finger, a sense of a glint in the ‘villain’s’ eye. “I imagine those cases will become obvious then. Why should whether or not someone’s life is saved, or they’re forever injured in an attack, be based on popularity ratings? Is someone’s life really worth a few thousand likes?
Ah, and there’s also the whole concept of villainy. Biased source, yes, but a valid point still. We can visit why people become villains, or indeed never had a choice, later. For now- vilification. Here’s some fun statistics, and a few specific cases I found that cover a few different scenarios that are actually quite common.”
“The whole thing of villains and heroes requires a mindset able to completely write off entire sections of the population as- well, sub-human. They’re villains, so why should we care? That kind of thing. Well, a villain is not a boogeyman, and the ones who are are full of themselves or high on somethin’. What judge would consider an unnecessary force charge against a hero? Who would take an ‘ex-villain’ suing over medical costs, or a civilian over property damage? It’s the cost of the greater good.
But is the greater good worth it? Or, is this the greater good at all?”
The channel is named Defientely_Not_Useless, since Deku might have pinged the AI, and still technically gets the message across. The video is published only a few seconds after it’s creation, and goes viral within the hour.
The internet cannot be stopped now.
It goes viral for days- clips circulate, memes are made, boards and chat rooms talking about it’s topics flourish.
And he hasn’t even led them back to the whole Commission thing yet.
The HC sent a hitman team after him two weeks after that. They’re armed to the teeth, and possibly quite a bit over prepared for little ‘ol him, if it weren’t for Definitely-Not-Big-Brother-Dabi blindsiding them out of a small alley.
Three of them had a fire quirk of some sort, presumably to further knock him off balance for an easier mission.
It takes him three days of constant crying, flashbacks, and katsudon to get presentable again. When he immediately makes a new video, this one much more laid back due to his own emotional exhaustion.
The camera clicks on from it’s timer just as Izuku is creaming together the butter and sugar. By hand, for subtle exercise. The mask is still on, along with a green hoodie of a similar shade to his hair, but it’s mostly covered up by a frilly apron.
“Hello. I’ve had a hard few days on multiple accounts, so I thought when I make my next move I’d do it a bit calmer. I use baking and cooking to get some energy out, since I can’t exactly go out anymore.”
His hair is only green for the videos anymore- green had always been part of him, and was now part of his brand, but it was also his mother’s hair.
Dabi had joked he had joined him in the dyed hair club. Spinner had yelled he had joined the staining-the-sink club and was now also responsible for scrubbing it with bleach because my god, it’s not hard! The mokawk-sporting villain then paced back and forth about the blood stains in the shower and rust on the laundry machine set they had picked up, though he did make it very clear that he was glad Toga had moved her messier drinking sessions to the shower. The smell just wasn’t all that great for him.
Compress bought them a detachable showerhead, which only somehow led to a water fight when a cleanup attempt was made.
Anyway, changing society as we know it.
The sugar and butter were well incorporated now. He pulled the rest of his ingredients closer as he piped back up. “So. I realise that I’ve made many large points, and they can be quite the hard pill to swallow. However, I’d like to make clear the base cause of all these problems past capitalism and the general societal view of the public.” The plastic bowl is set down with a click as he looks up at the camera, eyes blazing.
“Today, ladies, gentlefolk and unspecified others, we are discussing the Hero Commission.”
“Now, several of you have had a bit of a crisis, which is fair. Feeling safe is a lovely feeling, and much better than constant paranoia. So, I have gotten the question of who can we trust, then?” He wipes his hands on a stray towel and flips it over his shoulder, having just put the finished dough in the oven and washed his hands of the flour and sugar that had clouded a bit while mixing in the half-functional mixer.
He gets out the cooling rack, head cocked slightly to one side. “Well, there’s actually several. UA faculty members are quite trustworthy, so that would be Cementoss, Vlad King, Snipe, Power Loader, Lunch Rush, Hound Dog, Eraserhead, Present Mic, Midnight, Ectoplasm. Best Jeanist is also quite reasonable if you don’t immediately try to clobber him, I’ve heard. Let’s see. Hawks, but be a bit careful. Not his fault of course, but well…” He stares off into space for a moment, until the oven beeps to tell it’s up to heat and he startles back into reality. “Miruko, by the same token. Ryuku, she’s a competent one. Ingenium, the Wild Wild Pussycats. Gang Orca. The Water Hose couple, may they rest peacefully. Wash, but be cautious if only because there’s not as much out there about him. Fat Gum, Sir Nighteye, but be smart about that one as well, Ms. Joke, Selkie, Thirteen. There’s quite the list, even if it’s a small number in relation to the number of licensed heroes. Cold comfort, but comfort still.”
He kneels down out of view for a moment to check on the oven before smoothly straightening back up.
“You may be wondering why All Might was not included on that list.” He looks at the camera again, unmoving, unblinking.
“Here is where it is important to remember that heroes are people. As are idols, and Symbols of Peace. On a similar note, never meet your personal heroes if you can help it.” He goes back into motion, swiftly cleaning the visible counterspace.
“He is but one man, and carries the weight of the world. And he has made mistakes. He has a strong quirk, and has been kept by the Commision from the real evils of this world. He is not on that list by few faults of his own, but by design.”
Deku clears his throat, and leans against the counter. “Now, heroes that are to be avoided. There are quite a few, and I will be omitting some names to make Stage Four more impactful. On that note, you’ve likely picked up on my dislike of Mount Lady, Kumuyi Woods, Death Arms, or is it fist now... Anyway. Let’s talk about civil duty.”
“-there were a myriad of things those heroes could have done facing that villain. Go for the eyes, the mouth. Pull the child hostage out of his grasp. Now, Mount Lady, if you are watching this and discounting yourself from this argument due to your quirk, then I would tell you that you are not a very good hero. If one is not capable of helping when a hundred foot giant, and sees themselves as helpless when they’re the same as the rest of us, you are a poor civil servant indeed. A person does need a quirk to be powerful, to be heard, or to be helpful.”
“-Now, the handling of the aftermath of the incident. Since All Might did save the hostage’s life by the skin of his teeth, we know have a traumatized boy who will be needing immediate medical care to his entire respiratory system. We also have his vigilante savior, a classmate who just did your jobs for you. If you had asked that boy, he would told you that the very same villain had attacked him not a half hour before and he too had almost died. But you did not ask. You didn’t even point the more obvious victim towards the paramedics; you kept them by the sidewalk, and you talked.” Then he chuckled, just a little bit, and very much humorlessly. “Or, well, yelled for one of them. Izuku Midoriya, the quirkless kid that has been deemed worthless, a waste of space, that he should just die already. He had just saved a life, the ultimate good a person can do. And what did you do?” The question came out with incredible force, a tone of steel. “You yelled at him.”
An intake of breath, a moment of calm as the ‘villain’ takes a second to settle himself again. “I’ve seen a later interview where Kamuii Woods defends this action by claiming that a civilian who has just enacted vigilante justice should not receive praise for their actions. Now.” Hands steepled once more, eyes dead on the camera.
“Remind me of the part of common procedure where one belittles, refuses medical attention, to actively discriminate against, and yells at the victim. Remind me of the section of the law that states calming a traumatized victim is a reward.” A chilling smile, slow and calm.
“You won’t find it. Of course you won’t, unless the Commissioner actively sneaks a law past to cover your *sses. It doesn’t exist. And it shouldn’t, ever.”
A flicking of the wrist to check a cheap watch. “Ah, the cookies should be done. Just a moment.”
A few seconds of movement as the tray is set on the counter, and the parchment paper full of cookies is transferred to the cooling rack. One cookie is handed to a heavily scarred individual offscreen with a vague shooing motion. Another is munched on without even showing a hint of the flaming heat. A glimpse of a heavily scar-burned wrist quickly covered by an adjustment of the plain black gloves.
“There is much still to talk off, of course, but I believe I’m quite done for the day. Think for yourselves, viewers, and have a lovely rest of your day.” The camera clicks off again after the green-clad ‘villain’ gets close enough to press the button, and so Deku, the Baker ‘Villain’ is born.