Chapter Text
Two years ago Megumi would’ve never thought he’d ever want to be a hero. After all even in the faint memories he still clung to of his— no, of that man, all he ever heard about heroes was that they were selfish, greedy assholes. Cowards in capes. But two years ago, he also never thought he’d be standing here— over his older sister’s terrifyingly still body.
Simply because Tsumiki got caught in the crossfire of a villain attack. Wrong place, wrong time. A mistake. They said nothing. No name in the reports. No apology. Just silence—because admitting the truth would’ve made the heroes look bad.
Now he was stuck listening to the sound of her shallow breaths, trying to drown out the sounds of the machines keeping her alive.
He reached for her hand— or attempted to before his guilt took over and he pulled his hand back. Tsumiki was a kind soul, a genuine girl, and the best sister he could’ve ever asked for. She had cared for him for as long as he could remember, sacrificing her own childhood for his. And what had he done in return? Nothing.
He didn’t deserve her. He knew he didn’t.
So he left before tears could fall.
Before the guilt made him reach again.
Outside, the cold bit at his skin, but he barely felt it. He pushed through the hospital doors and ran.
He ran until his lungs stung with every breath, until his head throbbed in time with his pounding heart. He ran until he reached the door of their empty, one-bedroom apartment.
He paused, hesitating. The place was empty, too empty without her.
Walking in to the living room— if you could even call it that— felt like torture. She should be here. Finishing her homework on the couch or doing her nails while sitting beside the coffee table. Instead, her half-finished assignments sat untouched in her backpack. Her favorite dusty rose nail polish— the one she saved for special occasions— was left untouched just where she left it.
Megumi looked down at his own nails. Chipped navy nail polish sitting on them from when he finally gave into her begging just a week ago.
He forced himself to look away and walked towards their shared room. Pulling up the loose floorboard, he grabbed the small wad of bills they kept hidden.
They hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a month and the food was running out. But that didn’t matter.
Only she did.
By the time he reached the hospital again, his legs were trembling.
He slammed into the front desk, chest heaving and shoved the cash forward.
“F-Fushiguro! For Tsumiki Fushiguro.” He said, breathless. “Is this enough?”
The receptionist typed something into her computer, her expression unreadable. “Is this all you have currently?”
Her tone was too flat. Too casual. Like this wasn’t life or death.
Megumi clenched his jaw. “I’ll find more,” he said, breath beginning to even out.
She looked up, her face flashing a brief, pitiful look. “You’re short,” she said. “We can give her the basics, but if you want the full course—“
“I’ll get more,” he said quickly. “I just… I just need more time.”
The receptionist hesitated, then nodded. “I understand. But until we receive the required amount, we can’t begin the full treatment plan.”
“Then I’ll pay for the basics now,” he pushed the money closer, hands shaking. “And I’ll be back.”
She accepted it quietly. “Very well, then.”
Megumi nodded and looked at the clock.
10:24 PM.
Visiting hours had been over for more than an hour. With that, he began slowly walking back to their apartment.
He took slow, dragged-out steps, trying to waste as much time as possible. He wrapped his arms around his rumbling stomach and hunched over in a random alleyway.
He gagged as saliva pooled in his mouth, the bitter taste of stomach acid overwhelming his senses. He barely made it to a trash can before vomiting.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he exhaled shakily.
Good thing I haven’t eaten anything yet, he thought, that would’ve been a waste.
He didn’t pause. Just kept walking.
Fourteen nights without her. Fourteen dinners skipped. Fourteen mornings waking up alone. Megumi sat on his living room floor surrounded by papers— reminders. Red letters. Overdue notices. The total cost of keeping someone alive.
He wrapped his arms around himself tightly, feeling colder than usual. The heater had been shut off three days ago and he hadn’t had a proper meal since the incident.
Still, he read over the notices once again. Although he truly didn’t need to. He already knew what they said.
Tsumiki’s life was worth more than he could ever hope to make. But he didn’t need a piece of paper to tell him that. He was observant enough to find out himself as he grew up. And he would pay whatever the price was for her survival.
Even if it meant going hungry. Even if it meant becoming everything his father hated. Even if it meant becoming a hero.
Megumi slowly lifted up his head and glanced over the room before staring at his opened backpack which had a flyer sticking out. He hesitated slightly before beginning to crawl towards it.
He grabbed the paper that was passed out in class earlier that week tightly in his hand.
U.A. High School – Hero Course: Become the Future. Save Lives.
His hand hovered over it, uncertain as he read it again.
Hero.
He thought back to what that man always told him.
“Heroes are liars, Megumi. Crooks with good PR. They’ll leave you behind the second you stop being useful.”
His jaw tightened.
He thought of Tsumiki in that white, silent hospital bed. Machines breathing for her.
She mattered. Not him. Not anymore.
So he opened the pamphlet. Salary estimates for Pro Heroes. Full medical coverage for registered dependents. Housing stipends. Education. Reputation. Reach.
He normally wouldn’t care about any of this. But this wasn’t normally. If becoming a hero meant access to real hospitals, real treatment, and the kind of power that would stop people from turning him away at the front desk— then it didn’t matter how much he hated the idea, how little he believed in heroes.
Because Tsumiki didn’t need someone who believed. She needed someone who took action.
And he would be what she needed.
He squeezed the flyer so tightly it crumpled in his fist.
He hated this.
He hated that this— a job his father mocked— a system built on smiling for cameras, was the only real way out.
But what else could he do?
He was twelve. No one would hire him. No bank would loan him money.
He could study, beg, starve—and it still wouldn’t be enough.
But heroes made money. Heroes had power.
Heroes didn’t get turned away at the front desk.
Maybe… maybe if he became one, she’d have a chance.
He placed the flyer back in his backpack before standing up, bones sore from sitting down for too long.
He stepped into their room, grabbed a pillow and blanket, and laid a makeshift bed on the floor—just close enough. He wanted to be near her things, but touching them felt wrong. Like letting go.
So he laid on the floor hugging his pillow tightly, burying his face into the familiar fabric, took a deep breath, and cried. Megumi cried for hours that night, unable to tell of it was because of the aching pain in his stomach, or in his heart.
He was going to become a hero for her. But heroes took time. And time was what she didn’t have.