Inko Midoriya used to love the quiet Sundays.
The days where the house would be calm and serene.

Days where she'd be able to just sit on the couch, holding onto a steaming cup of coffee while reading a book.

Of course, those were also the days where her son would haul himself up in his room all day, playing video games.

She guessed that most teenagers did that. However, when she'd see the smile on her son's face during those times. She'd say it was worth it.

Her son loved playing games. He got lost in his own little world every time he picked up a game console.

However, all good things must come to an end.

Because life wasn't fair.

Izuku learned that, way too early.

Inko Midoriya hated the quiet.

She hated the silence that constantly plagued her small apartment.

Hated the emptiness she felt every time she stepped inside.

It's funny how a single moment can change someone's life completely. How a single decision can alter who we are forever.

All it took was one day, one afternoon for her whole world to fall apart.

Her son went into his room and never came out.

Later, she'd thank whatever instinct that made her wait before trying to take off that helmet of his.

Her son was ripped away from her. He was taken away and trapped in a game. If they could even call it that when her son could die at any given second.

After the first year, she started to lose hope of ever speaking to her son again.

The image of her boy, laying still and too motionless in his hospital bed was starting to overtake the good memories she had of him.

She just wanted to hear his voice again. See him smile, laugh, even cry.

She wanted her son back.

She'd spent her days at the hospital. Watching as the hair on his shoulders got longer. Watched as the muscle on his arms frayed and faded. Watched as his cheeks hollowed out. His limbs growing and his body changing as he grew right before her eyes.

Yet, her son wasn't there.

He was trapped inside a sick, twisted game.

She blamed the world. She blamed the creator of the game but most importantly... She blamed herself.

If only she'd believed in him more.

If only she'd insisted on having that dinner.

If only she'd been a better mother.

If only...

So, Inko spent her days crying, silently praying to every higher force out there to bring her son home and safe.

She cried until the day her son's hand twitched.

As his eyes, glossed over and hazy, fluttered open.

His mouth barely moving as he tried to speak for the first time in years.

Two years had passed. Two years of quiet, loneliness and hopelessness. But alas her hope was back. He was safe.

What more could she ask for.

____________________

Soft noises echoed through his mind. A rhythmic beeping acting as some sort of alarm clock. Ever so slowly dragging him out of his unconscious state and into the real world.

His eyelids felt heavy, his limbs unresponsive to his commands.

He could only lay there and try to figure out where he was.

The last thing he remembered was speaking to Heathcliff. 'Kayaba' his mind whispered.

Now, everything was dark, a darkness not quite black but colored. Little hue of light and tints occasionally flitting through his eyelashes.

Slowly, as if years had passed, his eyes fluttered open.

All at once, he was hit with a cacophony of bright white lights. After a moment, the blurry world finally came into focus.

Staring up at the white hospital ceiling, he let his mind get used to the all too real world around him.

The difference was uncanny. Tears weld up in his eyes as he felt, for the first time in two years his skin bask in the sunlight. He felt the soft breeze hitting his frail body.

The body that currently felt like lead. Too heavy and too stiff to move.

No matter how many times he willed his hands to move, his legs to shift, they stayed still. The slight movement in his toes the only indication that he wasn't paralyzed.

Taking in a deep breath, he let his eyes wander. A deep-rooted vigilance clawing its way to the surface as years of caution and dread took over. He scanned his surroundings, watching the viable exits of the room.

He was in a traditional hospital room. Countless wires were strapped to different parts of his body, reminiscing of a cyborg. His vitals were shown on the digital display next to him.

Finally gaining some kind of sensation in his arms, he lifted trembling hands and took off the headset straddling his head.

Long green curly hair cascaded onto his shoulders. He felt like a complete stranger in his own body.

Where there once was defined muscles and tanned skin, now resided frail pale limbs. Too skinny and weak to function properly. He supposed that this was the consequence of being trapped in a death game for two years.

A choked hiccupping sounds startled him. He turned his head slightly only to see that he was, in fact not alone.

The sight before him made his heart squeeze painfully. There, on a chair beside his bed, was his mother. A slightly thinner, older version of her. However, it was her nonetheless.

The woman who'd given birth to him. Who he'd spend every night thinking about while he was trapped. Thinking about her was painful. Picturing her alone and sacred. He'd worried her enough by just existing, he couldn't imagine what she must have gone through while he was gone.

"M-mom." His throat was raw, his voice barely above a whisper as he strained to get his underused vocal cords working.

She seemed to suck in a sharp breath, her hand going up to pinch her arm as she made sure this was really happening.

When her son's image didn't disappear, she jumped from her seat. Engulfing him in a bear hug, her touch tender and featherlike through it all.

They stayed there for who knows how long. He didn't want the moment to stop though. He wanted it to last forever. Wanted to stay there, safe and protected. Maybe, just maybe, he'd forget the horror he'd seen and lived through. Maybe, he'd move on.

_________________________________

"Thank you for meeting me here Midoriya." Tsukauchi spoke as soon as the teenager came into hearing distance. The man wore a brown coat, his features were plain and familiar.

They were in a little restaurant near Musutafu prefecture.

The man gestured for the teen to sit as he pulled a chair for himself at one of the empty tables.

"You're looking better. Is physical therapy going alright?" He inquired, genuinely interested in the kid's well-being.

"It's almost over. I finally graduated from crutches to free walking." Izuku replied easily, used to the detective's presence by now. "It's been two months after all."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. We've been swamped with the testimonies of all the players. We, in the SAO task force, have gathered as much information as we can. We mostly have a good gist of the events that happened in the game." He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "However, since most of the other's witness account has you in them, I thought I'd leave yours for last. I have a feeling that you'll be able to put all the pieces together." The detective smiled as he waited for a confirmation.

"Sure Detective, ask me whatever you want." Although he kept a calm demeanor, his mind was swirling with unidentified emotions. Dread pooling in his stomach as he waited in anticipation.

"First of all. You were a Beta tester, am I correct?" After a nod, the man continued. "You knew the way the game worked, you could have easily gone off on your own but you stayed with the others anyway... why?"

Silence was his response as Midoriya thought of a proper way to answer. He didn't know how to explain it, he'd try either way. "I knew the way the game worked. I had valuable information that could help me survive. But... I couldn't just leave them, you know? I stayed for a couple more days, I gave as much information as I could to the info brokers. I even helped them make a guide book." He trailed off for a moment. "I couldn't live with myself if I had turned my back on them. If I could help, even if it was just a little, I was going to do it." Determination shined in his emerald eyes as he looked at the detective seriously. The latter sporting an apprehensive expression on his features.

"You're something else entirely, aren't you Midoriya?" The man sighed, fondness clear on his expression as he continued his questioning. "Although, there's one thing I couldn't fathom though. You spent most of the game alone after that... why?"

"It took us a long time to reach the first boss room. Way too long for players to work up the courage to volunteer too. The first raid was planned by Diabel. One of the beta testers who stayed and helped the other players. We were split in parties of 6. I ended up in one of the last ones. A party of two. Although I stayed once the game began, I made sure to work on my strengths and skills. My level was slightly higher than the rest. However, only a few knew that..." He looked out the window, avoiding the detective's gaze, he continued. "That raid was a mess. The boss's quirk wasn't like the beta. His special moves had changed too. After that fight, they blamed me for Diabel's death. Thinking that I lied to them to take the bonus for myself."

"That's when you gained the 'beater' nickname right?"

"Yeah, since they thought I cheated and I was a beta tester." He sighed heavily "Anyway, it was better that they'd take it out on me than the other beta testers. So I took their accusations and went with them.

"You took the blame so that others wouldn't..."

"As long as I could fight on the front lines and help clear the game, it didn't matter. I worked better alone anyway..."

"Well, Midoriya... That's all I wanted to ask for now. Make sure to keep in touch" He was about to get up and leave but seemed to think twice about it. "Ah, and Izuku." Meeting Midoriya's gaze, he continued. "I'm sorry for your loss. I heard that you and that other player were quite close." A deep-seated sadness clawed at his heart as he watched the man leave. He thought he'd been lucky since the detective hadn't asked about the end of the game yet.

He knew that the man had brought it up in goodwill. Yet, he couldn't help the anger that rose up inside of him.

It seemed, luck was never on his side.