~ Third Person P.O.V ~

Izuku's fork scraped and clattered against the glass of his plate, a blank expression adorning his features as he picked through his dinner. His grandparents ate in silence, while his mother-- who was starting to feel a bit better, scrutinized her son intently. He had been oddly quiet all day, barely uttering a few words since he woke up; it was fairly unsettling.

"Izuku, honey, are you feeling alright?" Inko queried, seeming to snap the freckled Japanese-American out of his mini trance.

"Hm? Oh, yes . . . I'm fine," He muttered, swallowing thickly as he sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth. "Just a little tired is all."

Inko continued to study him a little while longer, the speculation and worry consuming her from the inside out. Green orbs boring into her son as she silently tried to find the source of his troubles-- as though staring at him intently would magically make the unknown well . . . known.

Having enough of his mother's, nearly crazed, looks Izuku places his fork down with a huff. "Why won't you tell me anything about my father?" The boy demanded, fixing his gaze onto her.

"Ah," Ishi exclaimed, pushing herself away from the table whilst muttering a flow of curses under her breath. "That boy was nothing but trouble!" She shouts from down the hall.

"Uhm," Akiara chuckles sheepishly, "Let me go have a word with her,"

Once the two were gone, with a very loud slam of a door, Inko cleared her throat-- she too beginning to pick through her food. "I've told you a lot of things about your father Izuku," She said quietly, wanting nothing more than to stray away from the subject matter.

"Yeah, like what, Mama? That he was American-- or, that you and he got together when you guys immigrated from Japan? And that I was born out of wedlock?" Izuku rambled, an edged typed of laughter rumbling in his throat. "I know all the things you two did . . . but I don't know him!"

Inko went tight-lipped, not a single word slipping past her mouth as her son continued to quietly yell.

"I mean-- for God's sake mother, I don't even know his name," Izuku growled, his fist colliding with the table. "I didn't inherit his last name as I should have, I have nothing from him!"

Allowing her eyes to slip close, the green-haired woman purses her lips as she carefully utters her next words. "You have his freckles," Inko hums, "And clearly his temper."

This was all true. While Inko was a soft, quiescent soul, not even daring to hurt a fly should it bother her; Izuku's father had a temper. Of course, he'd never lash out at her . . . but she's had her fair share of witnessing it. And his freckles, dusting every corner of his cheeks and nose-- prominently standing out.

Izuku stiffened at his mother's words. In all honesty, he hadn't meant to blow up the way he did; but the nagging thoughts have been plaguing him for as long as he could remember. Never once failing to make him question the things around him, his own actions, thoughts, feelings, everything. It was hard for Izuku, not knowing that other half of him-- so close within reach yet far all at once.

"I won't tell you his name," Inko added hoarsely, "Not yet at least. But what I can tell you is that he was a good man-- a good man that let other's around him influence his actions."

Catching his bottom lip in between his teeth, the freckled Japanese-American grounds his teeth against the flesh. "He left you . . . didn't he? Let me guess, he found out you were going to have me, and then he just up and left, right?" He stated more than questioned, staring off into the room.

"It's more complicated than that Izuku,"

"Pfft, bullshit," Izuku scoffed.

"Your father was a good man." She repeated sternly, giving him a pointed look.

"How am I supposed to know that if you won't tell me anything to back that up?" The teen countered, cocking one prominent emerald brow.

He had her there. Silence licked the thick atmosphere around them, filling the room with indisputable tension. Youthful, rich viridescent green orbs perforating into wise, dulled ones from across the table. One of the few things Izuku inherited from his mother was her stubbornness. They'd be here all night if it weren't for Inko's exhaustion.

"Izuku how do you think I learned English?" Inko asked softly, switching to the American language as she spoke.

Puckering his eyebrows together, Izuku cambers his head to the side-- examining the woman up and down.

"I don't know," Izuku started, switching to the language as well. "I figured you studied it when you immigrated. Why?" He questioned, leaning back in his seat with folded arms.

"Your father taught me," She reminisced, "And in return, I taught him Japanese . . . then I taught you. So don't think for a single second that you don't have anything of your father's, or that you don't know him-- he may not have taught you himself . . . but the only reason why you know the language is because of him."

Before the curly-haired boy could make a rejoinder, Inko was strolling off to her bedroom; leaving Izuku alone. To deal with his new set of thoughts that would most likely keep him roused throughout the night.

"If you really want to know your father, look in the mirror Izuku," Inko called out from in front of her bedroom door.

'Shit . . .'

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Viridescent orbs snapped open, his ears being furnished with a myriad of divergent noises. However, the two that stood out the most to Izuku, was his mother and grandmother's shrill screeching and the crack of a whip colliding with something. Briskly scuttering out of bed, the freckled male doesn't even both to put on shoes-- racing out of the deserted house barefoot.

Local residents teemed and overcrowded his front door, all of them shouting protests and pleading in Japanese. Yet, of course, the soldiers didn't bother to even try and comprehend their outcries; for they kept whipping an unknown figure-- who was tied against a wooden pole.

After a few minutes of floundering through the crowd of people, Izuku eventually reaches the front. Only to have his eyes widen with sheer terror. The noises and commotion surrounding him slowly diluted, becoming mere white noise in the background. His mouth set into a grim line as his jaw locked with tension-- heat licking his skin and limbs vibrating. Izuku's vision clouding a deep red as he hones in on the sight before him.

His grandfather getting whipped.

There's no time to think things through, to assess the situation with caution; before his mind could fully comprehend anything Izuku's feet were dashing forward. Just as the whip was about to collide against the man's back once more-- it wrapped around Izuku's wrist. Sharp, scalding twinge spreads and blooms like wildfire through his nerves.

"Touch him again and you're dead!"

That's when everything fell silent. Everyone's eyes looming on Izuku with shock and disbelief.

'Oh, no . . . What the hell did I do?'