Chapter Text
You are twelve the first time you hurt someone with your quirk. On purpose, anyway.
Your mom—the definition of an alcoholic—doesn’t help with the bills. So you do. You sell homemade cookies and baked goods at the local grocery store, balancing that on top of the two jobs you already work. You tell yourself that if you can just earn a little more, things will get better. You’ll fix it. You’ll make a good life for your family.
You’re technically enrolled in the middle school near your apartment, but you never go. School doesn’t matter. Money does.
Your brother, Miko, is two years older than you, but he only works part-time as a busboy at some fancy Italian restaurant in a hotel. Somehow, he still makes more money than you do. You don’t know how, and honestly, you don’t care enough to ask. He’s the breadwinner. That’s all that matters.
Your quirk is… strange. You’ve never known what to call it. Shapeshifting? Metamorphosis? You can turn into almost anything—animals, objects, whatever you can think of. Miko has the other half. He can change other people.
You never meant to hurt anyone. Not really.
But your family is drowning, and you refuse to just stand there and watch.
Miko always talked about being a hero. Not seriously—more like the way kids dream about being famous athletes. It was just a dream.
So maybe it’s that same instinct that wakes him in the middle of the night.
“Y/N. Hey—wake up,” he whispers, shaking you.
You jolt awake, disoriented. “Miko? What’s going on?”
“We need to go. Now.”
Your mom doesn’t stir as you both pack. You don’t ask questions. You trust him.
“Fushi—you know him, right?” Miko says quietly as you slip out into the night.
You nod. “That skinny guy?”
“Yeah. He can get us somewhere. There’s a place across town… kind of a hideout. People go there to make money. Fast.”
Your stomach twists, but you don’t argue. You just follow.
The “hideout” is an abandoned factory.
It smells like rot and dust. The air is thick, hard to breathe. You cough as you step inside.
You stay there for weeks.
No one bothers you if you don’t bother them. Nights are freezing. Days drag on forever. And things happen—things you know you saw, but can’t quite remember. Drugs. Fights. People collapsing.
It all feels distant. Like a nightmare you woke up from but can’t fully recall.
The man comes close to midnight.
He stumbles toward you, slurring, reeking of something chemical and wrong. There’s a knife in his hand.
You don’t feel fear.
Just cold. And something heavier.
“Sir, you—” Miko starts.
The man snaps.
He lunges, swinging wildly.
Your eyes dart to Miko—and then you move.
Your body twists, stretches, reshapes.
In an instant, you’re a massive snake, thick and coiling, hissing loud enough to echo in the empty factory.
You strike.
Your fangs sink into his arm. He screams. You wrap around him, tightening, tighter, tighter—
You feel detached. Like you’re watching someone else do this.
Miko doesn’t stop you.
The knife clatters to the floor.
Eventually, you let go.
You shift back, human again, breath uneven.
The man staggers away, bleeding, screaming.
That’s when they tell you about the ring. Fights. Illegal. Brutal. The winner gets paid.
Miko tries to stop you. He really does. But you won’t listen.
In the end, he only agrees if he can come with you.
You accept.
The fights blur together—pain, movement, shifting forms, fists.
You win.
150,000 yen.
It’s enough.
You move into a tiny, filthy one-room apartment that smells like piss, but it’s yours. It’s safe.
Miko gets another job. You keep fighting.
Life almost feels stable.
Then December comes.
It’s freezing.
You and Miko sit huddled together, shivering.
“There’s another fight tonight,” you say, teeth chattering.
“Don’t go,” he replies.
“I have to. Rent’s due.”
“One day, you won’t win.”
You don’t answer right away.
“I’ll stop,” you promise quietly. “Just… not yet.”
He nods.
And insists on coming with you.
That’s the mistake.
You’re in the ring, halfway through a fight.
You don't know what happened, you were in the cage half-way through a fight with some guy with long black hair and eye bags for days.
You were having trouble with your quirk, so you were fighting hand-to-hand. You grunt and move out of the way from him. He seems determined not to injure, but simply to pin you. You were resistant and took this to your advantage. You hit the man hard in the stomach when it happens.
Everything seems to explode.
Men burst in.
Guns.
Shouting.
You freeze.
Your opponent forces you to the ground, but stays standing. A police officer approaches him. They talk quietly.
Police.
Raid.
Your heart pounds.
“Miko?” you call, panic rising.
No answer.
“Miko!”
You see him.
He’s near the edge, wide-eyed, shaking his head slightly.
You stand.
“Hey, kid—” the man in the ring starts, reaching for you.
You flinch away and run.
Toward Miko, always toward Miko. He steps toward you too.
You don’t hear the shouting.
You don’t hear the warnings.
You don’t hear them say they’ll shoot.
You’re so close.
Just a few feet.
You could reach him—
Bang.
The sound echoes.
But it’s not the worst part.
The worst part is the noise Miko makes. He collapses. There’s blood, too much blood.
You stop.
Everything stops.
You drop beside him.
“…Miko?”
He exhales weakly. “Y/N…”
“It’s okay,” you whisper, voice breaking. “You’re okay. They’ll help you—they’ll take you to a hospital—”
“It’s… cold.”
“No, no—you’re fine! Stay awake, okay? Just—just look at me—”
But his eyes are already closing.
And you can’t stop it.
Chaos erupts around you. Everyone is outraged.
People are shouting. Fighting. More gunshots.
You don’t move.
You just stare at him.
Gone.
A hand touches your shoulder. It’s the man from the ring. His hair floats around his face and his eyes gleam red. He doesn’t look angry, though. Just urgent.
You flinch.
“Kid… are you brothers?” the man asks.
“…were,” you whisper.
“What?”
“We used to be brothers,” you say, louder now. “He’s dead.”
Heat floods your chest. Rage. Grief. Everything at once.
“He was my brother, and now he’s dead because your cops killed him.”
You stand, shaking, and face the man from the ring.
“You’re a hero? Yeah, I see it now,” you spit. “You wouldn’t hit me because I’m a kid? He was a kid too! And you killed him!”
You’re sobbing now, words breaking apart.
He glances around, tense. “Let’s get you out of here. We’ll go to the station—”
He grabs your wrists.
Panic surges.
“Let me go!”
Someone you recognize from a previous fight yells and rushes at the hero. He lets go.
That’s all you need.
You run, not stopping for anything until you reach the apartment. You pack everything—what little you have.
Your hands shake. Your vision blurs. Miko is gone. There’s no one left.
You are alone.