The Force Of Nature

the first ripple

The Midoriya household remained quiet in the days following Izuku's visit to the quirk assessment clinic. It wasn't a silence borne of despair or disappointment, but one laced with contemplation—a quiet shared understanding between Inko and Hisashi that their child was something the world wasn't prepared for.

At four years old, Izuku moved through life like a drifting feather—light and untethered, yet with a purpose that no one could quite discern. While other children might have been crushed by the doctor's vague declaration of being "quirkless," Izuku simply carried on, as if the words hadn't landed in her at all.

But something was stirring, and the first sign of it came on an otherwise uneventful afternoon.

Inko was at the sink washing dishes, her gaze drifting periodically toward the small backyard visible through the kitchen window. Izuku was sitting cross-legged in the grass, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she watched the wind tease the leaves of the single tree standing proud in their modest yard.

Her stillness was unnerving in its own way. Children were rarely so calm, so quiet. Yet Izuku seemed at peace, her head tilting slightly as if listening to something Inko couldn't hear.

"Izuku," Inko called softly through the open window, her voice carrying a touch of concern. "What are you doing, sweetheart?"

Izuku didn't look back. "Watching."

"What are you watching?"

"The tree."

Inko dried her hands on a towel and stepped outside, her shoes crunching softly against the gravel path. She crouched beside her daughter, following her gaze to the swaying branches.

"What about the tree?" Inko asked, her voice as gentle as a breeze.

"It's... different."

Inko frowned slightly, glancing at the tree. It looked the same as it always did—gnarled and weathered, its bark scarred from years of storms.

"What's different about it?"

Izuku's small hand reached out, her fingers brushing the air just before the tree. "It used to feel like something else."

Inko's breath caught. She wasn't sure how to respond, so she settled for wrapping an arm around Izuku's shoulders. "Maybe it's just the wind making it seem that way," she offered, though her own words felt hollow.

Izuku didn't respond, but her gaze lingered on the tree, unblinking.

That night, after tucking Izuku into bed, Inko found Hisashi sitting in the living room, a stack of paperwork abandoned on the coffee table before him.

"She said the tree felt different," Inko began without preamble, her voice hushed.

Hisashi didn't look up, but the faint tightening of his jaw showed he was listening. "And what do you think she meant by that?"

Inko shook her head, sinking into the seat beside him. "I don't know. But it felt... strange. Like she wasn't just imagining it."

Hisashi leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "We've always known Izuku wasn't ordinary," he said quietly. "Even before she was born, there was something about her. The way you felt during your pregnancy, the things that happened when she was just an infant..."

Inko nodded, her mind flashing back to the times when strange occurrences would follow Izuku, even in her earliest days. Light bulbs flickering out without warning. The temperature in a room shifting inexplicably. The unshakable sense that, sometimes, the world bent ever so slightly around her daughter.