Work Text:
As I spent more years on this planet, I started to hate things little by little.
Every day I felt myself hating. Hating the bags under my father's eyes. Hating the tear stains from my mother's. Hating the wet sensation from my own whenever they came home late again.
Every day I would live just to observe. Whether it was the other children's smiles, their laughters, or their cries, every new detail I learned also made me aware my feelings.
Yet despite me hating so many things, there were 3 that were the most important.
The first one was Santa. Every time it was Christmas, all the other children would brag about getting gifts from that old fart. But I knew the truth. I knew because I was forced to. Forced to watch as my own parents scrambled for money just to buy me something of my current interest. Forced to see them work themselves to death just so I wouldn't feel left out.
So when I heard the others give credit to this 'Santa' instead of acknowledging their parents hard work... I felt my heart turn. Having a fictional being take all your hard work frustrated me to the bone. Having to see my father come, pass out on the floor, just to have my other friends say that I got on Santa's "nice list"... It all made me want to die.
The second thing I hate is when people don't understand my passion. Since my family were barley making enough money to survive, I was never able to do any extra curriculars. Not that I minded though, I was fine just drawing while waiting to get picked up.
Though this all changed when my art teacher saw me. He had asked me to join his art club, but when I told him that my family couldn't afford it, he had offered to pay for it. [turn this into dialogue as well] When my parents found out, they were hesitant, but eventually allowed me to.
From that day on, the colors in my life slowly started to reappear. Every lift of the paint brush made me feel alive, like I was able to finally have control of something for once in my life.
My paintings were what others called "incomprehensible". The art teacher, Mr. Nishioka, didn't mind at first. He figured that it was "just a phase" and that I would grow out of it. But when I still painted in that twisted, abstract way up to middle school, he finally sat me down.
I felt the chains around my body grow tighter as he told me that I needed to start creating "normal art". I felt my body contort in disgust as the man that had once guided me onto this path of freedom now stopped me from expressing it.
But, I couldn't say anything. I couldn't say "no" and throw a tantrum. No. In fact, I had too much to lose if I did that. I could lose the chance of creating more explosions, the chance of being known, and... worst of all... I would lose my parents trust in me to stay out of trouble.
So I did what was expected of me. I had spent the rest of my second and third year of middle school conforming to what society wanted from me. All the weird stares from my fellow club mates stopped. Now they were replaced with relieved sighs and smug smiles. It was as if they were being saved from something disastrous, like what I previously drew was a horror for the eyes.
Ive always appreciated other people's explosions...but, how come no one is acknowledging mine?
For our last art project as 3rd years in junior high, Mr. Nishioka allowed us to draw whatever we wanted. When I heard his words, I felt the cells in my body tingle. After being forced to paint such boring stuff, this was finally my chance to express myself. My chance to be free.
Who cares if people look at me weird? I want to do what I want. No, I need to do what I want.
[insert scene of Shidou walking into his art class only to see his painting griefed]
When I saw my painting destroyed, I felt my heart sink. Why... why did this happen? How... how dare someone ruin my explosion!?
[insert scene of Shidou seeing the guy who did it and beating him]
i didn't know what came over me that day. All the anger I've been hoarding for the past 3 years ended up overflowing, causing me to impulsively punch him.
When my parents found out, they weren't even angry at me. Why... why weren't they angry at me?! why didn't they punish such an unruly son like me?! They just gave me a hug and comforted me.
Why... why aren't you angry at me?!
Thankfully the other guy's parents didn't file charges, claiming that their son was the one who started it. Relief washed over my body as I realized that my parents wouldn't have to pay anything or go to court because of me.
A few days later, I was resting in my room. Since I got suspended for a week, there wasn't really anything for me to do besides sleeping all the time.
But, as soon as it was midnight, I felt my body jerk awake. It was as if someone, something, was warning me about the road ahead.
When I smelt the scent of smoke, I felt my body freeze. I immediately opened my bedroom door, only to see my whole house covered in flames. I screamed for my parents, but all I got was no response. I was about to run out instinctively until I realized that the fire was coming towards my door. In a fit of panic, I immediately shut my door and looked towards the window.
The window that I've seen for the past 15 years... The window that stayed with me even when my parents didn't.
I felt it calling after me, almost like a guiding light. Without a second thought, I leaped out of it and grabbed onto the tree.
[show panel of Shidou jumping out of three story building]
When I came out, I climbed my way down the tree, only to see the second floor neighbor on the phone.
I found out that the fire started because some rich kids were trying to smoke in private and one of the buds fell on the ground mid lit.
When the fire fighters came, I found out that besides the first floor family, the woman next to me, and I, there were no other survivors.
When I heard those words, I felt my blood go cold. No survivors...?
When the police were questioning all of us, no one recognized my parents' faces. in fact, the only reason they knew my parents were in that apartment was because of me. Because of my existence. Because they had left their mark on the world by giving birth to me. Giving birth to something that could never erase them.
Since I brought my Art home once I finished it, they had also burned alongside my parents.
Every document, every item, hell, every organism tied to me disappeared that night.
and On that very day, I realized something...
The third thing I hate the most is when I become... nothing
For the next two years, I ended up living in an orphanage. It was alright, at least for now. The children were loud, but that was expected. When I look at them, I can't help but feel jealous. Ah, how I wish I held the same freedom.
But one day when I was helping fold the new blankets, I saw something on TV. It was about a soccer legend dying. When I saw this, I felt my heart beat. Even though he died... Everyone was able to remember him since he left his mark on the soccer field.
After the fire, I had lost my passion to do art. Every time I tried to paint, painful memories of the fire reappeared in my mind. But, with soccer, I'd be able to create a new way of being known by the world, being acknowledged for my freedom.
Afrer that day, I managed to save enough money for a soccer ball. Since the orphanage didn't have lots of funding, I wasn't able to join any soccer clubs. It was okay though. I had managed to find my own way of practicing.
From that day on, I would go to that park after school, practicing like my life depended on it. To my surprise, I was able to pick it up quickly, though my dribbling needed work.
One day as I was practicing, I got distracted by roars. In the soccer field across from me, there were two teams playing. I paid it no mind at first, but when I heard another rumble, my attention locked onto the source.
Thats when I saw it, true passion. The looks on the losing team's eyes, their desperation leaking. Their passion... oh their passion... I wanted to play on that field full of fire so bad, but I couldn't. How could I? I would just get in trouble... But, what did I have to lose?
Would I rather fit into what society wants from me, or would I rather do something that could potentially be the best feeling of my life?
I felt my legs move before my brain could process it. A strong swing was shot from my left leg as the goal basket roared. After I scored the goal, I looked around at everyone, wanting to see how they felt about my new way of imprinting my existence to the world. But when I looked at their faces, they were filed with confusion and awe.
I felt my cells tingle at the sensation. This... this is what my goals can do. This is how I prove my existence to the world!
What I didn't know during that time was that a certain red-haired lady was watching me.
After a minute, I immediately got hounded out of the math with the ref calling off the goal.
When I got back to the orphanage, I saw the house mother waiting for me.
We greeted each other before she showed me a letter.
On the letter, there were two bold printed words.
[Blue Lock]