Chapter Text
flashbacks
"And how do you plan to become a hero with a quirk like that?" one of my classmates asked.
"It's dangerous, but if you want a chill job, maybe you could be a doll maker since it's your hobby," another friend added.
They were right. My quirk wasn't flashy, and it definitely wasn't the type of power people pictured for a hero. My quirk is called Soulweaver. I can draw out soul energy or essence from any living being, and when I activate it, the target's essence appears as violet wisps that flow into my body. I can use that energy to attack or heal, and it even lets me give temporary life to the dolls I create.
But it comes with weaknesses. Siphoning requires close proximity or touch, so the range is short. Overdraining makes me feel the victim's emotions all at once, like an overload I can't control. And if I use too much essence too fast, I go into soul overload and basically pass out.
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"Congratulations, Shizuku, for attaining your hero license," Mr. Aizawa said. I felt a rush of joy hit me all at once. Coming from him, those words meant everything. He doesn't hand out praise casually, so hearing it from my mentor made my chest feel light.
"Thank you, sir," I replied, trying to sound calm despite the pride swelling inside me.
Eraserhead had been training me privately for years; teaching me everything from combat techniques to what it truly means to be a hero. Over time, he became the person I trusted the most. I never met my real parents, and I'd lived under his roof for as long as I can remember. At home, since he's the closest thing I have to a father...quiet, steady, and protective in his own way so I call him dad. But once we step outside, the roles shift. He becomes my teacher and mentor again, strict and focused, treating me just like any other trainee. It's a balance we both understand.
Getting a hero license without attending a hero school was tough. But I wanted it both ways. I wanted to study business so badly, yet the idea of being a hero—especially an underground hero tempted me constantly. So why not both? Being a businesswoman and an underground hero... honestly, that sounded perfect. Such a cool combination, right?
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"The villain attacks are increasing by the second, Shizuku..." Aizawa said as he set the food on the table.
"Hizashi suggested you transfer to U.A.'s business department. It's your choice, kid," he added, his voice calm but heavy.
He wasn't wrong. My school had been attacked by the League of Villains not long ago. I got out without a scratch, but the fear stayed with me. What if next time I wasn't so lucky? What if my friends weren't?
And would transferring to U.A. really keep me safe? Sure, it's the top school in the country... but that also means it could be the top target. The thought made my chest tighten. Safety wasn't guaranteed anywhere—not in a normal school, not in U.A., not even with him watching over me.
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"Mr. Aizawa, who's with you today?" a blond boy asked, his eyes drifting toward the girl trailing quietly behind Aizawa.
"A transfer student. And get to class, Kaminari," Aizawa said, his voice firm. The boy immediately straightened up and kept quiet.
Aizawa slid open the door to Class 2-A. Kaminari was about to step inside, but he paused and glanced back at Shizuku, curiosity written all over his face.
"I'm Kaminari. Nice to meet you, uh...?" he said, scratching the back of his head.
"Shizuku. I've seen you on television. Nice to meet you, too." She offered her hand, and Kaminari accepted it with a quick shake, a grin forming almost instantly.
Kaminari walked into the classroom afterward. Aizawa turned to Shizuku, giving his final instruction before starting homeroom.
"Your class is in the first room to the right," he said, pointing down the hall. Then, in his usual quiet way, he gave her head a quick, reassuring pat before sliding the door shut behind him.
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I need to use the toilet before I enter my class... I'm feeling nauseous, Shizuku thought, her stomach twisting.
She spotted a comfort room sign and rushed toward it, not realizing she had walked straight into the men's room. She headed straight for an empty stall, too overwhelmed to notice the man standing at the urinal. The nausea was rising fast—this always happened when she was stressed or overloaded. And it was her first day at U.A., after all.
After flushing, Shizuku stepped out of the stall, only to find the same man now waiting by the sink, arms crossed casually.
"This is the men's room, you know..." he said, his blue eyes fixed on her, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Shizuku felt heat rush to her face. Without thinking, she slapped her cheeks lightly, mortified that he was watching. She hurried toward the exit, praying she wouldn't run into anyone else on the way out.
"Hey—your name? You're new," he called after her.
"Shizuku..." she answered, not even looking back, too embarrassed to show her face.