Chapter Text
If you ask him, Shinsou would say that his luck isn’t the best.
It’s actually close to the worst.
Because of course the last family in UA’s radius is a family that hates heroes. Hitoshi knew that the second he stepped into the house. It was a gut feeling. He had learned to trust his gut. Everything just felt…off. He social worker mumble a warning, something along the lines of “don’t fuck this one up” and left.
Akuma and Jigoku Yamino on first glance looked fine. Fine as in they didn’t look mad, or drunk.
But Hitoshi knew that good things never lasted.
He was sat down on a normal couch, nothing beat up or broken and he couldn’t hear anyone else or see any extra shoes, so he assumed he was the only child here. A blessing and a curse.
On one hand, it could get quite lonely in a home, especially if the foster family wasn’t there often, if ever. Those were one of the good ones. But then he remembered the cons. It often meant he received extra punishment. There was nobody to blame but him. Which of course he didn’t want other people to get hurt either…
He was snapped back to reality.
His new foster parents were sitting across from him in chairs they had pulled from the dinning room table.
Right, here we go. The rules of this new house.
The rules that must be followed at all times. Mistakes are not permitted unless you wanted to be hurt.
Not that all of them had been hitters. He had one foster family (actually the one just before this one) that would just yell and yell and yell. They would constantly put him down and use any weakness against him. Did he mention yell?
His sibling there was the only reason he lived through that house. Himiko was the best sister he could have asked for. She never pried or pitied. She was just…there. Even when he was on the ledge, she was there to talk him down. She told him that he needs to keep going to prove everyone wrong. To prove that he can be a hero. Even with his villain of a quirk.
They kept in touch after Himiko moved to a new home but then one day she stopped texting, calling, communication altogether. He heard why two days later. He overheard his old family talking that night.
“Remember that psychotic kid we had ‘bout a month or two ago? The one with the blood thing?” His previous foster father said, barely glancing up from his phone.
“Vaguely why?” His foster mother had said.
“She died. Killed herself. Stabbed right through the chest.”
His heart might have stopped. There was no way…
She was so happy.
Hitoshi didn’t sleep that night, not that he ever did. There was no way she killed herself. Nobody stabs themself through the chest. It dawned on him.
They must have killed her.
Wherever she was, someone had killed her.
So he makes his promise to her every day. That he will never let that happen to anyone else.
That’s why he’s going to be a hero.
“So Shinsou you a have brainwashing quirk. You will never utter a word in this house or in our presence is that clear? Your social worker said you already have all the necessary precaution measures?” Jigoku said, folding her hands in her lap.
Hitoshi was good at noticing tiny details. He had to be. In order to know when someone was angry enough to throw a punch or not. He also recognized a few key things. Jigoku was the leader of this house. Her attire was very organized and professional and given the time was 6pm he guessed she had just arrived from wherever she works. And wherever that is, it was probable that she was high up in the food chain. Just the way that she held herself, like she was above others.
The other thing is the way she danced around the word. The necessary precaution measures being a muzzle. An ugly black muzzle. It covered Hitoshi’s nose and pinched sharply due the the fact that the rubber padding had worn off. It dug into the sides of his cheeks as well and if you look closely, there are fine white lines that stretch from his ear to just above his mouth on both sides. Along with two small vertical marks on his nose, which almost looked like he wore glasses that were too tight on his face.
He pulled the muzzle out from his bag and hesitated before slipping it on and clicking it into place, the metal piece resting on top of his tongue. He looked back at Jigoku. She cleared her throat.
“I do all the cooking around here but you are on charge of doing dishes with Akuma every night.”
This was good. Something clear and concise. Hitoshi could do that.
“Lastly Akuma and his friends play poker every Friday. You are to not be seen unless asked to be seen. Clear?” She didn’t even wait for Hitoshi to nod before she moved on. He spared a glance at Akuma. He was staring at Hitoshi will a strange glimmer that made his stomach churn with a familiar feeling.
Something’s not right with him.
Another gut feeling.
Akuma pipes up, not taking his eyes off Hitoshi. “We’ve got you goin’ to the high school down the road. Don’t get yourself expelled ‘k? Or do and get to spend all day with me.” He smiles.
Yes, there was definitely something wrong. Well with his foster father but also with his statement. Did they not know he attended UA?
Well, Jigoku answered his question without him even saying it. Not that he could anyway. He barely spoke even with the muzzle off. It was really hard some days. It was like someone had stolen his voice.
“From your file, we noticed you had been attending UA high. And you just got transferred to the hero course? That ends now. We have your best interests in mind and we think it’s for the best if you attend a normal school.”
Hitoshi’s heart sank. Was he hearing this right? Usually the foster family didn’t care about school, whether he went or not. Did they really hate heroes that much?
“Dinner will be in an hour. Your room is down that hall.” She gestured to the hall.
Hitoshi grabbed his small backpack. He didn’t have a lot of possessions. Just an extra pair of clothes from a foster sibling who grew out of them, a toothbrush and toothpaste, some makeup, (some to wear for fun and some to cover bruises) and a small box that held his lighter and earrings. He had gotten his ears pierced by one of the foster brothers he had when he was 8.
It was worth the punishment.
Now he walked into his room and was slightly amazed. It wasn’t that tiny. Of course it wasn’t huge but there was a bed with sheets and a blanket, and a closet. It’s not something you get to see everyday.
Maybe this home will be better.
Hitoshi knew better than to get his hopes up.
For once in his life, Hitoshi hoped that the teachers at the public school would look at his file abs see his quirk. Maybe just maybe then they won’t report him absent if they don’t even want him there in the first place.
Maybe.
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When dinner rolled around Hitoshi hid his bag in the closet and walked into the kitchen. Jigoku was finishing scooping rice and vegetables into three bowls. Hitoshi held out his hands, a silent offer to take the bowls to the dinning room. Jigoku silently handed him the bowls and he carried them to the table.
His stomach churned.
Please let me take it off so I can eat.
He silently prayed. And he was in luck because when Jigoku sat down and Hitoshi was about to accept defeat when Akuma came up behind him and took it off. He rested one hand on his shoulder and his hand lingered just for a second. Hitoshi flinched.
It was a reaction that happened often. Anytime anyone got even close to his hair.
Akuma chuckled.
“Sensitive huh?”
Hitoshi was suddenly very interested in his food and waited for Jigoku ti start before he did.
He did not want to fuck this up for himself.
Even if Akuma was weird. He could deal with it if it meant he wasn’t going to be with a family that hits him.
Which still could happen.
You never know with luck like his.
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After dinner Hitoshi grabbed all the bowls and Akuma grabbed the cups and silverware and they made their way to the kitchen. He also had grabbed the muzzle, Hitoshi noticed. He turned so his back was facing Akuma. He tensed as his rough hand found the back of his head and pulled him into the man. He freezed, unsure what was happening.
The muzzle clicked into place and Hitoshi quickly stepped forward to put some distance between the two and started on the dishes.
He didn’t like this.
He didn’t like this at all.
Because the whole time, Akuma had this smirk.
A smirk that tells him that he wasn’t done.
Just his luck.