Chapter Text
The Izucrew was used to being underestimated. They were the “nice kids”, the “do-gooders”, at least compared to the energetic Bakusquad, the mysterious quiet kids, or the loud students from 2-B. All the teachers wrote them off as legacies and powerful-quirked, the kids who didn’t need personal attention or counseling.
Yaoyorozu Momo was used to the spotlight. She’d grown up knowing her path in life: become a top ten hero, marry a rich man, and continue the Yaoyorozu corporation once she retired. She’d been raised by nannies with diet plans, makeup and hair stylists and pr coaches.
“You, my darling,” Momo’s mom had said when she was young, “will make the most beautiful bride one day.”
“If she keeps up her diet,” a nanny snidely pointed out, loud enough for Momo to hear, “I think she gains weight easily.”
“Of course she’ll keep up her diet,” her mom had said, “how else will she look this good?”
But what few people realized at UA was that Momo had grown up an heiress. She had connections and experience and power. She knew more about the industry than most of the other hero students and it showed.
She remembered being young and playing in her father’s office. He’d have men, often in expensive suits come over, and they’d debate the top ten heroes.
“We should tank Uwabami’s stats, her mutation… is less than ideal,” her father stated.
“Keep her around 40th, hm? Good enough for a woman like her,” the business partner agreed, laughing.
She hadn’t understood the weight of those conversations at the time, but as a teen, she was slowly starting to piece together the story. She’d heard all sorts of suspicious activity when she was small, from subtle comments like, “it was all taken care of”, to more pointed words, such as “the target has disappeared, boss.”
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Todoroki Shouto was used to the training, the rigid schedules. He’d grown up knowing what he had to do: surpass Endeavor and All Might and anyone that came after him. He had never been a child to his father, he’d always been a masterpiece, raised by the flame of Endeavor’s fire and the brief moments of peace with his siblings.
He had grown up meeting heroes; the celebrities his classmates looked up to had been adults he’d been meeting at galas or dinners since he was five. He knew more than most; the dirty secrets, underhanded deals, and, most importantly, how to trick the hero ratings.
“Most of these heroes,” Endeavor had spat, “are only here because of popularity. They don’t get things done, not like me. That’s why I’m ranked more highly.”
Back then, Shouto had nodded along to avoid his father’s anger. Now, though, he understood that while his father was a narcissist, some points made in those types of conversations were true.
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Asui Tsuyu had grown up responsible. She had to be. With parents who were busy trying to support their family, she’d raised all her siblings since they were infants. Instead of mall trips or parties with friends, she’d attended parent-teacher conferences and art shows ,and competitions. She’d changed diapers and made lunches and breakfasts.
“You can’t go to Ino’s sleepover tonight, Tsu, you need to babysit your siblings; your father and I are going out to a steakhouse that night,” her mother had said on one notable occasion.
Tsu had all the life skills needed to be independent. While most of her classmates had struggled to look after themselves in the dorms, too used to having a guardian clean up after them, she had thrived with newfound free time and friends.
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Uraraka Ochako spent her early years visiting construction sites and half-built houses with her parents. She’d seen how much work the workers had put in, yet her parents still struggled to pay bills at the end of the month. Ochako had spent her childhood eating two meals a day and thrifting on the weekends with her mom.
Ochako knew how construction worked. She knew the hard work most people put in just to make a living, and unlike her classmates, who had been surrounded by wealth and success all their lives, she knew what the real world would bring: hardship and difficulty.
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Iida Tenya had grown up knowing he would protect a legacy. A legacy of heroes with impeccable reputations and unshakable demeanors. Tenya had grown up with the strictest of morals in a household that was often too busy to entertain the whims of a young child.
He knew how much work heroing took, and the sacrifices that everyone in the industry made to get there. He knew how difficult it was to run an agency that wasn’t corrupt, that truly looked out for the people. And in the end, he understood that all the top heroes weren’t the same in private as they were in public.
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Midoriya Izuku experienced discrimination and abuse all his life. He was an observant child, and so he noticed when his neighbor had bruises on her wrists and throat. He noticed how she’d acted when he came up to her as a curious six-year-old, asking, “Why is your skin purple, ma’am? Is that your quirk?” and her startled face and scared demeanor. He had also noticed the signs (which he now knew symbolised gangs) that were scattered on every business window and marketplace stall, and how those that went without often closed in a moments time. And, most of all, he’d noticed the looks that he’d gotten as a quirkless kid out alone. Looks of disgust and loathing, pity and disappointment, and how he’d get charged extra or was refused service outright. He still remembered his days at school, when students would taunt him and call him names and burn or bruise or scratch him, and the teachers would look on with a smile on their faces or a detention slip with his name written on the front.
Midoriya Izuku had experienced some of the worst parts of people, ever since he was small, and just like all his friends, no hero had come to save them. His classmates, even those discriminated against, with trauma and anger left over, had found teachers. Jirou, after being made fun of for her quirk, had found a mentor in Present Mic, while Shinso, bullied for his villainous quirk, had found companionship in Eraserhead. Izuku and his friends? They’d found each other; Kids that had tough lives, kids that lived in the spotlight, yet were overlooked and ignored. A strange juxtaposition that those who were most powerful, most known, were hiding the most hurt.
UA had done a great job addressing quirkism; he remembered the many assemblies they’d had about it.
“Quirks,” the speaker said, “are something you can’t choose. A child doesn’t choose to have a so-called villainous or dangerous quirk, so no one, big or small, with influence or otherwise, should discriminate based on that factor.”
“Quirkism,” Nedzu said sternly, “will result in immediate expulsion.” And it did. Quirkist comments were met with swift and harsh punishment, but Mineta, who made gross comments about girls and women in the industry? Still part of 2-A. Monoma, who spat on and disregarded the very real mental health issue, such as PTSD, that 2-A had after all the villain attacks they experienced? Never given detention. Kendo, who used physical violence to keep her classmates in line? Still the class rep and leader of 2-B.
UA understood quirkism; many of their teachers had experienced it, from Midnight & Thirteen being over-sexualised due to their powers or Eraserhead and Vlad King being called monsters, but other problems still common in society were ignored.
“But how,” Ochako asked, at one of the Izucrew’s planning sessions, “do we bring light to the issues in the industry?”
“We have connections,” Izuku replied, as he sat on the floor writing in his notebook, “and we should use them. All we need is a dramatic moment to bring these problems to light.”
“I snooped around,” Momo said, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “and I think I found something.”
“Hm?” Shouto said from his position on the couch, suddenly interested. “Have we finally corrupted Momo? I’ve been trying for years, yet it doesn’t seem to work.”
“Shut up, you,” she said with a laugh. “As I was saying, I overheard something my parents were talking about: every year, second-year hero classes have an exercise: heroes vs. villains.”
“Villains, hm? Sounds like a good plan to me.”