In a world where 80% of the population has superpowers known as Quirks, Izuku Midoriya is born without any. Despite this, his dream of becoming the greatest hero like his idol, All Might, never wavers. One fateful day, Izuku encounters a life-changi...
The sky was a dull, lifeless gray, thick with rain-heavy clouds. Droplets fell in a steady rhythm, tapping against the sea of black umbrellas held by those who had gathered at the cemetery. The air was cold, damp, and filled with the scent of wet earth as mourners stood in somber silence before the two graves.
Izuku stood apart from the others, slightly ahead of his classmates. He had no umbrella, allowing the rain to soak him completely. His hair clung to his forehead, water streaming down his face, but his expression remained unreadable. He didn't flinch, didn't shiver. He simply stood there, staring at the freshly turned soil covering the coffins of his Aunt Mitsuki and Uncle Masaru.
Not a single tear escaped his eyes.
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Around him, his classmates, teachers, and even pro heroes had come to pay their respects. Ochaco and Melissa stood close by, their hands gripping their umbrellas tightly. Melissa's lips were pressed together, her shoulders trembling as she fought back tears. Ochaco's face was red from crying, her free hand curled into a fist at her side.
Kirishima, Shoji, and Todoroki stood near the other boys, each wearing deep frowns. Bakugo's parents had been well-known as they were the only ones who were Izuku's remaining family, and even those who hadn't interacted with them much felt the weight of their deaths.
Momo and Jirou whispered softly, comforting each other as they mourned. Tsuyu, with her usual quiet demeanor, sniffled but said nothing. The others weren't much different.
Aizawa stood at the back, arms crossed. He was staring at Izuku, eyes shadowed beneath his scarf. He didn't need to ask how the boy was feeling—he already knew. But the lack of reaction worried him.
Izuku could still see them in his mind. Mitsuki's sharp, teasing grin, the way she used to mess with his hair. Masaru's warm chuckle, his patient demeanor. They were never the closest family, but they were still family.
And now, they were gone.
Not from an accident. Not from illness.
But because someone had set that fire.
Someone had taken them away.
The thought boiled beneath his skin like molten lava, but he shoved it down, locking it away in the depths of his mind. He couldn't think about revenge. Not yet.
The priest spoke in low, solemn tones, giving his final words before the funeral reached its end. As people began to place flowers by the graves, Ochaco turned to Izuku, watching him closely. He hadn't moved the entire time.
Ochaco: Zuku... "she started, voice barely above a whisper".
He didn't respond. She took a cautious step forward.
