Chapter Text
Euripides said, “When a good man is hurt, all those who would like to be called good must suffer with him.”
Yet in a society full of “good” heroes, it seemed that no one stopped to suffer. What made him so different from others? Why could everyone be unique by possessing something that only they had, while he was forced to have nothing?
He was Quirkless, maybe he was born that way as a freak of nature, but he had stopped thinking that way.
“God did it,” the man had said. He had been chosen for a noble purpose.
Maybe he didn't really believe it, maybe it was just an illusion, a last desperate attempt to cling to life and convince himself that even if he failed to be like the heroes, he could still save everyone. Save them from a life of suffering, save them from suppressing others, save them from their quirks.
To everyone, quirkless are people condemned to menial jobs and oblivion because they are too simple to leave a mark.
But he would leave it.