You remember what led you here.

Hello!

From this point forward, the story is written in 3rd Person! Be sure to leave a name if you don’t want it to just be a generic John Doe. The character is primarily male, but let me know if you guys want me to try and write different perspectives. I certainly don’t mind hashing out stories a bit differently for each gender. I’ll also try and see if I can get images soon.

There’s a couple universe changes to this plot, such as UA being a university rather than a school.

I’d change it if I could.

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If only *just* being Quirkless was Doe‘s only problem.

Life always seemed to find a way to leave him constantly wondering what new rock, stone or brick would be tossed in his direction. Constant uncertainty. A drifting ocean where each wave constantly threatened to push you around, but never violent enough to knock his raft over. It was not exactly stagnant, but he never seemed to go anywhere.

It did not seem all bad. After all, being a scrappy urchin without parents, it kind of comes with the territory. Doe was just lucky enough that the people of the small, business-minded section of Tokyo they grew up in were willing to at least lend a helping hand.

His foster father, or rather the one who bothered spending the most time with them, Jiro, often liked to joke that he found him in a basket. Like a peach. And like a fresh harvest in spring, Doe’s care was just passed around from person to person in the industry district. Jiro didn’t have time for kids. It was not inherently callous, life just got in the way of child rearing. For everyone. And unfortunately, or fortunately for him, it made learning how to sustain himself quickly rather important. Doe had to jog before he crawled. No home cooked meals or daycares. Just being a little transporter.

“Bring that Philip’s head screw-driver.”

“Don’t drop that keyboard, John, it’s expensive.”

“Hold the damn flashlight in place while I work on this!”

Doe was the Korusantto Industry district’s little helper. Locals would often see a ten year old running errands on a bike, often with car parts in tow, or working on some kind of machine or computer out in the street. It was hard work, but all the people he knew worked so many different kinds of technology, it was inevitable that it gave him a strong familiarity with all of them.

Old man Bunta and his son Takumi were old race car drivers and mechanics. Doe had watched the old man take an engine apart so many times they could do it in their sleep. Kirigaya-san next door was a computer programmer. He’d often let Doe try out new games he made or install old programs on their phone. Eventually he’d stop testing them on them, and start teaching, especially when he gave Doe one of his old laptops, and gutted computer parts to mess with. And Jiro, well, he apparently used to work for the government, and do hero work. Not as a hero himself, but building tools. He didn’t let John see his more secret projects, but sometimes after a couple too many bottles, he’d often forget that his keys were within grasping distance for a middle school student. It helped that all of them called on John to assist them, despite their expertise.

In a way, they all were his family. On his 12th birthday they even managed to pool together funds for his education. So whenever they needed help, he made sure to lend it. And the people of the industry sector always needed an extra hand.

Granted, John didn’t have much say in the matter. Living wasn’t free, and nobody asked to take care of a kid. They gave them food and a place to stay, and sometimes that was enough. He was technically a vagrant, child or not, and to top it off, his lack of a competent power made more dangerous jobs impossible. But he was scrappy and creative. He picked up things quickly, and didn’t bother spending time asking questions or mulling it over when it came to why they were doing what you they were doing. Only the how.

It was *not* always pleasant. But it made John tolerant of the worst kind of busy work. Stalwart. Prepared for the worst of the bad attitudes people could throw at him. Able to hold the flashlight still over the engine while being yelled at to keep it still. Prejudice against the powerless for him was common, but he could handle it.

The kids could tease him for his lack of a power. Shove him into lockers with their absurd Quirk-enhanced strength when he got snippy with them. Freeze his lunch solid when he was eating. Teachers could move him to other rooms thinking he didn’t know they were having thought exercises about being heroes, trying to ‘spare his feelings’. At least bruises and dirt marks could be chalked away as him messing with the cars and technology he does at home. Nobody really questioned it, he was rather fragile.

It was fine. He was fine.

He’s dealt with worse. Angry customers, short-tempered mechanics. At least he was helping his community. It was enough.

Wasn’t it?

…No.

He needed to do more, build better. He needed to prove them all wrong. Give the people who needed it hope that inborn power was not enough. That true ingenuity would carry them far. And they could do it as a Hero. The people whose reach stretched all across Japan. If he managed to make it as a Quirkless hero, that would shut them up. And give people without power something to work for; someone in the sky just like them to idolize, and push them to be better.

And Doe‘s own inventions were where that goal really manifested. All the things they learned as a burgeoning engineer could shine.

Support Equipment. Not for heroes, but workers. He wanted to start small, and work his way up. Cleaner, more efficient pulley systems for the old machines they used to lift vehicles, personalized computer programs that let him build small helpful software covering basic tasks. Tells the time, builds readable schedules, organizes folders, controlled entire rooms on networks with the tap of a command.

The mechanics noticed and started giving him more to mess with. Kirigaya next door gave him the parts for a portable personalized computer, of which he built from money he earned working under him building websites and helping make video games. Bunta let him take apart small broken down vehicles in his shipping business. Whenever a car stopped working, instead of crushing it, Bunta would hold out his hand to the workers there, and gesture to the workshop.

“Give it to the kid. He’ll make something out of it.”

And he would. Engines pulled apart for their parts, making smaller and smaller engines. Sure they were far too small to power a full-sized vehicle, but with the right focus, he could have it power things like a generator. His ‘TV’ for instance. Or rather, the computer he built that hawked television shows off streaming platforms. It was loud, expensive, and very illegal. But it was progress. And progress was loud.

And Doe made every invention was documented meticulously and carefully, all these videos saved online. At first there was little traction. Worried comments from people wondering why such a young boy was messing with power tools and highly volatile electricity. Sneering people attempting to discourage a kid from doing just about anything, even career engineers seemingly impressed by how much he managed to know without an official mechanical license or degree.

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fullthrottle328: this is inane, that kid should be in school

xXxtheMann: Nahhh dude this rocks he should build a gun or something

fr3gly: Music name?

bagingy23: This is actually kind of impressive. I don’t think any of my mechanical major students have even built as much as this kid has.

xXxtheMann: dude I turn away and them come back and this kid’s built a taser out of a microwave or some kind of hand chainsaw like what www

fullthrottle328: ill admit it is impressive. Wonder what hell build next

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Views came in the hundreds and later the thousands. A small audience of people watching him simply make things. He needed it seen. He needed U.A. to see it. There was no way he could afford to go in his own. He didn’t have the power they usually sought. But he had the mind. And with how big his videos started to get, it’d be impossible for them to ignore him.

It all came to a head when John managed to get his hands on an old forklift and some old Support Hero technology. A 16th birthday present from Jiro, who was impressed with his progress. It was months of progress, but he had managed to make something special this time. The engines he made formed the base of the chassis, connected to two large lifting arms. It was an exoskeleton. A large mechanical exoskeleton worn on the body. On camera he even managed to lift a car with the arms, and flip it over.

And it was, ironically enough, the tipping point.

It was a Friday evening, a week after his eighteenth birthday, John when it happened.

The sky was overcast, but not raining, rolling clouds over that small industrial Shizuoka he’d come to call home. But it was strange. Every time he offered help to the people that raised him, they seemed to turn him away. They always needed a hand on *something*, but inexplicably they all pointed him back in the direction of his shop. Did something happen? Did he mess up? Even Jiro, who often needed him to make deliveries for his work just pointed towards his workshop.

“It’s fine kid, no deliveries today. Just go make something.”

No deliveries? There were always deliveries. John ran his hands through his bangs as he approached the truck in the back.

It was ann old trailer truck on the side of Jiro’s shop was where he made his home and workshop. American, so it was big enough to be one. A quick pull of the door swung it’s back doors open and the shop greeted him with its characteristic dark. All he could hear was the fans he kept on to make the metal cool.

Like a held breath, he walked the makeshift garage, and pulled out his hand-made tablet. The Small Handheld Interfacing Tool. It was in fact, the S.H.I.T.

A small thing, a mechanical touch-screen he’d slapped together from old tablets and computer parts, and quite the useful little cyberdeck. Weighty, but better than any handheld notepad, and able to control just about all the functions of his little shop. His thumb pressed against the tactile side key, illuminating his face with the blue screen and filling the mostly quiet air with the Windows XP start up.

It was a classic, he had to include it.

A couple of taps on the screen and a swipe caused small parts in the garage to flicker on. Loud servos pulled the doors shut on the truck’s back, and the lights flickered on, illuminating the garage with a dull white light.

And there it sat, right in front of his tool cabinet. A single letter, with that unmistakeable logo sealed onto its slip.

There was a sticky note next to it, written in sharpie. The air smelled faintly of cigarettes and ginger beer. He could read it from here.

“Don’t mess this up, kid.”

John had to stop himself from dropping his tablet as he rushed over and grabbed the envelope. And on its surface was the unmistakeable logo of U.A., embossed into the paper.