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Denki Kaminari knows he has a certain reputation.
At best, he’s the goofy sunshine side character known for occasionally turning into a giggling idiot when he blows past the limitations of his quirk. At worst, he’s aware of some of the side-looks, lifted noses and whispered comments about how he’s made a career out of being a bit of a joke.
His rescues of civilians in distress or take-downs of villains looking to cause harm will never have as much societal impact as when ‘Top 10 Chargebolt Fails’ trended online. Or when ’15 best Chargebolt Whey Faces’ gave everyone a new profile picture for the week.
He’s learned to live with it.
Tonight however, there are more side-eyes and lifted noses than usual. There would be more whispered comments, but Jirou has been stuck to his side all evening with a troubled look on her face. She knows it too - that for some reason, no one ever seems to remember Chargebolt's successes.
The Hero Awards Gala is being held in Osaka this year. Denki is in a plain black suit – but with a novelty tie with his own branded lightning bolts that his stylist had tried to talk him out of. Kyouka had picked him up from his house wearing a vividly blue dress that sparkled under the lights of the chandeliers. She was still wearing the leather jacket from her Hero costume, and it made her look powerful in a way that Denki could never quite pull off.
The Gala is teeming with Heros. The strongest, the bravest – the most capable. He’d felt suave and cool in his suit before he’d seen Shoto’s three-piece tailored set and then had come face to face with Bakugo’s biceps underneath a dress shirt which did a whole lot of things to chip away at his own self-confidence.
Denki adjusted his tie, already crooked despite his best efforts, and let out a breath.
“Relax,” Jirou said, and offered a friendly smile, “If you short-circuit, at least it’ll be funny.”
“That’s the spirit,” Denki says brightly. “If I’m going to fail, might as well do it with style.”
The thing is, Denki knows why he’s here.
The email had been very careful with its wording - lighthearted recognition, good sportsmanship encouraged, audience participation expected.
He can read between the lines - they were going to laugh with him. Or at him. He didn’t bother correcting the difference anymore.
The tables in the hall are set with more kinds of cutlery than Denki keeps in his house. The napkins are pressed white linen, and the name cards are embossed with gold. It’s old-money class in the kind of way that Momo is, and Denki frowns down at the table setting – not for the last time, wishing he had his phone to search up something that so many of the other Heroes seemed to intuitively know.
Between the decadent courses, awards are handed out with reverence. The Hero Gala is trying a new thing this year – awards to recognise individuals and their actions, rather than just an overall public ranking of the Top 10.
It’s probably a Hawks initiative – each award is given out like laurel wreath bestowed onto greatness – despite looking just like a soccer trophy. There’s a spotlight, a little bass-heavy jingle plays while each Hero walks up to the stage to collect their award in surprised delight.
A limited selection of the media with expensive cameras.
It’s like the Oscars, but in a more ‘enforced by the people who issue your license’ way.
Symbol of Peace in Action goes to Midoriya – no surprises there. Tears are shed – mostly Midoriya and from Mama-Midoriya in the crowd. Unbreakable Resolve goes to Kirishima who takes the win with all his sharky teeth on display and with several flexes for the cameraman. Distinguished Service in Civilian Rescue goes to Uraraka who gets nervous and trips over her words, but in a cute and excitable kind of way.
A few of the newer sidekicks pick up some awards, and a few friendly faces who went to Shinketsu High back in the day get in on the action – but then dessert comes and Denki misses whatever award they announced for Bakugo’s win in favour of a poached pear. Jirou elbows him just in time to see Bakugo walk up to the mic and deadpan ‘thanks’ into the mic before heading back down at the table where Sero was howling with laughter despite the relative silence of the room.
Denki claps along to all of the awards, genuinely. He likes heroes. He likes these heroes. He likes knowing that everyone in this room are trying their hardest to build a kinder world.
“And now,” the host announces their voice filled with dramatic anticipation, “For a very special award recognizing… consistency in heroics.”
Denki straightens a little.
“Consistency in pushing limits, in breaking expectations,” The host continues, pausing just long enough to let hope flicker across the crowd, “-and in absolutely eating dirt while doing so.”
There it is.
“The Failure Hero Award!”
The spotlight hits him like a lightning strike. Laughter ripples through the room - not cruel, he thinks, not kind, just loud. Kyouka stiffens at his side, and even though Denki’s heart is sinking, he is relieved to find that she is angry on his behalf.
Denki blinks once, then grins and raises a hand in a lazy wave.
He’s a Pro Hero. He’s used to performing in front of cameras.
Still, he takes the long away around. Playing it up and giving finger guns to the crowd as he makes his way up to the stage. Every second he manages to delay is an extra second to let the announcement flow through his body and try to cobble together some kind of speech which can passably sound like he’s like not devastated.
'-lighthearted recognition, good sportsmanship encouraged, audience participation expected' The email had said.
Bakugou makes a disgusted noise as Denki walks past, “Of course.”
Denki climbs the stage stairs anyway.
His legs don’t even shake.
The trophy that is pushed into his hands has a cracked piece of glass set into a metal base. There’s a metal plate imbedded into the glass – and sure enough – Kaminari Denki – The Failure Hero Award is inscribed. They’ve even dated it.
Brilliant.
The host rests a hand on his back and pushes him a step closer to the mic.
Ah, showtime.
“Wow,” Denki says, “I’d like to thank the internet. Truly couldn’t have done this without you.”
The laugh that follows is easier to deal with. It’s familiar. Laugh with me, instead of at me.
With me, with me, with me.
“I know this is a joke award,” He says, in a moment of humbling clarity, “And I know what people think when they hear my name. They think of the compilation videos. The Meme pages. The exact frame where my eyes cross and my brain check out - I met someone who got that tattooed on them, you know? - But no one really thinks of what comes before that.”
The room quiets. It isn't uncomfortable, it's just enough pause for him to lift his trophy and consider it.
“And I get it,” Denki admits, “I fail loudly. Publicly. Repeatedly. I always have.”
There are so many eyes that meet his own in the audience. He’s known many of them since he first walked into U.A. Back then, perfection seemed like the minimum requirement to be worth anything as a Hero.
How easy it would have been to freeze from that fear, to stop pushing, to stay safely below his limits forever. How easy it would have been to be too afraid to make a single mistake – and wither away without learning and growing at all.
“But here’s the thing,” Denki says, laughing like he’s already confessed something embarrassing, “I’m not scared of failing.”
A few heads tilt in the audience; people shift in their seats. Denki scans the crowd until he finds Kyouka, and his grin softens into the shape of something that hasn’t been cobbled together hastily on the walk over.
“Failure’s gonna happen. That’s not a maybe - that’s a promise. And once you accept that, it stops being this terrifying wall that prevents you from being the best Hero you can be,” Denki tapped the trophy with his thumb, and considered it, “I learn where my limits are. And the weird thing about limits? They move. But they only move if you hit them hard enough.”
The trophy is heavier than it looks. Funny how that works, huh?
“Failure isn’t the opposite of growth - it’s proof of it. It means you tried, you learned, and you survived,” Denki finds his eyes wandering over the crowd, “And you can do everything right and still fail. Getting back up - that’s heroism.”
He manages to find Aizawa in the crowd and feels a flood of relief when his former teacher gives him an approving nod. It’s so strange how much Eraserhead’s approval has always meant to him.
“So yeah,” Denki finishes lamely, lifting the trophy in a mock salute, “I’ll take being the Failure Hero. Because if you’re afraid to fail, you’re afraid to try. I’ll keep getting better. One short circuit at a time.”
The applause that starts in response is slower and steadier. It seems to fill the room instead of bouncing off it. It’s not a rom-com standing ovation where everyone claps, but he’s walking away knowing that all the times he failed and tripped over his words in interviews has led to this.
The time he gets it right.
Denki gives a flourishing joke-y bow to break the tension - too deep, nearly tipping forward, before he jumps right off the stage into the media pit and heads back to his seat while the photographers are scrambling to turn and line-up a decent shot. He gets a few laughs as he moves, and then the room is back to being as warm and exciting as before.
Jirou nudges him with her shoulder when he swings back and reaches for his waterglass. His phone is still on the table and keeps lighting up as his friends across the room start firing into the group chat in both outrage and pride.
“You know,” she says quietly, “You were kind of awesome.”
He grins, bright as ever. “Yeah - I kinda am, aren’t I?”
Denki looks down at the cracked glass trophy in his hands, warm under the lights, and feels something settle comfortably in his chest.
He doesn’t need their approval - he’s already won in his own way. Failure isn’t the end. It’s the start.
And right now, Denki feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.