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The first time Hitoshi was muzzled, he was only five.
His father came home late that night, loud and drunk and very, very angry. It wasn’t a rare occurrence. He slammed the door shut, and broke a glass bottle on the worn out walls of the apartment. Hitoshi knew the routine now well enough to retreat into his room.
Not that it ever helped him much.
Hitoshi’s father slammed his bedroom door open. Not for the first time, the door nearly flew off its hinges from the force of it.
Hitoshi flinched.
Not for the first time, Hitoshi wondered if he should run. Not for the first time, he found he couldn’t even if he tried.
That was his bastard father’s quirk—he could paralyze anyone by looking at them when he was angry enough. Hitoshi hated that man’s quirk nearly more than he hated his own.
“There’s my bastard son!” A crude approximation of a smile appeared on his father’s face. “Come here, boy. Papa’s got you something.”
Even if Hitoshi wanted to move, the man’s oppressive hatred kept him pressed to the spot. He glared at his father, but didn’t bother speaking. It always hurt more when he spoke. Always always pain burn shattered glass blood blood bleeding red—
The man scowled. It took only two steps for him to reach Hitoshi, and then the man grabbed Hitoshi’s hair, dragging him upwards. “Obey your father, stupid boy.” He snarled, giving Hitoshi a front row view of his stinking breath. “Don’t you want to see the present I so graciously found for my useless son?”
Hitoshi hissed and dug his hands into his palms. It hurt. Why couldn’t he just use his quirk and get rid of that man? Why couldn’t he use his quirk to defend himself? He shouldn’t cry, shouldn’t shout, shouldn’t scream, shouldn’t couldn’t couldn’t—
The man sniffed at the lack of response. “What an ungrateful son,” he said, and—
wait what no stop
—he forced a leather device over Hitoshi’s mouth and jaw. Hitoshi’s breath hitched. It was tight and suffocating and it hurt and he couldn’t breath—
He tried to scream, tried to use his quirk, to do something, anything, but it was too late—
The first time Hitoshi was muzzled, he cried until his father finally removed the muzzle the next morning.
It only took him two more times to realize there was no point in wasting tears.
It was always a spontaneous event. That man would come home angry and drunk and raving about the whore who went off to die, leaving him with a useless son. Sometimes, he’d force the muzzle on Hitoshi, and sometimes he wouldn’t.
Hitoshi’s jaw ached with phantom pain, and there were lines of raised red from where the leather straps cut into his cheeks.
He hated hated hated and wished he was brave enough to damn it all and use his quirk on his father.
When the bastard finally died while driving drunk, officially making Hitoshi an orphan, Hitoshi didn’t shed a single tear for his father.
He wondered if that made him a bad person.
He wondered why he didn’t care.
The foster group home was better than the old apartment. It was cleaner, less run down, and didn’t have an ever-persistent stink of alcohol. The food tasted better than the gruel that man never quite remembered to feed him too. He wasn’t happy, but he was content.
The woman who ran the place was always busy, running this way and that and ignoring Hitoshi. It was almost like he didn’t exist in this house.
He preferred it that way.
The first time he was muzzled here, it was because of another girl. Apparently, she had sneaked into Sabita-san’s bedroom, the only place in the house they were all explicitly forbidden to enter. When she was caught, the girl blamed it on him.
Sabita-san’s voice was almost kind as she fitted a painfully familiar muzzle onto his face. “You understand, don’t you, Hitoshi?” She said. “You shouldn’t abuse your quirk and force others to do bad things. That’s what a villain does, and I know you’re not a villain. Now, this is what happens when you disobey the rules and use your quirk on others.” At this, the woman tapped his muzzle. “If you learn your lesson, the muzzle will come off by dinnertime. If not…” She trailed off meaningfully.
She hadn’t even given him a chance to explain himself.
Hitoshi nodded, his shoulders bowed, the very image of submission.
But inside, the fire within him grew.
The other kids sniggered when they saw Hitoshi with the damning leather muzzle. The girl smiled at him, half apologetic and half relieved, and the fire within him roared.
Why should he be the one to suffer, when he hadn’t done anything wrong? Why was he always the one to hurt? Hitoshi’s jaw ached. The leather straps cut well worn paths into his skin. Why shouldn’t the girl suffer this pain instead?
Someone gasped. Hitoshi blinked. He had shoved the girl into the wall. Her nose was broken. There was blood on his fist.
The girl began wailing. Shouts and cries of outrage rose from the crowd of witnesses, who generally liked the girl a lot more than Hitoshi.
The muzzle didn’t come off at dinnertime.
The other children began blaming him for their mistakes. Hitoshi made him break the window. Hitoshi made her forget to wash the dishes. Hitoshi made them steal from the other kid.
And every time, without fail, Sabita-san would give him a disappointed look. “I thought you’ve already learnt your lesson,” she seemed to say. After that, without fail, she would force that muzzle over his face again.
Hitoshi wasn’t sure if she really believed what the other kids said. He was certain she didn’t care about him either way.
The raw pink ridges on his skin hardened and scarred over. Some of the children would sneer and giggle at his new-earned scars. Hitoshi scowled, and learnt to cover the scars with makeup.
Children were only supposed to stay at group homes until they found a better foster home. Hitoshi had been staying here since he was eight. It was now his fourteenth birthday.
No one wanted Hitoshi.
It was fine. This wasn’t news to him. He knew he was unlovable.
He wasn’t lonely. Not at all.
Akari-san, a man looking to foster, came to visit while Hitoshi was wearing a muzzle.
Sabita-san shook her head at Hitoshi. “A troublemaker, that one. He has a mind control quirk; can’t resist using it on the other kids. Had to put a muzzle on him to protect the other kids.”
Hitoshi wished Akari-san would see through the charade and stop Sabita. It was a lost cause, though; guardians could legally take measures against their charges’ quirks if they felt it was necessary. There was nothing Akari-san could do except for convincing Sabita-san the muzzle wasn’t needed.
Moving a mountain without an earth manipulation quirk would be easier.
Not that Akari-san would even try; the man smiled at Sabita’s words. “I know what you mean. Children with quirks like that can be quite difficult. Not that I blame them,” he sighed. “I know it’s very hard for them to fight against their own nature.”
Hitoshi silently walked out of the room. Inside, he raged.
He wasn’t evil; he wasn’t. He didn’t deserve this. He’d become a hero, prove that he wasn’t a villain in the making, that his quirk wasn’t evil.
He never even mourned his father’s death.
He promised.
And then he got into UA. Not the heroics course, just the general studies, but it was better than he expected.
For the first time, the fire pain anger that simmered inside him abated.
On the first day of UA, a classmate turned to greet him, a bright smile on his face.
“Hi!” He said, brilliant orange eyes glimmering with joy, “I’m Himari Yashsa! What’s your name?”
“…Shinsou Hitoshi.” Hitoshi replied, more surprised than anything else. His voice was scratchy from misuse.
How long had it been since someone spoke to him and waited for an answer?
Hitoshi couldn’t remember a time when that was the case.
UA was nice. His classmates didn’t shy away from him, even when they learnt about his quirk. The teachers seemed to actually register his presence, and cared about what he said. They didn’t tell him to shut up, to be silent like a good little boy, and they didn’t fear that he would use his quirk to make others do bad things.
He had never ever been treated like this.
Being at UA was the happiest he had been for as long as he could remember.
Maybe…maybe UA really would be different. Maybe the heroes would genuinely care about him. Maybe he finally wouldn’t be judged for a quirk he couldn’t change. Maybe he could relax here, be less lonely, become a hero and prove the world wrong.
Maybe, just maybe, things would get better.
Tentatively, like a child taking their first dip into a pool, Hitoshi allowed himself to hope.
But then, the Sports Festival happened.
It didn’t progress smoothly. He passed the first two events just as planned, but in the first round of the third event, he immediately lost, sending his dream of joining the heroics course down the drain.
At least his classmates found his beatdown entertaining.
Then, at the awards ceremony—
Hitoshi felt like his breath was punched from his lungs. The boy on the podium, some cocky asshole from the heroics course, was chained and bound to a thick concrete slab.
And his face—his face—
On the boy’s face was a bulky metal muzzle.
Hitoshi couldn’t breathe.
little bastard son
villain
evil
cruel sneers and even crueler laughter
you shouldn’t abuse your quirk and force others to do bad things
I didn’t I
didn’t
learn your lesson
children can’t fight against their own nature
hate anger pain
pain pain
pain
stop please
Someone was calling his name, but Hitoshi barely registered it.
How could he have been so stupid?
How could he have allowed himself to hope?
If even a highly regarded member of the heroics course could be treated like this, what about someone like Hitoshi…?
Things would never never never change. Not even at UA, the happiest he had been in his life.
It had always just been a matter of time.
Why did he ever think otherwise?