The Past and the Present

By LilacLilyFlower

Disclaimer: I don't own Boku no Hero Academia.

-O-O-O-O-

Prologue: Beginnings

-O-O-O-O-

Mirai didn't remember many things from her childhood.

Most of it was dark. Dark spots in her memory, dark corners of factories, dark cells and equipment. She had been kidnapped, she thought. She wasn't sure. She didn't remember anything before the chains, before the fear and resentment.

Except one thing.

One memory, untainted by the darkness surrounding her. One spot of light in the streams of dark.

It's a memory of what Mirai thought was her home. She must have been young, possibly two or three. There was a woman, but she can never remember what she looks like. It was too blurry. But, she knew that she had dark hair, like her. Maybe brown eyes, also like her. Probably her mother.

The room she was in in the memory was full of light. White curtains framed an open window, drifting in the breeze. Sunshine spilled into the room, which had ivory walls and gold embellishments. Were her parents rich? Possibly.

She didn't remember much else, except a soothing wave of comfort and safety. Safety that was cut off by the terrifying dark, the sudden switch from the room to the cell. The shackles that cut into her wrists and ankles, the shackles that had been all she'd known.

No ease in transition. Just the room, a blank in her memory, and shackles.

Mirai was pretty sure that she'd been kidnapped. After all, she'd been under the control of quirk traffickers, who sold her to an illegal factory that needed her quirk, which had manifested sometime during the blank in her memory. Manipulation of light molecules, apparently, was the official name for her quirk. Energy manifestation was what they said to sell her.

Because she could do it. She could control the energy around her. In machines, in fire, in objects at rest with potential energy. In the bonds between molecules, in the movements of the molecules themselves. Limited, of course, by one of the natural law of quirks, from using anyone's cellular energy except her own. With drawbacks, as expected, like the numbing of her nerves or lack of control over distance.

Still priceless, according to her owner.

"Hey, you," her owner had always said. "Go work on the machines for the day."

And she would. She'd draw the energy from the atmosphere, from herself, from anything around her, to power the machines enough to satisfy her owner and earn her sustenance for the day. And it definitely wasn't the ideal situation, with the shackles and threadbare clothes and the always looming threat of pain. But she bore with it because all she knew was the factory, the numbing sensation of energy passing through her hands, the loss of feeling in her nerves until she couldn't feel anything.

Until one of the other children told her otherwise.

-O-O-O-O-

"We're not allowed to talk," she'd whispered to him. She had been twelve.

"It's okay, the guard is asleep," he'd replied. She'd guessed that he was fifteen or so. A strength quirk, always assigned on manual labor.

And then he'd told her. Of the outside world. The sunlight, the air, the people. The beauty that she'd never gotten a chance to see. The dangers that lurked, but compared to being stuck in the factory, it was a pretty good chance to take, right?

She'd called him insane. "You're lying," she'd said, wary of this Outside with its Sky and Rain and Candy.

"I'm not," he'd insisted. "I was brought here when I was ten. I remember these things. Don't you remember anything?"

And she had. Deep down inside her, the memory of the white room flickered.

"What's your name?" he'd asked.

And she hadn't known. "What's a name?"

"You don't know? Wow, um. A name is… your identity, something that others call you by. Mine is Ruuto."

"Mine is You, I guess."

He'd eyed her. "That's not a name. I know, I'll give you a name." He'd thought hard, brow furrowing until there was a small crease in his forehead. She'd stared at it, still adjusting to the thought of an Outside. "Mirai," he'd finally said. "Because it means 'future'. I hope your future is full of happiness." They'd shared a hopeless laugh, because their futures were set.

And she'd never seen him again.

Her owner said that it was because he'd died in an accident with the crates. Unfortunate, because of how useful he'd been.

But Mirai knew better. It was because the Outside was real, and her owner hadn't wanted anyone to know.

So she planned. Carefully observed the guard shifts, the meal times. Scraped together and hid supplies. Secretly practiced quirk techniques at night under her blanket, until she could burn her mattress without burning herself. Because, she discovered, light was energy, but so was heat.

And then came the day. The day she'd planned to escape.

Two years. It had taken two years to plan everything, gather enough supplies for herself. She was fourteen and ready to leave. By herself, because she couldn't take anyone along. She didn't want to. Too much hassle, too much unknown.

But. At the third mealtime of the day (dinner, as Ruuto had called it), the time when she'd been planning on leaving, her owner had come for her.

At first, she'd been petrified because she thought he'd found out her plan. But soon, that fear had turned into a different kind of terror.

Because he'd brought her to a side room, and everyone knew what that meant.

Expendable. Broken. No longer needed.

So when he'd brought the gun out, she'd fought back. Kicked him in the stomach, and while he had been down and gasping for breath, used her quirk to gather the energy from the air to thrust her hand through. His. Neck.

She'd escaped, September 27th, with one kill on her hit count.

It wouldn't be her last.

-O-O-O-O-

She'd cried a lot that day.

Mirai had been hungry, lost, and terrified. Wandering the streets of what she later learned to be Japan, she'd collapsed by a bench to eat what little food she had. But before she could take a bite, a tear had fallen.

Because she didn't know enough. Ruuto hadn't told her enough. How did this new world work? What rules were here? How would she get food? Shelter? There was too much stress and tension and worry.

And no one had helped.

They'd glanced at her, a seemingly homeless girl on the side of the street, and hurried on. And she knew then that the people Outside were as cruel as the people in the factory.

But she survived, because that was what she did. For three years, she survived and adapted and learned. She knew how to read, because she'd been taught in order to learn how light worked from textbooks, so she stole all kinds of books. Cookbooks, utility books, science books. Anything and everything except for fiction. (Because make-believe didn't help with the real world.)

Learning became a survival tool for her, just as necessary as fighting, running, and flexibility. Life was tough, but she was tougher. She knew how to survive. So for three years, until she was seventeen, she did, in this society of quirks and heroes and villains.

Then, she met Shigaraki Tomura.

"You're a villain, aren't you?" she asked, hesitant to be near him when she didn't know his quirk. The hand over his face was also slightly disconcerting.

"That depends on who you ask," he replied. "Society decides who's wrong and right, even if two people do the same thing. Heroes are praised for defeating 'evildoers', but what about us villains?" Then, he presented his hand to her.

She didn't take it. "I don't know you," she said. "Or your quirk, or what you can do."

He smiled widely, insincerely. "Smart," he said. "You passed. Because if you took my hand…" He touched all five fingerpads to a tree. It shriveled and disintegrated immediately. "My name is Shigaraki Tomura. I think we could benefit each other. Our world views are certainly similar enough."

She started. He wasn't supposed to know her world views or anything else.

"How did you find out about me?" she demanded. "Why did you track me down? How does this benefit me?"

"Mirai, Mirai, Mirai," he chanted. "I used a cheat to find you. Automatic level up for me if you join me, and automatic level up for you too. You get to increase your inventory and enjoy other party benefits."

She took a step back. "This isn't a game. Why are you talking like it is?"

"Because," Shigaraki said. "Under Sensei's plan, everything is a game. And soon," he added, pressing his fingertips against each other, "it'll be game over for one side. Might be smart to join the right side, hm?"

She joined that day.

Under Sensei, Shigaraki's mentor and idol, Mirai learned more than she ever thought she could. Things about the government. Things about society. Things about light and energy and heat and—illusions. Ways to train her body and mind and quirk. She flourished. She thrived. Yet she never allowed herself to fully trust anyone. Not Shigaraki, not Sensei. Because her one goal was to survive.

And within four years under Sensei's tutelage (transmitted through Shigaraki), she made a name for herself in society's underworld. And she relished in it, because for once, she was the one feared, not the one fearing.

Reaper, they called her. Bringer of light and death. Recognizable from the low ponytail, the lone braid by her ear, the scythe that could cut through anything. Face unknown because of the mask over the lower half of her face. Only identifiable in her suit, which consisted of a sleeveless black turtleneck that attached to the mask and grey pants with a multitude of pockets that contained other miscellaneous, deadly tools. A belt that held more tools. Generic clothes, even when suited up. So be careful, they said. Who knows what she could look like outside of her suit?

Even the heroes didn't know. They'd never even heard of her.

But they would.

Soon.

-O-O-O-O-

A/N: Hey guys!

It's probably not a good idea to start ANOTHER story when I have three unfinished ones and about five more sitting on the backburner, but you know what? This fandom is too wonderful, this universe is too amazing, and Bakugou is a horrible, punk-ass jerk that I love to death. Well, all of the characters, really.

And it's summer, so hopefully I'll have more time to work on stories?

See you later!