My Hero Academia Self-Insert: Let me be part of this

Chapter 1: Is it possible... do I really want it? Eh... I don't know.

Summary: This is a My Hero Academia fanfiction story. I mostly try to keep to the actual storyline, just with the interference of my self-insert O.C. (original character). I apologize if this story gets a bit cringey and emotional. I wrote this when I was young, so it's a bit... (I tried fixing it up, but I mostly tried to keep everything the same to tell my childhood self that I could do this). Anyways, without further ado!

Disclaimer: I do not own My Hero Academia; all publishing rights, characters, and plots belong to Kohei Horikoshi except for my original character and their existence in the story. Please do not repost without my permission. I might get some parts inaccurate, so please feel free to respectfully correct me for them and give me feedback, but no cursing or slandering.

The static hum of the television screen filled up the quiet living room, its bright blue light flickering across the face of eight-year-old Mai. She sat cross-legged on the carpet, hugging a plush pillow tightly to her chest. Her big brown eyes were fixed on the screen, wide behind her little round glasses.

On the screen, a breaking news report was playing. Somewhere in a major American city, a villain attack had left an entire downtown street in ruins. Shattered glass from broken windows littered the pavement, dust clouds billowed like smoke, sirens wailed, cars lay overturned, reporters tried to make sense of what was happening, and the camera panned over all the chaos. Most kids her age would probably have their eyes glued to the screen and be cheering for the flashy, top-tier heroes trading explosive, earth-shaking blows with the villain in the background. They would be shouting at the screen, jumping on the couch, mimicking the punches and kicks, dreaming of having a Quirk just as loud and powerful so they could be powerful heroes themselves, the kind who could take down villains with one incredible attack.

But Mai’s eyes weren’t on the fight.

The camera caught footage of the edge of the evacuation zone, clearly a background. Amidst the rubble sat a young mother, clutching her sobbing child close, paralyzed by sheer terror and unsure what to do or where to go. A hero Mai didn't seem to recognize was kneeling in the dirt right beside them. He didn't have a flashy costume or some enormous, destructive Quirk. In fact, he almost seemed ordinary compared to the heroes fighting in the distance.

But he didn’t look towards the villain. He wasn't paying any attention to the battle. Instead, he wrapped a gentle, steady arm around the mother’s shoulders. He spoke to her quietly, saying something the cameras couldn't pick up. Whatever it was, it seemed to be soft, calming words that looked like they helped. Mai watched, holding her breath. His expression was calm, and there was something reassuring about the way he smiled a warm, unshakable smile at her. Even through the grainy television speakers, Mai could hear the quiet reassurance in his voice as he spoke.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’ve got you,” the hero whispered, his gentle tone cutting right through the background noise of sirens for a moment. His voice was soft, almost getting lost beneath the sound of the sirens, but Mai heard every single word.

Slowly, the crushing terror on the mother’s face began to melt away as she slowly began to calm down. She took a deep, shuddering breath, still holding her child close, and looked at the hero as if he had just handed her a lifeline in the middle of a raging storm. He hadn't defeated the bag guy or done anything particularly spectacular. He had simply stopped to help someone who was frightened. He was saving a heart. He was giving them hope. And somehow, that seemed just as important. Mai stared at the screen for a moment, her tiny hands tightening around her pillow.

That’s it... that’s what a hero is. That's... what a hero does...

She wasn't sure why, but something about that moment made her chest feel... warm. It was a feeling so profound it made her eyes sting and well up with tears. She wanted to be like that. Well... maybe.

The thought was exciting, but it also made her stomach twist with a bit of nervousness. Mai was a pretty timid girl. She got startled by loud noises, sometimes cried over things other children barely noticed, and wasn't exactly the bravest person around. Could someone like her—someone who cried when a balloon popped—ever do something like that? Could someone like her really become a hero? Did she even want to? She was so deeply interested, so entirely captivated by how that hero brought peace to a terrifying situation, but a quiet doubt lingered. Did she really want to do this? Was she even allowed to dream about it? She wasn't sure. She just knew she couldn't stop thinking about that hero and the way he'd helped the mother and her child.

“Con ơi, làm gì mà chăm chú thế? Cẩn thận hỏng mắt nghe chưa,” (My child, what are you so engrossed in? Be careful not to damage your eyes, okay?) a soft, maternal voice called out from the kitchen doorway.

Mai’s mother had just walked into the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She glanced at the television before looking down at her daughter. It didn't take long for her to notice the conflicted, deeply thought building behind Mai's glasses, along with faint tears and the thoughtful expression on her face. Mai turned around slowly, her voice small and hesitant.

“Mẹ ơi… con có thể trở thành anh hùng được không? Kiểu… con đang nghĩ về việc đó, con tò mò không biết mình có muốn làm không…” (Mom… can I be a hero? Like… I’m thinking about it, I’m curious if I want to be one…)

Her mother paused and blinked, her expression softening into a look of deep tenderness mixed with a hint of surprise and worry. She glanced at the television, then back at her daughter once more. After a moment, she walked over and sat down on the carpet beside her daughter, gently tucking a loose strand of black hair behind Mai’s ear.

“Con biết là con không có năng lực đặc biệt, đúng không, Mai?” (You know you don’t have a Quirk, right, Mai?) her mother reminded her gently, her voice careful and realistic.

Mai nodded. She already knew. Everyone knew. The doctor had already shown her and her parents the X-ray of her pinky toe and explained to her, confirming she was part of the mundane twenty percent of the world who didn't have a Quirk at all. It wasn't exactly news. She'd already learned that it was something people noticed. Sometimes people were sympathetic. Sometimes they were surprised. Sometimes they asked if her parents were sure.

“Con biết chứ, và con không bận tâm đâu, mẹ,” (I know, and I don’t mind, Mom,) Mai replied, nodding, though her eyes drifted back to the TV screen with a curious stare.

She pushed her glasses up her nose, pausing to search for the right words.

“Mẹ ơi, mình có nhất thiết phải có năng lực đặc biệt mới làm anh hùng được không, mẹ? Con thực sự rất thích cách chú ấy giúp đỡ mọi người trên tivi lúc này.” (Mom, do we really need a Quirk to be a hero? I really like how he helps people on TV right now.)

Her mother looked at the television screen, following her gaze. The gentle hero was now helping the mother and child get back on their feet, guiding them toward the evacuation team. For a little while, she didn't say anything before looking back down at Mai's contemplative face. Then, she quietly sighed, admitting the honest truth.

“Mẹ cũng không biết nữa, con gái…” (I don’t know either, my daughter...)

She wrapped her arms around Mai, drawing her into a warm embrace.

“Nhưng mẹ biết là việc đó rất nguy hiểm… và khó khăn lắm. Nếu con thực sự quyết định muốn làm việc này, con sẽ phải cố gắng và nỗ lực nhiều hơn mọi người rất, rất nhiều.” (But I do know it’s very dangerous... and very difficult. If you really decide you want to do this, you’ll have to try much, much harder than everyone else.)

Mai snuggled into her mother’s side, listening quietly. She looked back at the television, watching the hero on the screen one last time just before the broadcast cut away and moved on to another part of the report. She knew she got scared when the toaster popped, and she knew she cried when a dog barked too loudly.

But looking at that hero on the screen, maybe being a hero didn't mean beating up bad guys.

Maybe she didn’t need to be brave enough to fight villains. Maybe it could mean helping someone scared. Maybe it meant staying beside someone when they didn't know what to do. Maybe she just needed to be kind enough, or to make sure a little child had someone to hold their hand. Mai still wasn’t completely sure if she had the courage, let alone could do something like that yet, but the seed of interest had been deeply planted. She wanted to know more. She wanted to learn more. She wanted to see if a scared, Quirkless girl could become a hope giver. And for the first time, she found herself wondering what it would be like to become a hero without a Quirk.

Later that evening, after dinner, Mai scrambled over to her small drawing desk. She pulled out a fresh notebook from the drawer, grabbed her favorite pencil, and flipped to the first blank page. For a moment, she just stared blankly.

Then she began to write, her pen flying across the page. It was a story about a girl with a magic parasol. The girl could use it to shield people from danger, and whenever someone needed help, she would take them somewhere safe and fly them away, straight back into the safe arms of their families. Mai smiled a little as she added more details to the drawing. She still didn't know whether she wanted to become a hero herself. And she certainly didn't know if someone without a Quirk could do it.

But she wanted to find out. For now, that was enough. The uncertainty was still there, but her fascination with heroes who comforted others was officially the spark that would change her life. Somewhere between the television broadcast and the little story taking shape in her notebook, a dream began to form.