[ You are five years old, and you have one dream. You want to be a hero, one of the many caped crusaders who fight against evil and protect the weak. It's a fanciful dream but not a completely fantastical oneβthe world you live in is one where actual heroes exist, with superpowers known as quirks.
You want to be a hero, even if you don't have your quirk yet. You're too young to understand that by now, the chances of you having one are slim to none. You're young and you dare to dream, despite reality.
That is unforgivable.
Your father drags you by your collar, as your sobs echo down the hallway, your mother, your grandparents, and your sister looking on with anxious, worried expressions. There's one rule in this house, not to speak of heroes, and you keep breaking it. But like any child, you want to reach for the stars.
The next day, or maybe any other day, you tell your mother how much you want to be like the strongest hero there ever was: All Might. You tell her through the repeated motion of scratching your face, over and over again. You're itchy, but no one knows what you're allergic to. Despite how young you are, it's already started to leave marks on your skin, blemishes and wrinkles your short dark hair can't disguise.
You don't understand why your father hates you, though your mother tells you this isn't true. He loves you, he wants to protect you, because he knows how difficult being a hero could be. You nod, doing your best to accept her words, the words of an adult which are absolute. But you can't help but wonder why none of the other adults will help you. They tell you to bear it, that your father means well. That this is his way of showing his love. You don't understand it, though deep down you begin to feel like you're being rejected with kindness.
One day, your sister calls to you and shows you something hidden in your father's desk. It's a photograph of your dad when he was your age, with a strong looking woman, a hero, arms around him protectively. This was your grandmother, Hana tells you. Your grandmother was a hero! That means you can be a hero too. You're ecstatic, heart overflowing with joy. This'll be your little secret, between the two of you.
You're still walking on cloud nine as you play fetch with your dog, feeling like you could take on the world. You don't hear your fathers footsteps, even as thundering as they are. He's shouting, screaming, angrier than you've ever seen him. ]
"You saw, didn't you!?! That's not your grandmother, that's a savage who abandoned her own child!!!
Listen, in order to save strangers they don't even know, heroes will hurt their own families!!!"
[ The itching is getting worse, like a million ants biting at your skin, even as your father strikes you. You wonder, why no one is helping you. You wonder, why they're just standing there and watching.
You stay there, unmoving from where he dragged you, tears streaming down your face as the sun sets. You can't take it anymore, you're hurt, you're itchy, all over and you don't understand. Why won't anyone help you?!
You hate everything. Yes, you hate everything, you try to convince yourself as you clutch at the only one who hasn't abandoned you, your dog. Still crying, you're desperate for something, anything, anyone to hold onto. Suddenly, the fur beneath your hand slides from your grip.
You hear your sister's voice, wavering, hesitant, apologizing to you. You can't get any words out, and she steps closer asking what's wrong and then she sees. She screams. She screams, you grab onto her, and she cracks into more chunks that hit the ground with a sickening plop. You fall onto your hands and knees, emptying everything that's in your stomach.
You hear more voices, your mother, your grandmother, your grandfather. You know now, even if you don't understand. Why did they protect your father? Why did they tell you not to cry? This is your doing, it's your fault, but you can't take it anymore. Your hands make full contact with the ground, cracks spreading, crawling, reaching to your family. Your mother runs to you even as her legs slough off beneath her. Little by little, it built up. It was too much.
Your father is back and he's yelling again. He screams your name: Tenko, telling you to stop. He strikes you with garden shears, sending you flying. You want to kill him, you hate him, you know this clearly even in the chaos of everything.
You touch him with all five fingers on your right hand. The itching stops, and you feel a pleasure you've never felt before. You stand in the ruins of your family, of your house, and you think this must be what you wanted all along. ]
cw; child abuse, gore, mention of pet death
You want to be a hero, even if you don't have your quirk yet. You're too young to understand that by now, the chances of you having one are slim to none. You're young and you dare to dream, despite reality.
That is unforgivable.
Your father drags you by your collar, as your sobs echo down the hallway, your mother, your grandparents, and your sister looking on with anxious, worried expressions. There's one rule in this house, not to speak of heroes, and you keep breaking it. But like any child, you want to reach for the stars.
The next day, or maybe any other day, you tell your mother how much you want to be like the strongest hero there ever was: All Might. You tell her through the repeated motion of scratching your face, over and over again. You're itchy, but no one knows what you're allergic to. Despite how young you are, it's already started to leave marks on your skin, blemishes and wrinkles your short dark hair can't disguise.
You don't understand why your father hates you, though your mother tells you this isn't true. He loves you, he wants to protect you, because he knows how difficult being a hero could be. You nod, doing your best to accept her words, the words of an adult which are absolute. But you can't help but wonder why none of the other adults will help you. They tell you to bear it, that your father means well. That this is his way of showing his love. You don't understand it, though deep down you begin to feel like you're being rejected with kindness.
One day, your sister calls to you and shows you something hidden in your father's desk. It's a photograph of your dad when he was your age, with a strong looking woman, a hero, arms around him protectively. This was your grandmother, Hana tells you. Your grandmother was a hero! That means you can be a hero too. You're ecstatic, heart overflowing with joy. This'll be your little secret, between the two of you.
You're still walking on cloud nine as you play fetch with your dog, feeling like you could take on the world. You don't hear your fathers footsteps, even as thundering as they are. He's shouting, screaming, angrier than you've ever seen him. ]
"You saw, didn't you!?! That's not your grandmother, that's a savage who abandoned her own child!!!
Listen, in order to save strangers they don't even know, heroes will hurt their own families!!!"
[ The itching is getting worse, like a million ants biting at your skin, even as your father strikes you. You wonder, why no one is helping you. You wonder, why they're just standing there and watching.
You stay there, unmoving from where he dragged you, tears streaming down your face as the sun sets. You can't take it anymore, you're hurt, you're itchy, all over and you don't understand. Why won't anyone help you?!
You hate everything. Yes, you hate everything, you try to convince yourself as you clutch at the only one who hasn't abandoned you, your dog. Still crying, you're desperate for something, anything, anyone to hold onto. Suddenly, the fur beneath your hand slides from your grip.
You hear your sister's voice, wavering, hesitant, apologizing to you. You can't get any words out, and she steps closer asking what's wrong and then she sees. She screams. She screams, you grab onto her, and she cracks into more chunks that hit the ground with a sickening plop. You fall onto your hands and knees, emptying everything that's in your stomach.
You hear more voices, your mother, your grandmother, your grandfather. You know now, even if you don't understand. Why did they protect your father? Why did they tell you not to cry? This is your doing, it's your fault, but you can't take it anymore. Your hands make full contact with the ground, cracks spreading, crawling, reaching to your family. Your mother runs to you even as her legs slough off beneath her. Little by little, it built up. It was too much.
Your father is back and he's yelling again. He screams your name: Tenko, telling you to stop. He strikes you with garden shears, sending you flying. You want to kill him, you hate him, you know this clearly even in the chaos of everything.
You touch him with all five fingers on your right hand. The itching stops, and you feel a pleasure you've never felt before. You stand in the ruins of your family, of your house, and you think this must be what you wanted all along. ]