Musutafu was a city of gods and ghosts, where quirks painted the sky with fire and light, and those without them were less than shadows. Kaito Arakawa, four years old, sat in a quirk assessment clinic, his small hands clutching the hem of his All Might t-shirt. The waiting room buzzed with kids his age—some levitating crayons, others sprouting tiny vines from their fingertips. Their parents beamed, snapping photos, while Kaito's mother, Reiko, scrolled through her phone, her lips a tight line. His father, Daichi, a pro hero with a shockwave quirk, wasn't there. He was off saving the world, or so Reiko always said, but Kaito knew better. Heroes didn't have time for kids who might be nothing.
Kaito's amber eyes flicked to a boy across the room, who was making sparks dance between his fingers. The boy caught his stare and grinned, like he knew he was special. Kaito looked away, his stomach twisting. He wanted that—a quirk, a spark, anything to make his mother look at him the way she looked at his sister, Hana. At seven, Hana could summon flames, her quirk a blazing echo of Daichi's power. She was their pride, their future. Kaito was just… there.
"Arakawa, Kaito," a nurse called, her voice flat, like she'd said the name a hundred times already. Reiko sighed, pocketing her phone and grabbing Kaito's arm. Her grip was too tight, her nails digging into his skin. "Don't embarrass me," she muttered, leading him through a maze of white corridors.
The assessment room was a sterile box, all gleaming machines and cold air. A doctor with thinning hair and a clipboard stood beside a scanner, its lights pulsing like a heartbeat. "Step up, kid," he said, barely glancing at Kaito. "This'll be quick."
Kaito climbed onto the platform, his sneakers squeaking. The scanner hummed, beams of light sweeping over him, tickling his skin. He held his breath, imagining what his quirk might be. Maybe he'd fly, or turn invisible, or shoot lasers like the heroes on TV. He pictured Reiko smiling, Daichi ruffling his hair, Hana calling him her equal. The machine beeped, and the fantasy shattered.
"No quirk signature," the doctor said, his tone as lifeless as the room. "Standard human physiology. Quirkless." He scribbled a note, already turning to the next file. "You're done."
Reiko's face froze, her eyes narrowing as if Kaito had betrayed her. "Quirkless?" she said, her voice sharp enough to cut. "You're sure? His sister—Hana—she's got fire, strong, like her father. There's no mistake?"
The doctor shrugged, unfazed. "Quirks aren't guaranteed. About one in twenty kids these days are quirkless. He's healthy, if that helps."
"Healthy," Reiko repeated, her voice dripping with contempt. She grabbed Kaito's arm again, yanking him off the platform. "Healthy doesn't make a hero. Let's go."
Kaito stumbled after her, his chest tight, like someone had sucked the air from his lungs. Quirkless. The word echoed, heavy as a stone. He wanted to ask what it meant, to beg for another test, but Reiko's silence was a wall, and he was too small to climb it.
Outside, Musutafu glittered under the midday sun. Billboards flashed All Might's grin, his fist raised in victory. A hero flew overhead, his cape snapping in the wind. Kids ran past, one shooting bubbles from her hands, another leaving a trail of frost on the sidewalk. Kaito watched, his All Might shirt feeling like a lie. Reiko didn't speak the whole walk home, her heels clicking like a countdown.
Their apartment was a museum of Hana's greatness. Trophies lined the shelves, photos of her wielding flames hung on the walls, and a framed article declared her "Musutafu's Rising Star." Kaito's space was a corner of the living room—a thin mattress, a cardboard box of clothes, a single All Might action figure with a chipped arm. Daichi was away, as usual, and Hana was at a quirk training camp, her absence a reminder of her orbit, far above Kaito's reach.
Reiko dropped her purse on the counter and turned to Kaito, her eyes cold. "Don't tell anyone," she said. "Not your father, not Hana, not the neighbors. We'll figure this out, but until then, you keep your mouth shut."
Kaito nodded, his throat burning. "I'm sorry," he whispered, barely audible.
Reiko's gaze softened for a fraction of a second, then hardened again. "Don't be sorry. Be better." She walked away, leaving him standing in the doorway, the word quirkless carving itself into his bones.
That night, Kaito lay on his mattress, the city's hum seeping through the walls. He clutched his All Might figure, its plastic smile glinting in the dark. "I'll be a hero," he said, his voice small but fierce. "Quirk or no quirk, I'll show them all." But the toy didn't answer, and the promise felt hollow, a thread too thin to hold the weight of his dreams.
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A/N: Go check out my other MHA story!
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