WARNINGS!

*This fic contains dark themes; mentions/implications of human trafficking, rape, forced labor, explicit language and mature content. The latter of which is light and will not occur until later in the story.

*Semi-AU; for the sake of this fic, we will assume that the series end after Chapter 216 of the manga. From then on, the plot will divulge for this fic.

*OC-centered; the main reason why this is Semi-AU is that the plot revolves around my OC's story. I don't want to wait for the manga to finish in order to sneak in my OC because that will take time and thus will leave this fanfic uncompleted.

*Various OCs; aside from my main OC, expect a lot more as minor/supporting/side characters. Or in Kacchan's terms, extras.

*Eventual Todoroki Shouto x OC.

*In case of future confusion, the format for this fic begins with a flashback before the present. It's constant throughout the story.

*Slowburn.

*This is my first BNHA fic. Please bear with me and just point out any mistakes if you see one. I didn't exactly memorize the whole plot of it.

*Lastly, I do not own BNHA. All rights go to Horikoshi Kohei.

"That thing on your cheek—it's a writing."

The man held a thought. A curious, nagging thought that was fueled by sublime interest and exquisite excitement. He barely could contain his smile in the midst of the ongoing conversation; loud and panicked from one party, then skeptic from the other. A continuous banter that all twirled in a useless circle.

He could just giggle from it all!

Naïve, naïve parents. . .

"That's impossible!"

"Impossible? No. Rare? Yes."

"Well, in this case, this is an extremely rare case. Rarest of the rare! I've heard of others acquiring their quirk even as infants but, to be able to master her quirk as young as two-years-old? That's ridiculous."

"But sir, please! My husband and I are telling the truth. It's not that she's already mastered her quirk, per say, it's just that she's getting too powerful for both of us! She—" a hitched breath. "—we're worried. I mean, we're very proud of our daughter at first but, at the rate she's progressing, we don't know how to help her control her quirk. It was tolerable in the beginning, but she's getting stronger and stronger and things are getting out of hand—"

"Calm down, Mrs. Shibata," interrupted a calm voice, deep and baritone coming from a well-mannered man with hair as dark as plum. He, along with one of his two colleagues, sat across the fretted couple. Skeptic, yet struggling to maintain an open mind.

The man withheld a sigh. "So let me get this straight, your daughter manifested her quirk at the age of two?"

The mother nodded.

"And you said that she has been able to manipulate her quirk all to her liking with exceptional ease from the very beginning. A prodigy. But, ever since then, she's been getting stronger to the point of property damage?"

Again, the mother nodded.

One of the man's colleagues, the one beside him—a snobbish blonde who seemed to be the most disbelieving—curled his lips. "How so? She may have gotten her quirk at a very young age but, I hardly deem her quirk noteworthy. She just flies."

"I beg to differ, Kenji."

Four pairs of eyes swiveled towards the last man, the one who could barely glue his lips together to stifle his grin. He stood by the glass door offering a view to the vast yard at the back of the house, where he eyed a four-year-old girl swooping down from fifteen feet high in the air, whooping in joy when she tilted just in time to avoid crashing down onto the hard ground.

"See that, Kenji?" The man continued; the glee evident in his voice. "Watch the grass and the leaves in the trees when she moves."

Kenji stood angrily from his perch on the couch, stalking towards the giggly man near the veranda with a twisted scowl. The plum-haired man followed behind, leaving the parents exchanging confused glances by the couch.

They had foolishly assumed that the wind had been nothing but an effect on their daughter's flight.

Scoffing in disdain, Kenji narrowed his eyes at the girl. "So? I don't see anything special."

"No. Kuronoe's right. Look."

"Huh? What are you talking about, Hibiki?"

Gesturing towards the girl, the plum-haired man, Hibiki, followed her movements with a narrowed gaze; thick lips twitching when she performed another swoop and a twirl in the air—dashing into a corkscrew and various flips and all the while beaming that radiant grin of hers. No wonder the parents were getting antsy about the child's wellbeing. Her flying was wide, wild and spontaneous; a threat to her safety and others.

But Kuronoe has a point.

When the girl twisted her torso, Hibiki observed how her small fingers curled somewhat loosely, as if she was subconsciously pulling onto something—something no one could see. And due to her bare feet, he could see just how her toes hooked too, arching just enough to be rather unnoticeable by most.

After those subtle movements, Hibiki saw the blades of the grass flick to the right. A sudden and abrupt turn after fluttering to the left just a second ago. The leaves on the lone tree in the yard were the same, furiously rustling to the right.

Then no sooner after that did the girl flew in the same direction as the wind indicated, her giggles barely audible due to the glass door, but her joy was obvious even as her body toppled in mid-air. In fact, Hibiki saw the very implications of—as what the parents had suggested—a true prodigy. A rare feat seeing as quirks develop over time rather than being an instant power. The way the child moves, though clumsy in appearance, was fluid and quick as a flick.

As if she knew just how to adjust.

Hibiki smirked. "She doesn't fly. She commands the wind, and the wind carries her."

"Bingo~!" Kuronoe finally let loose of the giggle itching his throat and he grinned, wide and hungry as he followed the girl having fun around the yard with his eyes. An elemental quirk was quite common, though for some odd reason, those who wield any wind-type quirk are few in comparison to others.

One who has all the wind to her arsenal is quite a feat. And showing up now? In this era?

He refused to believe this was all just a coincidence.

"Mr. Shibata," Kuronoe suddenly piped, his voice jovial and jumpy as he pivoted on his heel to face the parents. Naïve, naïve parents who didn't know their daughter's capabilities and potential. "Didn't you mention that your daughter talks to herself, hm? An imaginary friend, you say, yes?"

Startled by his eagerness, the father shrunk in himself. Unsure and uncertain as a crazed shadow fell on the man's face. Very different from Kenji's skeptic frown and Hibiki's neutral facade.

This man seemed unhinged. Almost.

The father gulped. "Y-Yes. We hear her talking to someone called 'King'. She mostly does that during the night. . ."

"'King', you say." Kuronoe hummed stroking his square jaw with a gloved hand. He glanced back one more time at the girl in the yard. An innocent four-year-old.

That was all the proof he needs.

King.

He couldn't believe that the subject of his research was real—real and flying carelessly with the wind, unaware of her humongous gift and the destiny laid out beneath her feet. His life's work was coming into play, and he so badly wanted to embrace these foolish parents for calling the Quirk Management Department just to seek help for their 'unstable' daughter. He should thank Hibiki too. Years working in that department—studying and helping other individuals seek ways to cope or control their quirk too powerful for their body to carry. . .

Insignificant compared to the gem in this very yard.

"I accept!" Kuronoe clapped his hands, surprising everyone in the room with a flinch. Grinning, he bowed his head a little and removed the hat on his head to hover over his chest in a mock salute. "Your daughter will be my patient!"

"Kuronoe—"

"No need, Hibiki-san! I will make sure that this girl will be subdued in no time! She may be the youngest patient we will have so far, but that does not mean this is impossible."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hibiki glanced between the parents, the girl, and Kuronoe. His very peculiar subordinate. Still, Hibiki knows his work is thorough—and there is no better way to ease some parents of a four-year-old than to be thorough.

"Very well."

Soon, the papers needed were signed and a schedule was formed for the child's so-called 'control therapy'. The parents agreed with the terms of payment that was discussed right after, yet all blurred in one frivolous cause.

Kuronoe could still feel the excitement along his skin as they left.

He got her.

•

•

•

HER head hurts; a continuous drumming and pulsing around her temples that forced her to wake up from her groggy state. Her limbs ached; every fissure in her bones throbbing and screaming even as she cracked her eyes open; a strenuous effort that took seconds just to allow a sliver of her vision behind dark lashes.

She groaned, blinking through the haze as she tried to process her bearings.

Her neck twanged with pain. 'Where. . .?'

The first sight she saw as soon as she opened her eyes was the sky—a bright and bleeding red smudged with buttery yellow and soft pink. The wind was on her face, slow and soft. Barely there at all and yet, for some reason, she felt it tingle all over her skin like a dog breathing on her face.

Despite her sluggish state, she craned her neck to the side when a shuffle to her right caught her ears.

The second thing she noticed after cracking open her vision were the round eyes peering down at her behind tangles of burnt, orange hair.

"What are you doing lying by the dumpster?"

She blinked. ". . . Dumpster?"

The mop of that ridiculous shade of hair bobbed up and down. "Yeah, you're lying down next to it and all. You're gonna smell."

Licking her dry lips, she tried forcing her eyes to open wider, lose the blurry spots and smudges around the corner of her vision. Somehow, in her effort, the pain seemed to subside the more she tried to focus on the round face above her own, and she managed to—finally—concentrate on the features of the stranger's face aside from the unruly locks of such intense shade.

It was a boy.

His burnt orange hair was long and shaggy; falling just past beneath thick eyebrows with the strands stubbornly tangling with each other. His eyes, she noted, were a soft grey; childishly round atop equally round cheeks. His skin was tan and yet. . . deflated, for the lack of better word. There was a scratch on his chin, a nick on his left eyebrow, a crinkle to his nose, and his gaze looked older than his age should allow.

Her lips parted. "W-Who. . .?"

Cocking his head, the boy pointed to himself. "Me? I should be asking you that. I'm Haru." Frowning, he reached one finger and poked her cheek, lingering just below her right eye. "What's that on your cheek?"

'What?' She stared at the boy in confusion, shakily pushing herself up to sit. "I-Is there something in my face?"

"Yeah," the boy nodded bluntly. "I don't know how to read it. What does it say?"

"Huh?"

"That thing on your cheek—it's a writing."

". . . Oh."

"You didn't know?"

Her mouth dried. She didn't know how to answer that. With a frown, she tried trekking through her memories, looking for something that would match the boy's words. Something to match whatever it is that was supposedly etched on her cheek.

But to her dismay, she came up blank.

There was nothing.

Nothing she could think of.

"What's your name?" The boy asked, seeing as the girl doesn't seem to know the answer to his question.

She parted her lips to answer, only to hesitate.

Still nothing.

Her shoulders shook in tremors, a wide and heavy realization beginning to weigh down on her shoulders like bricks upon bricks as she fruitlessly tried over and over again. But there was nothing—not a single thing.

Not even an image to indicate how she got here.

The air grew cold.

No name. No face. No age. No life. No home.

Nothing.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, a different kind of pain edged its way into her heart. Hollow and hungry—the wrenching feeling of something missing.

Incomplete.

She tried to blink away the tears pushing past her eyes and focused on the boy instead. He was asking her a question. A name. He asked for a name. . . Then she'll just have to give him one.

But what?

Glancing up, she saw the sky again. The red fading slowly into a shy indigo as the seconds pass. There was a cloud drifting by now too, big and fluffy. A bulbous shape conquering above.

During her slight dismay, she felt the wind lick her cold cheeks.

'The wind. . .'

"K-Kaze," she dropped her gaze back to the boy. "My name's Kaze."

Nodding in acceptance, the boy stood from his crouch, and she could barely stop her gasp.

He looks filthy.

Before the boy could say something, a bark from the left interrupted their conversation.

"Oi, Haru! What the fuck are you doing there, you little shit! Stop dawdling."

Haru cringed, the suspicious and puffy vibe of his curbing in a single second and he shrunk, shoulders curling up as if to shield himself from the man now approaching them in long strides.

She frowned. The boy, Haru, was thin—all bones and filth with a shirt too big for his frame and a pair of shorts tattered and faded to be even considered clean. He was barefoot too.

The girl glanced down at her own feet and scowled. She was lacking shoes too.

Looking around, she saw that they were in an alley. A rather narrow and shady alley. She was lying next to a dumpster as the boy had mentioned, and she couldn't fathom how the smell hadn't come to her until now.

She was filthy too. Just from the sight of her feet made her recoil.

Then again, what does she even look like?

"Eh?" The man who shouted at Haru sounded closer now, and both children peaked beneath their lashes, freezing when a grin fitting for a shark was seen. "You found a new bitch for us, Haru? Atta boy."

The boy looked stricken. "N-No! She was just lost—"

"Who cares? You found her, so she's coming with us."

"B-But—"

"Shut up, mutt! Did I tell you to speak?!"

Haru clamped his mouth shut, dropping his eyes on the pavement as he twisted the hem of his shirt.

Walking forward, the man crouched down, elbows on his knees as he scrutinized her form. She tried meeting his cold eyes steadily, disliking the aura he gave off like nothing. However, the way his slanted, steel blue eyes narrowed extinguished the tiny flame of her bravado. His hair was a muddy brown, short and spiked to compliment his sharp features and sturdy jaw.

And when he grinned again, she faltered at the sight of his sharp canines.

He traced her cheek with a finger. "Come on, doll. You're getting a new home."

Inspiration derived from Gaara, Uchiha Sasuke & Uchiha Itachi [Naruto]; Jin [Yu Yu Hakusho]; Mikasa Ackerman [SnK]; and Haku [Spirited Away].

There is no such thing as a Quirk Development Department. I made that up.