"This... is impossible.That can't be !" Inko cried out, her voice trembling with disbelief. Panic gripped her heart, her lips quivering as her heartbeat thundered like it was trying to tear through her chest. With tear-filled eyes, she looked at Doctor Akira, desperately searching for any sign that he was lying — but his expression was firm, unwavering.
Her gaze slowly shifted to Izuku, who stood frozen like a statue, his wide eyes locked on the doctor's white coat. His gaze turned hollow, filled with a chasm of despair. Time itself seemed to stop around him.
His fingers loosened. The All Might figurine slipped from his hands and fell to the ground with a loud crash, breaking the heavy silence that blanketed the room. No one dared to speak. Not a word was uttered — not even to comfort the green-haired boy, whose entire body radiated shock.
Izuku was pulled from his daze by the relentless ticking of the wall clock — each tick echoing in his mind like a cruel reminder of time moving forward without mercy. He lowered his gaze to the floor, where the broken figurine lay. It stared up at him with lifeless eyes, and the once-inspiring smile of the Symbol of Peace now felt like mockery.
If it had been the real All Might instead of just a toy, Izuku imagined he would say:
"I'm sorry, young man, but you cannot be a hero without a Quirk. You are simply unworthy. Accept your place before it's too late to realize it."
Dark thoughts clouded Izuku's mind. He imagined All Might laughing at him for being Quirkless. But deep inside, he knew — All Might would never say that.
…Would he?
Suddenly, it felt like the figurine was crawling toward him — inch by inch — drawn by an invisible force. The distance between them shrank with each heartbeat. The voice behind the figurine's smile grew louder, harsher:
"No… Unworthy… UNWORTHY!"
Those words rang in his head like a curse. Louder and louder—until they were silenced by his mother's gentle voice. She knelt beside him and placed the figurine back into his hands.
"Sweetheart, are you okay? If you're not feeling well, we can go home," Inko said softly, noticing how limp his grip had become. Izuku stared blankly at the doctor.
Doctor Akira, noticing the weight of Izuku's gaze, finally spoke again. A pang of guilt pierced his heart. He knew he had just shattered a child's dream.
"Sometimes, the impossible really is just… impossible," the doctor said as he pressed a button, revealing an X-ray of Izuku's leg and fingers.
To an average person, it looked normal. But to a medical professional, it was a devastating confirmation.
"Your son is missing the additional joint that all people with Quirks have. He was born without it. He doesn't have a Quirk."
The words struck like a hammer to both mother and son. Their hopeful day had turned into a waking nightmare.
For Izuku, it was soul-crushing. The path to becoming a hero — the path he had dreamed of his entire life — had been slammed shut.
"I also need to warn you," the doctor continued. "Your son may face discrimination. While only 2% of the global population is Quirkless, here in Japan that number is higher — around 7%."
He bowed his head slightly. "I'm truly sorry."
With each word, Izuku's world darkened — yet somewhere, buried deep within him, a small flame still flickered. A question that had haunted him now rose to the surface.
"What about people whose Quirks awakened late?" Izuku asked, a spark of hope lighting up his emerald eyes. He managed a faint smile.
The doctor met his gaze. But what he said next extinguished that fragile hope.
"That's a good question. Yes, medicine has recorded rare cases of late Quirk development — often due to dormant genes or highly specific activation conditions. We call it a 'special Quirk awakening condition.'"
Both Inko and Izuku clung to the possibility. Even if his Quirk hadn't appeared yet, maybe it would... someday.
But the next words shattered everything.
"But not in your case."
Izuku's lips parted, but only a whisper escaped: "What…?"
Doctor Akira's expression became grim.
"Your blood tests reveal a rare genetic mutation found only in Quirkless individuals. It occurs in less than 1% of cases. In your case, it makes Quirk awakening impossible."
He opened his mouth to explain further, but Izuku's sobs cut him off. Inko reached out to comfort him, but he couldn't hear her anymore. The tears came harder now — streaming down his cheeks, dripping from his chin. His chest heaved with every breath.
Snot mixed with tears. Salt clung to his lips. His mother wiped his face, but it was no use. The pain was deeper than skin.
On the other side of the door, Nejire listened. Her father had pulled her out of the room earlier, but curiosity brought her back.
She pressed her ear against the door. She hadn't heard Izuku's voice once. Only the doctor's… and his mother's.
Then came crying.
But not the kind from a shot or scrape — no, this was real. Deep. Raw. The sobbing she recognized from the times her own mother cried uncontrollably.
And then she heard it.
"Son, don't cry. Everything will be alright… Heroes don't cry, remember?" Inko tried to soothe him.
But those words pushed him over the edge.
"MOM! WHAT KIND OF HERO AM I IF I DON'T EVEN HAVE A QUIRK?!"
Inko froze. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought them back.
Nejire couldn't.
Acting on pure instinct, she burst through the door.
She found Izuku huddled in his mother's arms. Without hesitation, she ran to him and hugged him tightly.
Inko looked up — surprised to see the little girl who had barged in earlier now holding her son with such compassion.
Nejire didn't hold back.
"Izuku! What happened?! Why are you crying? Are you hurt? Did something happen?!" she bombarded him with questions.
Inko gently let him go so Nejire could embrace him more comfortably.
"Nejire, I… I… I…" Izuku stammered, still sobbing as he buried his face in her shoulder. Nejire stroked his back gently.
"Let's get out of here," she whispered. "Staying here will only make you feel worse."
Izuku nodded. His tear-filled eyes opened, noticing how damp her dress was from his tears.
She smiled warmly at him. Then, without a second thought, she took his hand and led him out of the suffocating room.
They sat outside, by the chairs near the door, and talked — about anything and everything. Bit by bit, the darkness inside Izuku began to lift.
Back in the room, the door hadn't fully closed.
Through the gap, they overheard Inko's quiet voice.
"Doctor… is there anything we can do? Anything at all? I'm willing to do whatever it takes."
Dr. Akira shook his head solemnly.
"I wish I could say yes, but… no. There's nothing medicine can do in this situation. I'm truly sorry."
He paused, then added:
"But there's something else you should know."
Inko tensed.
"Because of your son's unique blood type and genetic structure, his blood has undergone abnormal changes. To put it simply — he can donate blood to anyone, but he can't receive it from anyone."
"What? How is that possible?"
"Due to his mutation, both Quirked and Quirkless blood is incompatible with his. If he ever needs a transfusion, it could kill him."
Inko gasped. Her son wasn't just Quirkless — he was vulnerable in ways the world couldn't see. If anyone discovered this mutation… what might they do?
"Is there anything else I need to know?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
The doctor sighed.
"No… That's all. I'm sorry. But I need to be honest. Your son will never become a hero. With his condition… he is unfit. Please, try to help him find another path in life."
But unknown to them, Izuku had heard every word.
And in that moment, his soul collapsed — like a star going cold and dark — leaving only silence inside.
To be continued...