Shigaraki Child (Broken Family)

Villain are just broken people that need to be save

CHAPTER THREE

Villain are just broken people that need to be save

Izuku memories

Izuku pressed his ear against the door, straining to hear the hushed voices coming from the kitchen. His parents' shadows danced under the crack.

"It's been four years, Inko. Most kids get their quirk by now. What if... what if he never develops one?" His father's normally booming voice was tinged with worry.

"Hisashi, please. Give him time. The doctor said it can take longer for some--"

"Time? Society won't give a quirkless kid any damn time! They'll chew him up and spit him out. Is that what you want for our son?"

Izuku's stomach clenched. Quirkless. The word stung worse than any scuffed knee.

"Of course not! But pressuring him won't help either. Can't you see how your yelling affects him?" His mother's tone took on a rare sternness.

A fist slammed on the table, rattling the teacups. Izuku flinched. "You think I like being this way? I'm trying to protect him! To toughen him up for the real world. God knows my old man never went easy..."

His father's voice cracked. In that moment, Izuku almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"I know, dear. But Izuku isn't you. We need to support him, quirk or no quirk. Promise you'll be more patient?"

Silence stretched between them, taut as a rubber band. Finally, his father sighed. "I'll try. But he needs to try harder too. No more of those useless hero notebooks..."

Izuku bit his lip, fighting back tears. He crept back to his room, All Might posters greeting him with empty smiles. Sinking to the floor, he hugged his knees to his chest.

Why couldn't they understand? A quirk was his only chance to be somebody. To prove he wasn't just a useless Deku. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying with all his might.

Please, he begged any power that would listen. Let me be a hero.

Izuku took a shaky breath, slowly uncurling from his position on the floor. He reached for his hero notebook, fingers tracing the well-worn cover. Inside, pages upon pages of quirk analyses and hero profiles stared back at him, a testament to his unwavering dream.

"I can't give up," he whispered to himself, voice barely audible over the muffled arguing from the kitchen. "I'll show them. I'll show everyone."

He flipped to a blank page, pencil poised and ready. If he couldn't rely on a quirk, he'd just have to work ten times harder. Study every hero, every fighting style, until he knew them inside and out.

The pencil flew across the paper, sketching out ideas and strategies. Izuku lost himself in the familiar motions, the world fading away until it was just him and his notebook.

Hours later, a soft knock at the door startled him from his trance. His mother peeked in, eyes red-rimmed but smiling gently.

"Izuku, honey? It's time for dinner."

He nodded, tucking the notebook away like a precious secret. "Coming, Mom."

At the table, his father sat stiffly, gaze fixed on his plate. Izuku slid into his seat, heart hammering against his ribs.

"Izuku," his father began, voice gruff. "I... I'm sorry for earlier. I shouldn't have yelled."

Izuku blinked, shock rendering him momentarily speechless. His father never apologized.