Dad and I were walking back home after our chat. Finding out his hero identity and the secret of his power was shocking, to say the least. It was strange, hearing that he could have given his power to Izuku this whole time, I mean. To think, all this time, Izuku could have had a quirk. His dream could have been obtainable.

What could have been...

Izuku would have been an amazing hero, this much I know to be true; however, I wouldn't want him to get hurt. If he's too weak to stand up to my friends and I, I couldn't even imagine how he'd survive in an actual fight against a real villain. When he finally gives up on his dangerous dream, I will be even stronger.

I will be able to protect him even more.

Opening the door, a loud crashing noise invaded my ears. I turned my head towards the kitchen, searching for my mother, and found her holding a cup as she faced her head towards the ceiling. Her frightened and worried expression gave me a sinking feeling as my father and I glanced towards each other.

"What's going on, mom?" I asked her with caution lacing my voice.

Finally acknowledging our presence, she turned to face my father and I before replying hastily.

"I'm not sure, sweetie. Izuku just ran into the house, crying, and shut himself in his room." She spoke with weary—obviously concerned for her only son's well-being, as any mother would be in her situation.

Glancing between my two nervous parents, a scream erupted from upstairs—echoing throughout the house and bouncing in my ears. It sounded as if someone were being stabbed to death. We all dashed towards Izuku's room—realizing that was where the cry had originated from—and continued to hear choked sobs and violent crashes leaking out from inside his room.

Dad was about to open the door when it shot open, revealing a red, and puffy-eyed Izuku. He looked so defeated. I couldn't help but wonder why he was so distraught.

I glanced inside his room, as did my parents, to find it lying in ruins. His All might posters were torn, his figurines were broken, his furniture was thrown around as if it were nothing. Everything was misplaced into chaos.

He treaded on past us all with his school bag slung over his shoulders; meanwhile, I stood, staring, into the room that seemed foreign, or out of place in the house that seemed so familiar.

Had it really been that long since I'd seen his room?

Processing the odd situation we had been placed in, the three of us followed Izuku throughout the house—closely behind him, but maintaining a distance between us and him, nevertheless. He looked so sad and vulnerable. I'd seen him cry a lot in the past—given our history—but this was different. There was something eerie, odd, or unnerving about the way he was staring at nothing.

Dad asked Izuku where he was going, but he didn't even look back at him—seeming as if dad's voice had never even met his ears in the first place. He didn't look at any of us. He looked as if he had something on his mind or something he wanted to say, but in the end, he tied his shoelaces and left.

He left.

I didn't know it at the time, but now, I wish I'd stopped him when I had the chance.

It didn't make any sense. Nothing did. He wouldn't have reacted that way solely because I didn't tell him what he wanted to hear earlier this afternoon. If that were the case, then this was an overreaction—trashing his room, the crying, the tantrum. Izuku didn't seem that rash, not at least from what I knew of him.

Thinking back to everything that had occurred today, one thought came to mind: the bruises.

Littering his body—arms, face, etc.—were bruises. Some larger, some small. It didn't add up though. Bruises like those wouldn't have formed so quickly under the circumstances we were in. The villain barely had enough time to knock him out, let alone cause such severe damage to his form. Besides, in the five minutes that he was unconscious, the most that would have formed would have been red marks, not bruises that looked almost as if they'd been close to healing in some cases.

The variety of bruising along his body was inconsistent, with coloration that suggested some had been dealt within a time frame of at least a week, while others looked fresh; however, that didn't make much sense either, considering I would have known if he had such severe bruising smack-dab in the middle of his face.

Right?

I hadn't had much time to think about this earlier—considering I was close to de-transforming—but now, giving it proper thought, there was definitely something I was missing. Whether he was in multiple villain altercations prior to this one, or something else, I didn't know something.

Before I had the chance to open my mouth and ask Izumi whether or not she had any information linked to the bruising or his outburst, Inko's voice broke our silence.

"What just happened?"

"I don't know, mom..."

"Maybe he just needs some air...?" Inko replied.

"Izumi...?" I asked stoically, pausing to both await her full attention, and to sort my thoughts. "On Izuku's face, he had a large bruise—as well as gashes and bruises on his forearms, from what I could see."

As my words escaped past my lips and traveled throughout the room, I noticed Izumi's figure visibly tense. Shifting her weight slightly between both of her feet, I remarked her back straighten as she avoided eye contact. This indicated that she had been withdrawing information from me, but my only question was what.

Dodging the question, she quickly smiled and told us she was hungry, so I decided to put the idea that Izumi had information about Izuku's outburst out of my mind for the time being. In almost complete silence, we ate our dinner, only speaking about Izuku when we spoke at all.

It was odd. Speaking about Izuku felt foreign, but I wasn't quite sure why. Being my son, it shouldn't have felt so odd hearing his name leave my lips, so why did it?

We had decided that once Izuku returned home, Inko and I would question him about the bruising that traveled along his form. We wanted—needed—to know how it occurred when it occurred, and if there were any more.

I thought malicious thoughts during my late-night excursion—consisting solely of hurting everyone I passed. The rage I felt; the anger I felt; the evil I felt; it was consuming me, and I didn't know how to stop it.

I didn't know where I was going, but my whole life was playing through my brain while I walked. I remembered the words my 'friends' had said today. I remember the words my Idol had said today. I remembered the feeling of being alone, the feeling of being tossed out because I wasn't good enough, the feeling of being made out to be some useless, worthless, Deku.

Walking through street after street, I released a shaky breath—realizing I had arrived at my destination:

The school roof.

Taking out my recently destroyed notebook and pencil, I began to write; however, I didn't know who to write to, or what to write. I eventually wrote down everything I was feeling and cried. I wrote about my life. I wrote down what led me to this point; my final straw; why I found myself here, tonight, on this rooftop; everything.

I screamed at the top of my lungs. I needed to let it all out. Then, I removed my shoes, placed the note underneath them, and walked to the edge.

Carefully climbing over the fence, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

This was it.

This was where I would spend my last moment.

This was where my life had led me.

I opened my eyes, wanting to see what destiny had left me to gaze at in my final moments, and felt my breath hitch.

It was beautiful.

The sun-kissed glow, which sat upon the city, leaving the sky a beautiful orange hue. The pink and golden-dipped clouds, seeming more like kid's cotton candy than water vapor. The tall, modern buildings that made up Musutafu, sat in the distance, bringing an elegant, modern contrast to the sunset. Everything. It was breathtaking.

I felt my eyes glow as my lips curved into a smile. One different than my usual smile: a genuine smile.

This was life, at its finest, unlike the pain I had been sent through. This was the heavenly, beautiful side of life. This was the side of life people woke up to experience. This was the side of life that made it worth living.

Rain began to fall—wetting my face—as I gazed upon the city, watching the sky grow dark and cold. It seemed fitting. The day I was to die, even the sky hated me. The city was so peaceful for once. The populated city of Musutafu, Japan, was for once, silent. Taking in one last deep breath, and second-guessing myself, I jumped.

I felt my body falling, as tears streamed down my face. I didn't want to die, but I'd rather kill myself than live in a world like this. A society corrupted by false heroes and ideals. I couldn't do this anymore.

I wouldn't.

I felt the windburn against my skin as I plummeted for what seemed like ages, but was, in reality, probably only an instant.

I didn't want this.

I didn't want any of this.

The ground grew closer and closer with every waking second until finally, I only saw one thing.

Darkness.

Time of death: 7:29 pm

We waited and waited. Minutes went by, hours went by, time flew by and soon we realized: Izuku still wasn't back. Six hours after he took his leave, he was still absent, which was unlike him, or so I had assumed. As I thought more and more, I vaguely remembered ever eating dinner with him, but I definitely remembered his shoes by the doorway every night, so he obviously was home all this time.

I felt my head pound as I tried to rid my mindscape of pointless questions because as of this moment, all I should have been thinking of was finding my son.

It had been just under an hour that my wife and I had been searching for our son, but he had originally left at six in the afternoon. When searching for a child—or anyone, for that matter—the first twenty-four hours are the most important. It would have been easier to find out where he had gone, or what had happened to him if we had gone out searching earlier, but there was no time to think of what could have been. All that mattered was the present, and what I do in this moment.

I had so many questions, ranging from where he could have been, to what could have happened to him. He was a quirkless, defenseless, young fourteen-year-old boy, out in the dark of night all alone. Anything could have happened to him.

He could have been kidnapped, he could have been attacked, he could have gotten lost, he could have even been killed.

I violently shook my head, desperately trying to rid my mind of my rash, negative thinking. I doubt that he had run away, and if he had, I could hardly explain why. If anything were wrong, he would have told me—us.

We were his parents.

We had always been there for him.

I was jumping from rooftop to rooftop when I heard a woman screaming. Of course, as a hero, I am obligated to help people in need, so I jumped down. I was surprised to find the situation already being taken care of by one of my more diligent colleagues, Eraser Head. He sent the girl on her way and then noticed me standing off to the side—seeming out of place in his realm of darkness.

"Surprising. You barely ever patrol at night."

I suppose he's right. I don't typically go out when there are fewer people to save. I have to conserve my three hours a day to make the most use of them.

Not wasting any time, I asked Eraser Head what I needed to know.

"Eraser Head, have you seen a boy with green hair and freckles wearing a black Aldera Junior High Uniform run past here? He had a yellow backpack on." I listed frantically, trying to list as many details as I could remember, while also maintaining a sense of urgency.

Eraser Head seemed slightly taken aback by my question.

"Is this a missing-persons case? Odd. I haven't heard of the All Might, helping in many missing-persons cases. What's the deal?"

"He's my son."

"He's my son."

I felt my eyes widen from his words. I hadn't heard of All Might having any son.

He's just full of mysteries, isn't he?

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"He left the house around 6 pm with a yellow backpack on."

Countless thoughts raced throughout my mind as I gathered as much information as I could from listening to All Might ramble. Piecing together what I could, I figured that All Might had a secret son, who had run away earlier this evening—being that he was wearing a backpack and all.

"A runaway?" I asked.

"What?!" He replied in a defensive tone, causing me to raise an eyebrow. "No of course not! Why would he run away? We're a loving and accepting family, of course, he wouldn't have run away, right?" He finished in a questionable manner, acting as if he himself was looking for confirmation of his previous statements.

I was intrigued by his tone of voice. The way he described his son almost seemed as if he didn't remember what he had looked like in the first place, and the way he seemed to question his familial circumstances was interesting.

"I haven't seen him, but I'll keep an eye out for your son. I am already on patrol, so it would only make sense to help find a missing child."

I quickly left, in search of this child. From what I could tell, it sounded like a runaway case. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, I searched desperately, while wondering what could have made All Might's son run away.

It could serve to be an enlightening topic, but at the moment, all I could really wonder was where this problem child could be.

I woke up to complete silence. Scratch that, I never fell asleep.

Izuku never came home.

My parents never came home.

I got up and went straight to the bathroom. Stripping down, I felt the warm water cascade down my back, effectively relaxing my muscles and relaxing my mind. I couldn't help but think that this is all my fault. I felt like a piece of crap.

I'm a terrible sister.

All this time, I thought I was protecting him, doing him a favor, but I've just been making his life harder. I haven't been helping him at all. It took this whole mess, just to realize that. I decided that when he finally returned, I would give him the biggest hug ever, and I'd apologize. For everything.

A smile quickly spread across my face as I imagined how he'd look, hearing an apology. I imagined his face, his smile, his words, everything. It seemed almost like a dream, finally fixing our relationship as brother and sister. Finally fixing us.

Turning off the tap, I stepped out of the shower and clothed myself, thinking only of Izuku.

Where would one even begin?

After everything I've done...

Would he even forgive me...?

Probably not...

I grabbed my bag and breakfast, then I started walking. Kacchan was waiting for me outside my house, as per usual.

"Where's that shitty Deku? Don't tell me he slept in for once... Ha! What a loser!" He spoke harshly.

I shifted my gaze to the concrete. It bothered me, hearing his cruel tone of voice, accompanied by his insensitive words—given the circumstances. It was odd, now being outside looking in, and feeling my eyes as they were forcefully held open to look at the mess I've created.

"Hey, what's up with you, Izumi?" Kacchan spoke, obviously taking note of my odd expression.

"It's Izuku..."

As my brother's name left my mouth, I watched as Kacchan's face twisted in bitterness.

"What did that loser do this time?! I swear to God, I will fuck that nerd up when I see him at school!" He spat through clenched teeth.

I didn't know what to say, so I held my tongue. In this situation, what could I have said?

Yea, that might not be possible, he left home last night and didn't come back.

I felt tears brimming my eyes as Kacchan continued ranting of all the things he would do to Izuku once he saw him at school if he were even there—but what if he weren't.

What if he never showed up?

What then?

Upon our arrival, sirens were wailing. Ambulances and police cars were surrounding our school, and crowds of students stood, circling some sort of thing. Everyone was trying to figure out what was going on, but I didn't know if anyone actually knew.

Kacchan and I, being us, pushed people out of the way to find out what was going on. Kacchan bumped into a hardback, and I bumped into his.

It was Shoto.

Spinning to meet us, Shoto grabbed both our arms. He looked so upset, so distraught, so scared.

I immediately felt a tinge of pain strike my abdomen as I took in Shoto's expression. His face was twisted in either fear, or sadness, or both. His eyes were streaming clear rivers of wet. His skin seemed so pale—which worried me.

"Don't look. Trust me! I swear, it's for your own good!"

Of course, Kacchan and I didn't care about what Shoto had said. We pushed him out of our views and what we saw, was blood.

Blood, flesh, and a student in the middle of it all.

My brother.

I felt myself choke back a soft sob, followed by more. What was, at first, quiet, became loud. What seemed almost nonexistent, became clear and defined.

I did this.

This was my fault.

All I could think of was how if I had done something differently, Izuku would be here—standing beside me looking in, rather than be lying in front of me, looking out. The only words I could manage to let escape my lips were the words I wish I never had to speak.

"He's Gone..."