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The world and in its entirety human society is unashamedly corrupted. A face of maggots and rot under a golden flawless mask of mocking integrity. Nobody wants to see the ugliness underneath. People will willingly accept others getting hurt if it means they keep living on in their own little world. So the cycle continues.
Shoto Todoroki buries his nose in a book. Fantasy. His genre of choice. A world he could fall into, to escape from the real world’s glaring limitations and decay.
An open window brings a refreshing breeze and somewhere in the distance one can hear wind chimes ringing. The only thing that’s missing from this is a nice cup of tea.
He mechanically reaches up to scratch his scar, irritated by any slight differences within the air. It’ll never heal. Just like the fervent darkness within. Slowly it gnaws at Shoto’s thinning compassion for society.
People worship heroes. Buy their merch. Run dedicated fan sites. Desperately seek out the heroes’ attention as if it’s some elixir. Yet the famous heroes hardly glimpse at their so-called fans. What a scam. A pretty façade that obscures depthless selfishness.
Enji enters the room stern-faced as usual. “Finished your studies?”
Not a “how was your day?” or a “how are you feeling?” or even a short but polite “hi Shoto”. Father’s kindness is non-existent. He sees his family as products, mere extensions of his prominence.
“Yes,” Shoto shut his book. His gaze drifts to the window –and to what lays beyond. “Can I go outside?”
“To do what?” Asked with a sigh.
Shoto stifled a stinging comeback and said, “I saw some other kids playing soccer and it looked fun.”
“Fun?”
Todoroki flinched.
“What an absurd notion. Fun. It’s waste of time! Why spend your short life with others who don’t mean anything? Most people on earth are low-born and lazy. You’re destined for greatness, Shoto. You’ll be starting high school soon and that time will be critical. Every second getting stronger will ensure your rank as the number one hero. Get up. It’s time to train with your quirk.” Enji turns not waiting for a response. Shoto follows.
They stand in a spacious yard. Enji’s property spans across a beautiful riverside. Being Japan’s number two hero, he accumulated plenty of wealth –and not just money. Mr. Todoroki bought four other houses, bulldozed them down, and rebuilt it into one grand dream home. I guess there’s no price tag too costly for success.
On this section of the property is a big warehouse-looking building, created for indoor combat training. Inside, the air is dense and depressing. There’s only one small window, letting in a stripe of white light. Unlike the rest of the glamourous property, it really mirrors Enji’s ideals. Dark, dingy, all-encompassing, no room for mercy.
Enji’s teachings are cruel, heartless, and intense. You have to think on your toes just to survive. The number two hero doesn’t hold back. Every time Shoto ends up a lump of bruises and lying in a pool of blood. A bag of strained muscles and screaming bones. Quirks are only so useful against Enji’s hellish flames.
Shoto’s ice melts instantly, blinding him with steam. Even if he uses his quirks tactfully, discarding brute force for agility and dual-wielding, he still loses. He’s laughably weak and Enji is disappointed every time.
Toya never had a hard time fighting Dad. He was so strong, unlike me…
“For someone with two quirks,” Enji isn’t heaving for air. He’s hardly gained a scratch. “You should be twice as strong, even stronger than Toya.”
Damn. Can Enji read Shoto’s mind?
No. He just knows Shoto’s pain points and delivers them with fatal accuracy.
Narrowing his eyes venomously he snapped, “I’m done! This is boring,” he wobbly stands up and leans on the wall for support. He limps to the door. “Why should I do anything? You’re never happy.”
Enji watches his son like a lion does to an injured rival –a cub that got wounded for being too careless. With a detached gleam in his eyes.
“How childish,” Father’s wrath is ten times more deadly than his son’s. “You are my son. There should be no greater thrill or meaning to life than winning.”
Shoto scoffs and absently wipes a strand of blood leaking down from his face. It smears like halfhearted war paint. Father thinks I’m a joke.
“I don’t care about that stuff,” came his hoarse reply. Shoto’s only a few steps away from the door, from a sliver of freedom in his meaningless life. “Even if I do make it to the top, it’s all short-lived. Those celebrity heroes are no heroes to me. I just wanna be like every other kid.” Fizzing bile fueled Shoto’s rage. “Mom was right; you’re nothing but a monster. A worthless old man.”
Wrong move. A tornado of fire circles the interior, creating an inescapable arena. His beard and moustache are ablaze, literally. “Maybe I was foolish for choosing you as successor. I thought you having two quirks would make you the strongest, but you’re as weak as your mother.”
Fire sears flesh. Ice melts way, a fleeting defense that crumbles instantly in Shoto’s horror. It happens so fast. Normally Shoto can counterattack but this time? He’s practically a corpse –or close to being one.
Enji’s big shadow looms over his son’s crumpled frame. He doesn’t even look back at Shoto, who’s rendered helpless.
Blood wells up in his mouth and trickles down his jaw. His whole body is screaming in agony. Can’t move even if he wanted to. Rage surges within Shoto, lending him energy that only gets hewed by his injuries. His mouth creaks but he can’t speak. His limbs twitch uselessly.
“You’re a mistake –just like Toya and the rest of them. I maybe a monster, but I have the strength to take what I want. You, Shoto, are powerless. Life never gives anything to the weak.”
An icy cold fear plunges into Shoto’s gut.
“Oh, and before you try anything insubordinate again, make sure you at least have a fighting chance against me.”
The door shuts, signaling Enji’s leave. Shoto’s alone in the dark writhing in pain and he wonders how long he’ll be waiting for the doctor.
It’s always like this.
I hate this life. Why can’t I be something more?
The unending silence is maddening. But eventually, the sound of feet slapping concrete wakes Shoto up from half-sleep. He looks up and sees a shimmery being surrounded in silvery-white light. It’s Mother.
“My poor boy. What has Enji done to you?” Rei’s voice is like icicles glittering in morning light.
These phantoms, real or not, have been showing up a lot. Shoto weakly smiles, wondering if he’s fallen off the brink of insanity or if he’s just cursed. Do ghosts really exist or is it just his suffering mocking him?
Shoto’s siblings appeared first –all except Toya. Was Toya mad at him? The others come and go in flashes, like streaking meteors across night sky, and then vanish. They never talk to him.
Mother lingered at a distance, as if hesitant to approach. Not from fear, but the woman wondered what to say, and if her son would forgive her. Eventually, she wandered closer and spewed crying apologies about burning Shoto.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I failed as a mother. I never meant to burn you. I don’t want to see any of my children hurt or in pain.”
Shoto forgave her. It’s Enji’s fault. If he hadn’t been so heartless to his wife, it would’ve never happened.
Now her visits aren’t as frequent. But when she does appear, she stays for a while.
Her half-translucent frosty aura brings comfort to Shoto’s stinging injuries. “I’m sorry I could help you. Any of you.” She had died shortly after Shoto was born, when he was nine. Then, like a vengeful curse bestowed upon them from monstrous deities, Rei’s children started dying in horrible ways. She regrets not being able to provide them a carefree and happy life but marrying Enji had caused only suffering –and she isn’t going to let her surviving child die.
“I’m worthless aren’t I? I can’t even fight Dad,” a bitter pained laugh tumbles out of Shoto’s lungs. “I’m either gonna turn out like him or die.”
Rei’s calm gaze glazes over with grief. At this rate, Shoto will be an unemotional killing machine. He won’t ever find happiness or be himself.
“Listen to me Shoto,” a see-through hand rests on his forehead. “You have to survive. You deserve to live a happy life. Enji thinks compassion is a weakness. But it isn’t.”
Her form is fading and Shoto coughs up blood. “Please…don’t leave again.”
Rei’s sadness is clearer than her ghostly being. “I’ll always be with you, Shoto.”
She vanishes and leaves Shoto with darkness once more. He can faintly hear birdsong outside. He bitterly wonders if he’d only get to see the rare beauty of the world when he dies and also becomes a ghost.
His thoughts are dispelled by the house doctor finally unlocking and walking through the door.
He wakes up with a jolt at night. The bandages weigh down heavily on him, and though the healing salve applied dulls the pain, Shoto grunts at every slight movement. It’s four in the morning. And the window he left ajar for fresh air now slices at him with cold winds.
Turning on a lamp he gets up to shut the window. He doesn’t remember the doctor healing his wounds or him dumping his unconscious body in his room, but he’s just grateful to be out of the combat building. With arms screaming in protest, Shoto goes to shut the window-
“Brother. It’s me, Toya.”
His soul almost jumps out from his body. With a gasp he falls over and sees a horrific version of Toya grinning at him. Toya is a gaunt, dark and ashy being with stitches, wild blue eyes.
Toya was the only sibling who cared. Before his untimely disappearance, he and Shoto would get into all sorts of mischief. Pranking the neighbors. Going to eat at the best greasy fast-food places. Taking long drives in the night cityscape painted with neon. Stopping at gaming arcades. Not only was Toya Shoto’s only connection to the outside world, but he was his best friend. The two were hardly ever seen apart.
Trembling fearfully, Shoto slowly propped himself up by the wall. “T-Toya. You…you’re dead?”
“Not the same, right?” His chuckle is unnerving. It sounded almost nothing like his laugh when he had been alive. It’s bitter. Hateful. “I look like the boogeyman.”
Shoto shook his head. “You can’t be dead! Dad said you left.”
“Left? Hah!” Toya paced back and forth angrily, his crumbling cinder-like body looking like it’d fall apart any minute. “I’m dead, Shoto. Dad killed me. I tried to leave –and I was gonna bring Mom and you with but that bastard attacked me. Made sure I was in world of pain before he landed the final blow too.” He extended his arms out by his sides, like a disdainful shrug. “Look at me now. I’m ash. I woke up like this, a burnt corpse, and I’ve got no body for anyone to bury.”
Why…why does this keep happening?! Shoto started to panic. His detached personality shattered into a million pieces right there. Would Enji kill him too, if he became a failure? Why was he being haunted?
“I’m going insane,” he whispered. “This is…I’m seeing ghosts.”
Toya’s smile falters. He’s pissed off. He’ll get payback for him, Mother, and Shoto.
“Mom and I…we promised we’d always look out for you, bro. Even in the afterlife –and hell, that place ain’t no peachy paradise like everybody livin’ says.” Toya crouched down and got eye level with Shoto. He dragged a thumb across his forehead, leaving a sooty stripe on pale skin. “You gotta carry on.”
Tears trickle from Shoto’s eyes. “What if I turn out like Dad?”
“If you’re a monster then you’ll be the greatest of them all. But you won’t, even if you feel…unhinged. Don’t bow to anyone. That’s my parting advice, bro. Or you’ll never truly be free.”
And like a dying man’s last breath, Toya vanished.
Shoto rests a hand on his head, feeling a pulsing headache claw across.
You have to survive.
Don’t bow to anyone.
You, Shoto, are powerless. Life never gives anything to the weak.
He chuckled darkly. Vengeance is the only true path out of this hell. He’ll clean the filth of this soul-crushing world. He’ll be an Onryo –the scariest ever witnessed by humanity. And if he’s learned anything, it’s that loosing isn’t in Todoroki blood.
Only a selected few ever step foot onto UA grounds. Shoto is being shipped there today without as much as a goodbye from Enji. There’s no point in trying to blend in, he can’t. His family name and glaring red-white hair sticks out. Shoto nervously scratches his arm, wishing he could be in the library instead, away from other people.
Awed whispers needle his flesh and relights dormant rage as he walks past. Some spew fake pleasantries at him, asking to be his friend or to borrow cash –Shoto ignores them. Today is orientation. Many exchange greetings or fight. Everybody is obsessed with quirks and nothing else. And two quirks bring twice the attention.
A new group of students disembark from a bus and the crowd’s demeanor immediately changes. Tense statures. Unmistakable hostility gleams in their eyes. An obvious indicator of the quirkless class, their uniforms are different, gray and bland. Just like how society views them. Unlike the rest too, which don colorful blues or purples. One for support and rescue, the others for combat.
It’s eerily quiet. Low murmurs sweep through, a hissing wind. “Quirkless. What a joke!”
“Why should they get to go to UA? They don’t have to go to the front lines like we do.”
“Yeah, none of them are gonna be heroes.”
“Powerless. Useless.”
“They just take up space.”
“Quirkless can’t contribute anything to society…”
The other quirkless students scatter fearfully but one stays. Shoto can’t tell if he’s stupid or brave. Both? Either way, he’s asking for trouble. But Shoto can’t help but admire his efforts to extend an olive branch.
“Hi. I’m Izuku Midoriya –and I’ll be studying to be a tactician advisor for heroes. Would you like to get an interview?” He extracted a notebook and pen. “I’d like to learn as much as I can about quirks.” The seemingly cheerfully oblivious classmate with fluffy green hair gives them a disarming smile.
Scornful laughter answers. “Get a look at this guy. He must be a few marbles short of a bag.”
“Can’t you tell nobody wants you here?”
“Get lost!”
“Yeah, unless you wanna fight?”
Izuku waved his arms. “Oh no! I d-don’t like to fight. I-”
Too late. Somebody throws a punch –one that would’ve been bone-crushing if it had landed. But Izuku shocks everybody (including Shoto) as he easily sidesteps the attacker and flips him over using the speed. The guy’s back will be in a lot of pain but otherwise, it’s a maneuver that’ll be harmless. A warning of dire things to come if not heeded.
Izuku may be able to take on one or two people, but a whole crowd? And all with quirks? Shoto takes long strides over to them.
He does his best to gracefully dodge the quirk attacks but eventually, Izuku is thrown to the ground with some bruises.
“Leave him alone.”
The crowd scoffs and sneers. Shoto jumps in and waves an arm, creating a shield of ice. It’s weaker in the day but it should be sturdy enough. “Last warning, you spineless cowards. Is that how heroes should be? Then the future will be a letdown.”
The crowd just laughs. Strength in numbers gives them careless courage.
The ice shield breaks into glittery pieces. Shoto spins, lashing flames following his movement. Most back off, jumping away from or throwing their hands up, shocked by the fire. Some scoffed, unafraid, and attack.
Four of them fall by quick jabs from Izuku or slippery ice from Shoto. One gets by and slices Midoriya’s side. A stripe of red dapples stone floor.
Spilt blood.
Shoto’s eyes darken. A dull, vast emptiness. His body mechanically moves, adhering to the seeping darkness commanding him. One word sears into his brain: win.
In one lashing movement he grabs the attacker’s arm in a serpentine death squeeze. Bone threatens to splinter and crack. Every other sound is muffled, distant. Shoto Todoroki, like his father, zeroes in on a target and unleashes hell on his enemy.
Punches, kicks, fire, and ice rain down on the guy like hail. He screams, begs for mercy, but Shoto doesn’t stop. Not until Eraserhead’s deadly stare seals everyone’s quirks and his binding cloth pulls the students apart. Even with the strength of these coils confining Todoroki, it threatened to break under Shoto’s intimidating will.
“Enough, Todoroki. At this rate, he’ll die.”
The kid is a bloody pulp. A bag of broken bones. If he still had the energy to cry he would. That image alone sent most classmates running as far away as they could, or to stare in frantic disbelief.
“Fights are only allowed when a teacher is supervising. God. It isn’t even the first day,” Aizawa sighed. He acted nonchalant, but slight trepidation cracks his usual demeanor. Enji…what did you turn your kid into?
There’s no remorse in Shoto’s dull eyes. None.
Izuku is lifted up to his feet, thankful for Shoto’s help, even as globs of blood trickle from his knuckles. Even as Shoto looked scarier than Death itself. Clinging onto Shoto’s sleeve for support (the blood loss making him unsteady), he muttered a thanks.
“Midoriya, Todoroki, you’ll be put in detention,” Aizawa rubbed his head, feeling a headache throb. At least in the quirk canceling room, they’d do less damage to others or UA property. Classes don’t start until tomorrow, and already these new kids are causing more trouble than years past. “The rest of you, go! I don’t want to see anyone’s faces around here until tomorrow!”
Detention is apparently just another ordinary classroom. The door is shut behind them and their quirks are sealed. The air is dense, quiet.
In the room is another classmate with pointy blonde hair and he’s pulling a bitter face that could curdle milk. Clearly a ticking time bomb.
But ironically, all three of them are.
The blond is sitting cross-legged on the cold floor, obviously in some meditation pose. He opens one eye (a blood-red color) when he hears more people enter the space. His eye trails up Shoto’s blood-covered knuckles to Izuku’s newly patched wound and busted face. His muscles tense angrily. “Yo Deku, they gave a nerd like you detention?”
Deku? What a strange nickname.
Midoriya laughed. “Wasn’t my plan. Todoroki s-saved me from some b-ullies-”
“Who? Some weak-ass cowardly wimps are bullying you?”
“It’s okay, Kaachan! The fight is over and I learned some cool things about quirks, even if my inquiry didn’t turn out how I expected.”
“You’re too forgiving, Deku.”
Izuku turns to Shoto. “This is m-my childhood friend, B-Bakugo Katsuki.”
“Nice to meet you…or whatever. Don’t make me regret it.”
Izuku picked up a book from a shelf and leafed through the pages. “So Kaachan, how’d you get detention?”
He narrowed his eyes venomously at Deku’s joking smile. Then he sighed. They had plenty of time to kill. “I lost you on campus,” might as well do some push-ups too.
“Then I ran into some people bullying this space pastel girl so I pummeled them. Then some dumbasses with Shark Teeth and Raccoon Eyes got pranked by some losers and got left on the field. Tired Eyes found me and threw me in here.”
“Like a side quest?” Izuku laughed and immediately regretted it. A hand clamped on his face and pushed him. Unharmed, Izuku rescued the book that went flying and started reading again.
Shoto stifled a laugh, poorly. He’s never seen such…animated people before.
“What about you guys?” Bakugo asked.
Izuku quickly explained what had happened.
The blond put his arms behind him for support and nodded as Izuku told him the story. A smile appears on Bakugo’s face. “I think we should form a team.”
“What?”
“Haven’t you heard? UA has a new program this year. We’ll compete in teams. Something about showing sponsors and agencies that we can work together and kick ass.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Izuku started scribbling, his pen and mind alight with strategies. “With our strengths we could be the best team in UA.”
“We will be the best team in UA,” Bakugo said.
“But…why us?” Shoto asked.
“Because Half-And-Half. I’m thinking it’s kind of like fate. Us ending up in detention together. And you helped Deku. You stood up for justice. That means you’re strong –like me. Strong people like us are the only ones who can change things. That’s why we wanna be heroes, right?” The aggressive blond swells with pride. “It’ll be in the history books. We’re gonna be famous heroes!”
Shoto has been sacrificing sleep to quell bloodlust. A bottle lay open, sleeping pills scattered on his desk, the dosage getting less potent by the day. The ghosts visit more often. And the darkness? It drags him out of the lulls of sleep. With every hour or minute wasted, another worm is still causing mayhem in the city.
Muttering aloud, Shoto circles his room before going to the bathroom. He turns the faucet on and plunges his hands in scalding water. He scrubs away blood stubbornly clinging to his skin. The blood turns pink as it swirls down the drain, absently hypnotic to the ruffled Shoto.
He managed to save seven people today. Seven that the pros have left stranded in danger because they were too famous to handle smaller jobs.
It’s game night and Shoto doesn’t want to be late. He makes it just in time and enters one of the many dens to find Izuku and Bakugo –and the classmates of 1A. Everyone is setting up board games and food. But when the door clicks shut they all go quiet. Dead quiet.
Denki spills some soda and sputters, “You…invited him?”
“What about it?” Bakugo spat. “Icy Hot is our friend so shut your leaky faucet mouth.”
The others go about their tasks but there’s tension.
“Shoto! You don’t wanna miss it! Bakugo and Kirishima are pretty good at this game. Oh and I saw an interesting quirk today…” Izuku’s warm greeting sent Todoroki’s heart aflutter. He’s excited to see Izuku’s sparkling happy face every day. To hear his endless chattering. Shoto’s heart thuds in his chest at the contact –Midoriya grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the cluttered table.
Izuku instantly spun around and froze. Worry scrawled over his soft features. He lifts Shoto’s wrist up, revealing red scratch marks. They run down his arm, burning and painful.
His heart sank.
“Shoto, what’s going on?” He whispered.
“Nothing. I’m stressed about exams.”
“Are you sure? I-”
“You guys gonna just stand around? C’mon!” Bakugo waved them over.
A few days later, Izuku invited them over for a study night. Rain lightly drums on the windows. It creates a comfortable insulated feeling for visitors. Outside is murky. Mist turns things into blurry silhouettes. Tall bookshelves surround Izuku and Bakugo –it’s mostly empty in the library.
Bakugo lowered his book and asked, “Where’s Half-And-Half? He’s late.”
Izuku doesn’t answer. His green eyes drift to the world outside…
Shoto, where are you?
“P-Please! Don’t kill me!” Too late. Like any cries for mercy would’ve saved him. An icicle stake plunges deep into a beating heart, ending life instantly. The squelching sound of the organ being stabbed by ice is one of finality. The man’s gurgling death screams are muffled by hammering rain.
Shoto holds up his weapon, watching in eerie captivation as globs of blood fall from one icicle. His scoff is muffled by a mask. How laughably pathetic. The villain went on killing civilians with such sadistic glee only to be a weeping coward when he was bested by a stronger opponent!
“I’ll avenge you Mother, brother. I’ll erase and wipe out every parasitic worm in this world. Now…where did that cowardly hero go?” Shoto likes toying with the worms before delivering the final blow. That’s what bastards like them deserve. A torturous death. He follows a quickly disappearing blood trail, searching for the hero who managed to escape –for a short time.
It ends in a park. The hero is stranded, heaving and out of breath. A hand rests on a bad cut that runs across their side and abdomen. The hero stares at Onryo, paler than Death. He knows Death draws close.
“W-Why me? I’m a hero!”
Boots crunch of stone as Shoto takes a step. He raises the two stakes. His muscles tense to spring. “You’re no hero. What’s worse than a villain is a spineless person who calls themselves a hero. In a fight you left your teammates stranded, all with serious injuries. One died and the others…their lives aren’t going to be the same. And you often make your apprentices fight each other for ranks. You bully them, making them feel like they’ll never accomplish their dreams. Death maybe merciful but I’m not.”
Lightning flashes. Thunder cracks deafeningly after. It’s as loud as the hero’s deafening heartbeat.
Shoto lunges –and the world stops.
“Onryo!”
Is that Midoriya?!
Seeing Shoto distracted the hero takes the opportunity to attack. With his hand he shoots star-shaped light. Onryo acts fast. Waving an arm he bends the rain to his will and creates a dangerous crescent of ice that cuts deep into the hero's shoulder.
With neck-breaking speed Shoto slices the hero’s throat in an x-shape with his icicle stakes. Blood spews on him as the hero’s body slumps over.
There’s a quick sequence of shoes slapping on rainy stone floor and a force tackles Shoto in a hug. Tears trickle down Izuku’s face, quickly erased by icy rain. Shoto’s body heaves as a heart-wrenching sob is violently chucked from the depths of his being.
“Am I a monster?” His deep voice almost drowns in the downpour. “I want to spill all their blood until there isn’t a drop left, Midoriya.”
“You’re hurt, Todoroki. C’mon.” And with a gentle tug on his wrist, the Onryo follows Izuku back to UA.
Shoto is surprised to see Bakugo waiting for them, arms crossed. He guides them to a secluded section of UA campus, into some rarely used laundry rooms.
Katsuki eyes all the blood on Onryo –and the bloody handprints on Midoriya’s shirt. “C’mon hand ‘em over. I got Tired Eyes distracted so he ain’t looking for curfew breakers.”
Sitting on a bench, Todoroki slumped over, sapped of all his energy. “You guys know I’m the Onryo?”
Bakugo laughed. “Took some thinkin’ but yeah. What happened out there, Icy Hot?”
He explained the story. And how Enji taught him to win at any cost. How he lost the idolism for heroes when all they do is make a fat paycheck instead of bravely diving into danger to save others. Neither spoke. Izuku looks lost in thought. Bakugo had his back to them, scrubbing away blood and tossing the clothes in a noisy old washer.
Izuku sat next to Shoto and rested his head on his shoulder. He gave him that smile he loves so much.
“Why are you guys helping me? I’m a vigilante.”
“You said it yourself, Half-And-Half,” Bakugo kicked an old vending machine and tossed them sodas. He cracked one open and took a swig. How was he so unbothered by all the blood?
“The hero world is dying. It’s time that new heroes, real ones, started making the rules around here. They’ve gotten soft. Weak. Lazy! And we’re a team aren’t we?”
“But…you guys applied to UA to be heroes.”
“If you haven’t noticed, our dreams were violently demolished too. Like an explosions turning things to ash. Right, Deku?”
“All Might said I could never be a hero…”
“Yeah and you proved that airbag wrong! You saved my ass when none of the pros wanted to help. I realized then that you got more guts than an army of heroes. And they had quirks.”
“I wanted to be a strategist for them. That way, more fights can be bloodless and there’ll be more civilians rescued. But even now, everybody sees me as a quirkless loser. Somebody in the way. Not anymore. They’ll see what they lost in treating me so badly.”
He smiled and intertwined his hand with Shoto’s. “We’ll be a team the entire world will look on with wonder-”
“And fear,” Katsuki added. “We aren’t gonna bow to anyone. You, me, and Deku. We’ll show these assholes what it really means to be a hero!”
“If that means being vigilantes well, we’ll be alongside you until the end. It’ll be heart-racing. I always wanted to test my tactics out in the field.”
“And it’ll be fun punching a few extra faces too.”
Shoto smiled. This will be their origin story, a strange one, but that’d make an interesting story nonetheless. For the first time in a long time, Shoto wondered what the future would have in store for him.