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If you were a psychic, you would probably feel the tremendous amount of energy pouring off of Ritsu.
Luckily for him, he didn't know anybody who was a psychic like him. That is if you don't count his brother and the puny kids at the “awakening lab.” If you could even call them psychic. And despite Mob being his literal brother, he hasn't seen him in days, purposely avoiding him as feelings of hatred and resentment bury into his chest, bubbling and crackling like fire under his skin.
His inner turmoil grew along with his new found power, pulling and ripping within him. It felt like there was a hole in his chest, swirling and popping with his guilt and abhorrence, growing bigger and bigger until it felt like he couldn't breathe anymore.
When Ritsu gasps and heaves, his power grows even stronger, flooding the air with his repugnance. His self-hate was heavier than ever before, but his ego grew louder.
and yet, despite the intense emotions that churned his stomach, Ritsu kept his head low as the water poured down his backside. He pulls his knees to his chest, and stares at the water droplets that hang from strands of his hair before they fall and disappear. The water grew even hotter. It burns Ritsu's skin, but regardless of the stinging and uncomfortable heat, Ritsu does not flinch.
In some way, he convinces himself that he deserves it. That the burning sensation of hot water plastering his back and neck wasn't even comparable to the pain and suffering of those delinquents at school. Sure, they cleaned up the school, but instead of using hard work and wet wipes, they made mustard gas.
It burns. My god, it burns. But Ritsu is well aware that it won't hurt him in the long run. Hot enough to where it hurts, but not hot enough to where it'll leave a mark.
Deep down, though, Ritsu wishes it would. If not for the possible embarrassment and humiliation of his parents or even brother finding out, Ritsu would've let the water burn his skin away. Maybe then, he could scrub away the rotten sinew and bone underneath; be clean again.
A clean slate. No powers, no guilt, no hatred. Just the high achiever, good natured, socialite kid he was once.
Yeah, Ritsu thought. Like that would ever happen.
His skin is raw. The towel rubs against his skin, and it hurts. It hurts so much, and the hole in his chest grows even wider. His disgust claws at his ribs, tears at his heart, and it only gets more violent as Ritsu just dries himself.
But it's okay, because he's getting stronger. He can feel it. Despite the fact that it hurt, despite the fact that it made him want to kill himself–it was okay. He was getting stronger.
He's no longer weak. Not against his brother, not against those gang members, not against anyone.
Ritsu isn't afraid anymore.