Chapter Text
Denki Kaminari never wanted things to escalate.
It all started so innocently too, did it not?
***
It was a bright afternoon, the sun still clung high to the sky and birds were chirping all around. The big garden that belonged to the Kaminaris was filled with the laughter of a young, 4-years old child named Denki.
Denki had a little red toy car, the type that made sounds, one of his favorites, but something was wrong with it today. No matter how much he pushed it along the ground, it wouldn’t move the way he wanted. The wheels were stuck, and the toy just wouldn’t cooperate. The child whined in complaint, his small hands grabbed the toy tighter.
Frustration bubbled up in him. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t working—it had been fine yesterday, he had rolled it all across the yard afterall. His parents were sitting nearby, enjoying the sun, but Denki’s focus was entirely on his toy.
He shook it a little harder. “Come on!” he muttered under his breath, voice growing louder as his frustration mounted, turned into anger. When the wheels still refused to turn, his little face scrunched up and he grit his teeth.
Suddenly, with all the impatience of a child in the middle of a tantrum, Denki screamed and slammed the car into the grass in front of him. The red plastic cracked and Denki glared down at it, golden eyes beginning to fill with tears. He leaned forward, an attempt to grab it, when suddenly-
ZAP !
Without warning, a spark shot out of his tiny hands and into the toy. Yellow electricity crackled around his fingers, surging through the car with a sizzle. The plastic began to melt slightly under the heat, the sounds it played became slow and painful, and Denki blinked in shock as the toy stopped completely—now broken beyond repair. Smoke curled up from the charred plastic, the wheels scorched beyond recognition.
Denki stared down at the car, his breath coming in quick gasps. The power had felt strange—exciting—and for just a moment, there was a glimmer of a smile on his lips. It felt like something inside him had been released like he had just discovered something incredible.
But before he could process the sensation further, his mother was already rushing over. “Denki!” she cried out, her voice laced with panic. She knelt beside him, grabbing the melted toy and inspecting it with wide eyes.
“What did you do?” she gasped, her voice trembling. Denki looked up at her, confused. He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like he meant to do it—it just happened.
His mother’s fear quickly turned to anger. She grabbed his hand, holding it firmly as she looked into his eyes. “Denki,” she said sharply, “that’s dangerous. Very dangerous. You can’t just... hurt things like that!”
Denki shrank back at her words, his little heart pounding in his chest. Hurt things? He hadn’t meant to hurt anything... He just wanted his car to work again, because why didn’t it work anyway, it was fine yesterday, and Denki found it mean how it didn’t work today, because why wouldn’t it….
“ That’s bad, Denki, ” she scolded, her voice sterner now. “Don’t do that again.” Her words echoed in his ears, but what stuck with him even more was the quick slap she gave his hand—a sting that lingered long after. She had never hit him before. Denki’s lip quivered, tears welling up in his eyes.
His mother sighed, pulling him into a hug and whispering, “You have to be careful, okay? You can’t use your quirk like that. It’s too dangerous.” She patted his head and combed her hand through his hair in a soothing motion.
But even as Denki hugged her back, the tears falling down his cheeks, a small, quiet question rose in his mind.
Why can’t I use my quirk like that?
Later that night, Denki lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers still tingled from the shock he had released earlier. He curled them, clenched his hands into fists, unclenched them again, and wiggled them. He hadn’t meant to break the toy, but part of him couldn’t help but want to feel that thrill again. It had been exciting, hadn’t it? The way the electricity had crackled from his fingertips, the way the toy had sizzled, and the way the plastic had melted…
But he remembered his mother’s words too. “That’s bad, Denki.” And he shuddered. He turned to the side, where his wall was, colorful stickers plastered along it and hugged his pillow. He didn’t want to be bad. Villains are bad. He doesn’t want to be a Villain.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake the memory. I didn’t mean to be bad, he told himself, hugging his pillow closer. I didn’t mean to hurt anything.
***
And he had tried. He had tried to never hurt anything again. But a 6-year old little kid can't really know everything yet, can it?
Denki was playing in the garden again, chasing after the birds in the sky. Flying is cool! Maybe in a better life, he wouldn't have such a dangerous quirk and could just fly like that.
Denki paused in his tracks. A bit further back in the garden, his father had placed a birdbath. A small blue-red cardinal sat at its side. The blond kid snuck close, and for once the bird didn't startle and fly away. It looked at him with curious eyes and Denki looked at it with curious eyes.
Very slowly, the blond extended one arm. He noticed the bird move back, and found both of his hands wrapped around his winged friend, he himself leaning over the birdbath.
He grinned at the bird:”Hey little birdie!”, and the bird replied with an offended tweep .
The electricity crackled through the surface before he could hold it back. And the bird? - it went still.
A weird scent filled the air and Denki dropped the creature in panic, and it landed on the grass with a soft thud. Denki gasped, his mouth falling open in horror. He didn’t mean to—he didn’t mean to hurt it! His breath caught in his throat, and his stomach twisted in a tight knot of guilt. He could still feel the residual static crackling in his palms, but now there was a sinking feeling in his stomach. He didn’t understand what really had happened.
Before he can even react to it, his mother’s voice rings out, sharp and shocked. “Denki! What did you do ?!”
She rushes over, her face pale as she looks from the bird to him. There’s something new in her eyes—a mixture of fear and anger. She kneels down, taking his hands and pulling them away from the bird as if she’s afraid he might do it again.
“That’s bad, Denki. Don’t ever do that again!” Her voice is higher than usual, her fingers gripping his hands too tight. Then, almost reflexively, she swats the back of his hand. It’s not a hard slap, but it stings.
He blinks, biting his lip as his eyes well up. “I didn’t mean to…” he whispers, but she shakes her head, cutting him off, gripping his fingers even tighter
“No excuses. You could have really hurt something— or someone . You need to be careful with your quirk. Do you understand?” her voice had a new tone, a reprimanding one. He nods, swallowing hard as his gaze drifts back to the bird. That quick, instinctual surge of power now feels like something heavy inside him, something shameful and dangerous that he’s afraid to let out ever again.
But, not that he didn't feel regret, he couldn't wonder why his mother acted just so afraid of him. Denki could see the fear in her eyes when she had scolded him.
Am I to be feared?
***
It was a warm afternoon. Denki was only about 11 years old, heading home from school with his three best friends. The streets of Musutafu were lively with kids, families, and cars, but today, the usual energy felt different, heavier. An awful Villain attack had hit a popular cafe, leaving roughly 30 people jobless
Denki's stomach churned with an unsettling feeling that something wasn’t right when he and his friend entered the next street.
The street was narrow, flanked by two long rows of dilapidated buildings that were long past their prime. As they walked past the corner store, four figures appeared out of the alley, blocking their way. They looked out of place—older, rough-looking men with grime on their faces, and their clothes hanging off them like they didn’t care.
Denki’s friends tensed up.
“Hey, kid, your pocket change. Now,” one of the men sneered, stepping toward them.
Denki’s heart pounded, but his feet were frozen. Fear . That was all he could feel. He glanced at his friends—Mika, Yuki, and Shiota. Their faces were pale, terrified. They didn’t know what to do. Neither did Denki, really.
One of the older boys, seeing Denki’s hesitation, pushed Yuki, she stumbled. “Come on, kid! Don’t make us do this the hard way!” He grabbed her shoulder roughly, yanking her back again.
Denki’s breath hitched. He didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t right. These guys knew that he and his friends were just kids…, right? But they were grown, mean men and they wanted money. His heart raced faster.
Then, his fingers began itching like an energy that wanted to burst out of him, but he didn’t know how to stop it. His body was shaking. His body was screaming at his mind to do something.
One of the men reached out and grabbed Denki’s arm, rough and unyielding. Instinct kicked in. He didn’t think; he just felt his quirk flare to life, hot and dangerous, bubbling up inside him. Before he knew what he was doing, electricity sparked around his hand and raced up the man’s arm, forcing him to let go with a yelp of pain.
The man held his arm, face pulled into an ugly grimace. His arm steamed and a new smell quickly filled the air. Denki stared at him, and all the muggers around him stared at the boy.
Shiota took Denki's hand in his own, “We need to run!”, but a man with a red cap kicked him against his knee, causing the boy to stumble into Mika's side and away from Denki.
Then, everything spiraled.
Denki panicked, seeing his friends in pain, and before he knew it, electricity surged through him, wild and untamed, and he couldn’t hold it back. Sparks jumped from his skin, lashing out at the men. One by one, they fell, collapsing to the ground as the charge tore through them.
It was over as quick as it began.
The smell from earlier was heavier now.
Denki’s friends were staring at him, faces pale. The alleyway was silent except for the hum of electricity still hanging in the air and the ragged breathing of the men on the ground — some groaning, others frighteningly still. The fear in his friends’ eyes was unmistakable, and Denki felt a pang of shame mixed with something akin of regret.
But it only lasted a second before utter horror crashed in. The realization that he had just hurt someone, that his quirk, his own hands, had caused this, sent him stumbling back. His hands were still sparking faintly, and he couldn’t make it stop.
Shiota rushed forward, tears in his wide blue eyes, and forced Denki away from the bodies around him.
The blond kid was breathing hard.
This was what his mother warned him of. He killed those men. He killed those… well, they weren't innocent. That thought made Denki pause. He heard Yuki's footsteps shuffling away from him and he knew that Mika was pulling at Shiota to get him away, but it didn't really register.
The police arrived not long after the muggers fell, flashing lights painting the scene in alternating hues of red and blue. Denki and the other kids were still in shock, trembling under the streetlights as officers questioned them, piecing together what had happened. Denki stood frozen.
When his parents arrived, Denki’s heart leaped for a moment, hoping for comfort or understanding. His father was the first to step forward, looking shaken but calm. He murmured apologies to the officers, assuring them that his son’s actions had been instinctive, an attempt to protect himself and his friends in the face of danger. Which the police did seem to believe.
But Denki’s mother, as soon as she caught sight of him and the faint traces of sparks still on his fingers and the fried men on the ground, stormed forward, her face tight with anger. Her voice cut through the evening air, yet it only reached Denki's ears.
“ What were you thinking , Denki?” she hissed, her voice low but scathing. “Do you have any idea what you could have done? What did I tell you about using your quirk carelessly?”
Denki’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth, trying to explain that he hadn’t meant for things to go so far, that it had all happened so fast — he was only trying to keep his friends safe. But she didn’t give him a chance.
“You’re reckless,” she snapped. “I told you, again and again, to control yourself. But instead, you lash out and let this… this chaos happen?” Her eyes narrowed, dark and accusing. “Your friends are lucky you didn’t hurt them along with those guys.”
His father’s hand settled gently on her shoulder, an attempt to calm her down, but she brushed him off, her gaze still fixed on Denki. “Do you know what people will think if this gets out? They’ll call you dangerous, a menace. No one wants to be friends with someone who can’t control himself.”
Denki’s father tried to intervene, his voice softer as he spoke up, “An, dear, he’s just a kid. He was scared — they all were.” His voice held a quiet plea, a kindness that felt worlds apart from his mother’s harsh words.
But her anger wouldn’t abate. “A kid, maybe,” she replied coldly, “but that doesn’t give him an excuse to go around attacking people. This isn’t a toy, Denki. You’re not a child playing games. This is a dangerous quirk you have, and if you don’t start taking it seriously…” She trailed off, her meaning clear.
Denki could do nothing but nod. His gaze was lowered, he didn't dare meet her eyes right now. He felt ashamed, yes. But there was something else, buried in his tight chest.
He had buried it the moment his mother had arrived, but it clung to him, like one of those Zombie hands in bad Horror movies when they shoot out of the grave and grab the protagonists ankle.
They deserved it. They wanted to hurt me and my friends. I only did what was necessary.
***
After that day, Denki's mother became like a hawk and he her prey, constantly having her watch him. He wasn't allowed to go out after school with friends unless she was there to watch. She watched him closely, scrutinizing every move, every spark, as though any slip would mean the difference between a “safe” Denki and a “dangerous” one.
He hated it.
It was late, and eleven-year-old Denki was curled up in his bed, staring at the shadows shifting on his ceiling. He’d barely been able to sleep since that night, the night with the mugger. Even though his dad had tried to smooth things over, the disappointment and scorn in his mom’s eyes had made his stomach twist. He could still feel the lingering sting of her words, sharper than her reprimanding hand, echoing over and over in his mind.
That's when he heard muffled voices from the kitchen. Had he left his door open? Denki got up, wanting to close it. But then he heard his mother's words.
“This has to stop, Ryu.” Her voice was low and strained, barely more than a hiss, but Denki could hear the frustration seeping into every word. “You know what his quirk can do. You’ve seen the damage electricity can cause. If he’s already… slipping… what if he loses control completely?”
A beat of silence, thick and suffocating. His dad sounded hesitant. “An… he’s just a kid. What happened was… it was an accident. He was scared, trying to protect his friends—”
“Accident or not, he killed someone, Ryui. And it starts small. First an outburst, then more, until he… loses control.” Her voice trembled for a moment, a hint of something other than frustration leaking through — fear. “Electricity… it’s too wild. You know it’s more than most quirks. And if that potential... if it turns into something else, how will we bring him back?”
Denki’s breath caught. He felt a chill snake down his spine. Something in her words felt pointed, like she was talking about him, but… not just him.
“Are you saying you think he could… that he could, what, have his personality be determined by what electricity is? Plus and Minus?” His dad’s voice was soft but weighted with a horror that matched Denki’s own.
An exhaled, voice low and tight. “I think if he’s left unchecked, that thing he has inside him will do whatever it wants, without a care. And if that means splitting him in two so it can be free…” Her voice trailed off, then hardened again. “I’m doing what I have to, Hiroshi. Keeping him… keeping him under control. It’s for his own good.”
The room went quiet, and Denki sank back from the door, his chest tight and heavy. They didn’t trust him. His own mother thought he was dangerous, that he needed to be contained, held back before something inside him — something he didn’t even understand — broke free.
But what even… what was she even talking about? Denki clawed at his blonde hair. What did his father mean, “Plus and Minus”, what were they talking about…
He felt like he had some sort of illness that they didn't want him to know about. A quiet sob broke through his throat. Denki suddenly felt very, very far away from his parents.
But something nibbled on the back of his mind.
Is there something wrong with who I am?
***
Denki’s heart hammered in his chest as he tiptoed out the front door, the night air cool and sharp against his skin. For the first time, he was stepping out into the dark alone, slipping through the yard and down the street, where his shadow stretched out, long and unsteady. It felt wrong… but he needed to get out. He was suffocating in that house.
Not that the 12-year-old hated his parents, no. But he wasn't exactly happy with them right now either.
His eyes settled on the streetlight up ahead, casting a pale glow across the empty street. The quietness was strange, almost inviting, and before he could think about it, he lifted his hand, reaching toward the light.
For a moment, his fingers trembled, nerves swirling in his gut. A flicker of doubt crept up his spine, the voice in his mind soft but insistent, urging him to stop, to go back. But then, that moment of hesitation slipped away. Something darker — something steadier — surged forward, filling him with a newfound certainty, a kind of quiet thrill that drowned out every doubt, every whisper of fear.
This wasn’t the cautious, uncertain Denki who wanted to pull back. This was a part of him he hadn’t felt before — a part that wanted this. A part that didn’t see the point of restraint, of holding himself back.
In all honesty, he just wanted an outlet for once. He was constantly charged up with electricity, it always hummed just below his skin, scratching at the surface, begging for release. His mother quite well forced him to learn how he could stop it from escaping, especially after what happened that day.
Denki, since that day , had lived basically quirkless. But whatever had grabbed his ankle back when he was 11 didn't let go. If anything, it had its nails buried deep into him by now.
Electricity crackled around his hand, reaching out like tendrils of light, surging toward the streetlamp. As he touched it, a fierce, undeniable rush coursed through him. The bulb burst, plunging the street into darkness, shards of glass glinting on the pavement below.
A shiver of satisfaction settled in his bones. He’d wanted this, hadn’t he? Needed this. This freedom , this power . For the first time, he didn’t feel like he was holding himself back.
But as the rush faded, Denki could feel his own consciousness slipping, like he was sliding back, replaced by… something else. A new presence settled in his mind — colder, sharper, but undeniably his own.
But before he could even feel for it, it was gone.
Actually, he was gone. Gone from the street, just sitting up in his bed. Denki blinked, looking around.
Oh, he must've dreamt that. Yeah. He would never do that. Villains attack streetlights and cut off the lights for a whole block. And he wasn't a villain.
Denki pulled his blanket over his shoulders and fell back against the mattress.
Was it so wrong to dream, though?