The alarm pulls me violently from my much-needed sleep, an ache in my bones as I lackluster slam the off button. The restriction on my chest is tight today, softly crushing my lungs. Breathing a heavyweight. No sane person would get up this early, darkness still permeated throughout the house, not a speck of blue to be seen out the windows.

Yet I had a long, grueling list of tasks I've set myself for the day. Stepping outside my room into a cluttered filled living room, hit with the dull smell of musty beer. Placing my feet between the trash to walk quietly and listening carefully for any shuffling from the back room. Getting a plastic bag fully out caused my heart to race, but the house remained quiet.

Cleaning up never took too long, nearly an hour. Allowing one hour to be able to jog to school and leave behind the mess that would surely await this weekend with the buildup. The sound of a thud from across the house has me stiffening. Robotically gathering my backpack.

"Hey." His voice was low, scratchy from sleep.

"Yes, Father?"

"Bring me a beer."

Swiftly, I pull one from the fridge-already full of them again- and slam it with a little bit more force than necessary. "I will be home at 2:30 unless you need things from me today."

He groans, taking the beer off the table and pulling long glugs. The other hand shuffles around in all of his pockets, before slamming a handful of cash on the table.

"There ya go, princess," He grins condescendingly, "make sure you get what I like. No skimping out this time."

Fury boils in my gut, even as I tense to keep a straight face. A good knock to the face would put father out for a day, his passing doing everything to improve my life. Nothing to clean up the next morning because nothing would create a mess in the first place.

Yet I grab it. "I'll be home by 3:40 then." Father waves me off, attention already towards the tv and the beer nearly gone. Quickly taking my leave out the door into a steady jog, burning the thoughts into ash.

My life could have always been worse, being grateful toward him the least I needed to do. Better than being homeless, or in the system. At least with this, there was nothing to stop me from doing whatever I liked.

Pains prickled my stomach but I brushed it aside. Nothing could make my Father act, steadily drinking his whole life away. The thought of returning home pissed me off. My Father hardly did anything, and when he did, the shady money he brought in was of little comfort. Maybe he didn't care about how he lived, but I did.

I boarded the train just in time, huffing and ignoring the glances turned my way. They should try running to work one day, just to see how out of breath they would be. Whatever expression on my face turns one lady pale, and another to turn away. Most returning to the daily drum of life.

School is nothing to note in the day. Furious note taking and delicate ordering of the binders, redoing and rewriting until near perfect. Teachers bland phrases for being at the top of the class, and sitting alone with nothing to eat except the information of the next test.

Never bothering with the nuciences surrounding me, whispering hurtful things. Ignoring the crumpled up papers thrown at the back of my head when the teachers back turned. No time could be wasted on stupid people that would get in my way when I had enough responsibilities as is. They would give up eventually.

Then, a train ride to the market. Picking out the cheapest and simplest of ingredients that I knew I wouldn't burn. My hands wouldn't stop shaking as I put in snacks we really shouldn't afford. A fight isn't worth it. The emotional exhaustion that came afterward too taxing.

Sometimes, I wish he would get into a car accident. To have my whole life just- changed. With no warning. Regret and frustration coat my tear ducts. No, that's a horrible thought. It could always be worse, but I craved for a better life. This will be the shithole I'll crawl out of one day, speeding ahead towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

Arriving home is like already coming to a trashed mess. The blaring of the TV is still on, meaning he is still home. Critically calculating the number of beers to the limit of alcohol he could have before reaching poisoning. He was halfway there at this point, so I had time to do my homework before and exercise before cutting him off.

As I just finished homework nearly an hour later, I began my exercise routine. Pain in my abdomen protested, limbs shaking as I did several pushups. Damn. I needed to eat more. I'll need to try looking for a job again so that I could have all the money I wanted to spend on food. Yet they turned me away for being too young. I just needed to get through one more year.

"Still tryin' to be a hero?" My father slurs from the couch. My eye twitches, but I steadfastly ignored him. He was just drunk; He wouldn't remember this tomorrow. "Give up already, you'll get yourself killed."

That causes me to stop, a harsh burn in my eyelids that I flutter rapidly away. How could he say that? How can he say that to his child? No other parent would do that. Standing up, I puff out my chest and speak angrily through the sadness. He still doesn't look at me, even now.

"You know what? No. You don't get to say that to me. At least I have a dream that keeps me moving forward, and what have you done for the past couple of years? Drink your life away? And for what? Addiction? Sadness?"

I bite my tongue, knowing the next words would be cruel. The sunken expression on his face suddenly becomes more defined. His stare attached to the floor. He just looked sad.

"If you would just tell me- please. What's wrong? I want to help, but you won't let me."

He's quiet. Saying nothing. Before, he would brush me off. Telling me stupid excuses like I was too young. Or too dumb to understand. Doesn't he know that we only have each other?

"If you become a hero, you will be hated. Do something else with your life." He dismisses. Taking another long pull from a bottle.

It cuts deeper than I wanted it too. In the back of my mind I knew he would never reach back, but it still stung. I fling my arms exasperated. "Why? Why do you assume everyone's out to get you! Not everyone is as horrible as you!"

A low blow. The pain in my chest roared in my head, and I trembled and struggled to breathe deeply to calm down. "I'm sorry." I choked, the tears drying on my burning face. "I didn't mean that. I just- why-" I sucked in. Quickly losing steam. "Why can't you listen to me."

He doesn't respond, and I turn to look at him engrossed back into the screen. The sobs that want to rattle my chest are shoved deep down. I won't give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry again.

"We both know you are quirkless."

I grit out between clenched teeth. "I have the toe joint. I just haven't figured out what my quirk is yet."

"It's far too late now." He replies, coldly. "Get me another one. And start dinner. I'm hungry."

Boiling anger blinds me. Time passes by in a blur as I make the food. Bitter thoughts swirling and echoing in my head. You're not the only hungry person, Father. Why couldn't you have been kinder? Why didn't you trust me? Aren't I doing enough? Why aren't you happy?

I set the plate on the edge of the table before stomping to my room. I didn't have the patience to try and be friendly with him today. I scarf it down, setting back into my workout. I needed to finish it before I crawled into bed.

Don't think about it anymore. It's not worth it. Soon after I wrap up and tiptoe around to get into the shower. Waking Father up now is just a hassle.

As I step out, carefully keeping an ear out, snores reach my ear. I sigh and gather his blankets from his room. As I approached, toeing over the bottles, his hand was slack with his drink. I pull it away and set it with a soft clink to the table. Heart beating in fear as he sturs, but ultimately slumps into the cushions.

Setting the blankets around his shoulders, I went to my room. I crawl into bed with baggy nighttime clothing. Another thing I would get myself with my job. New clothing. As far as I can remember I had always worn hand-me-down clothes. Not that I wasn't grateful for it, but it would be nice to get something I would like one in a while.

I close my eyes. Maybe one day, when- if I'm a hero, I'll be able to save those who were like me. The ones who had no voice.

Yet no one can help me now, so I'll save myself.

The bus is no more crowded than usual, but somehow it seemed overbearing. The push and pull of people, crammed together in a small box. I watched the walls blur by out the side window.

Today the dream of becoming a hero felt so distant. No decent establishment would hire someone my age, and the jobs so few and far between. Not to mention the same look of pity that turned my way. The not so subtle double-glances that drifted up and down my frame.

They all thought that my age was a lie. My short stature makes it even harder to convince anyone otherwise. It's not like it could be helped, but even with the proof of the final exams in front of them, another thing stood in my way.

Having my father's permission was essential.

The announcer broke through the speakers. The train slowed down to a stop.

Eventually, I will go ask him. Yet still, he stands in the way of my goals. How am I ever to grow if I can't step outside his shadow? There was so little I asked from him, but he couldn't grant me the decency to return a kind favor.

Exams came way too soon. The end of middle school a blessing and a curse. Everyone was frantically cramming. If only they had studied like they were supposed to, they wouldn't be all sleep deprived now. Good thing for me, cause now the bully's simply couldn't be bothered with me.

For once, I didn't go home directly after school. As I step off, I go the other direction. Hardly needing to think of the direction. Spotting the trash can that I used to climb up on, to get onto the roof. Imagining being a super cool hero and running across rooftops. It's a surprise that I hadn't died.

I turn into a small ally and push open a dark wood door.

The smell of old books and odd metal trinkets hit my nose. The soft ticking of clocks and just enough space to squeeze in between the bookshelves in the small store. I could remember how desperate I was to understand the world, and found this place by accident.

Taking my time, drifting down the aisles until I grab a book at random and flop down into a bean bag chair in the back. A science book, Quirks and Our Changing Evolution. By Toru. A book I certainly have never seen before. I wanted to put it away, and get another one. Why would I read something that wouldn't help me in the long run anyway? It only brings me pain.

Yet, I settled down for a long read. It begins with the basic history of the world, how people lived before quirks emerged. Taking an odd turn when it begins criticizing how people have begun to rely too much on quirks, and how that affects society as a whole. How many people have begun to grow lazy in their self-growth.

The tears drip down my chin. Maybe, if I worked smart enough, I could become a hero too. Or who am I kidding? Who in their right mind would put someone who was quirkless against a villain? Any quirk is an advantage in a fight.

No, I couldn't think like that. Frustratingly wiping away my tears. Everyone has a weakness because no one is perfect. It was just a matter of time, patience, and observation. And when someone has a weakness- the harder they can fall.

The bell to the front door jingles, so I scrub my face harder. Other people were going to be here in this public space too. They didn't want anyone uncomfortably crying next to them. Pulling the book slightly too close to my face, but enough to peek outside of the edges.

Who just came in? I track their movement with my eyes, feeling safe enough now in the back corner with plenty of bookshelves blocking the view. Black boots. Black pants, and... Black shirt.

I turn to my book, straining my ears to hear the owner's voice, but hear instead of the walking of those boots getting closer. I slump and relax into the chair, focusing on the words to calm my beating heart.

"...Problem child?"

I glance up startled, then sheepishly grin at the rugged man before me. "I'll have you know that my teachers think I'm an angel."

He raises an eyebrow. "I'm sure." He dryly remarks.

I can't help it, this guy cracks me up. Grinning, I stand and hug him. "It's good to see you Aizawa. I didn't think I'd ever see you here."

After a moment of him tensing, -and me regretting my actions because I know people in Japan don't like affection that much- but he squeezes back.

()

He had this last chance to get something nice for his husband. For whatever reason, Yamada had gotten obsessed with this old book franchise. So, he had been trying to find the last book in the season. Finding it was of little success.

Every library he'd searched in the nearby city didn't have it, and nothing showed online. However, there was one place he could search in before broadening his reach.

So what if he was doing all this work just to see Yamada light up like the sun? Or afterward when he yells too loud and squeezes too hard with his hugs.

...and maybe to get him to stop the puppy eyes. He expelled his whole class for a reason. They would never make it as heros, let alone trying to survive in battle. He knew he was doing a favor to those kids, but Yamada wouldn't stop bothering him about being nicer to them.

Plus he said that he would really like the book.

He jumps down the sides of the wall, jumping back and forth between the buildings before landing in a crouch. The alleyway has less clutter than he last saw it, yet a dumpster is still at the end of the alley making the place less than clean.

His shift was over, and he was on his way home anyway.

He steps inside of the store, appreciating how fresh the air smelled, and how comfortable the whole place looked. This place had been open for more than three decades and was sure to have old books inside.

Glancing to the left, he saw someone sitting in a bean bag chair -one civilian behind the desk at the front door possibly elderly, and only one exit behind him. No windows. He moves, scanning up and down the rows with the name in mind, getting closer to the other person.

When he does look, he has to stop and stare. Thinking about that face, and that tiny human and their crazy stunts. This- child who did whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted and was too smart for their own good.

"...Problem Child?"

They jump, their silverly, light blue hair fluffing a bit behind their ears in a bob. They're smile's small, and lopsided. Like they got in trouble with something, and they were completely innocent. "I'll have you know that my teachers think I'm an angel."

The little sneak never did get caught, and never did get hurt in the end. He arches a brow. "I'm sure."

They then smile, brightly and stand, gripping him into a hug. At first, he's worried. He's not sure how old they are now, but he knows someone shouldn't be this small with so many bones. He hugs back, relieved that they are feeling a little better now.

Enough to smile at least.

They pull back quickly, smile dimming and then curling into themselves slightly. "Sorry. People usually think I'm too touchy. Let me know if that's not ok with you."

He doesn't roll his eyes, but he nearly does. "If I had a problem with it, I would have said something. Relax."

They do if only a small slouching of their shoulders. "Ok."

He takes them in, critically assessing them. There are deep bags, with their dark grey puples blurry. Unfocused, and a slight redness around. They might have been crying. Again. "How have you been?"

They grin, sloppily. "Oh, you know. Doing my best to stay busy."

He nods. It's good that they took his advice then. "What are you doing now then? Starting middle school, right?"

They look to the ground. "Well, I'm going to start high school. I'm graduating now."

"Oh. Congratulations." Now he feels old.

"Thanks."

They're smiles falls. They shift awkwardly in place. "I'm going to sit my hand on your shoulder."

They stop, looking confused until he places it, and they begin to blink rapidly. "I'm glad you kept fighting, Otsuka."

Hands inside their sleeves, they wipe away the tears from their eyes. "Me too." They croaked out, covering their face. He gives them a moment to collect themselves.

It had been a dark, cold night the day they met. The rain had just stopped, and he was on his last patrol for the day.

Nothing had happened for several hours to alert him until he got a hero reporting a mysterious figure jumping from roof to roof.

This could be multiple things; teenage delinquents trying to think their cool and edgy; or a new villain looking a way to break in through the roof. He would stay back hidden and watch for now.

Not too soon after he spotted someone that jumped fearlessly over a really large and steep gap. To his alarm, it was a child who jumped back and forth between the buildings.

He grappled them when they were on his side, pulling them away from the edge and marching in front of them. They couldn't be any older than maybe 10.

"Hey kid, why are you out here so late at night. You should be at home."

They go completely slack in his grip, and their face turns frighteningly blank. "I don't want to go home."

Thousands of red flags go off, and he lets them go, standing between and the gap just in case. "Well, kids your age shouldn't be jumping from roofs."

Tears brim in their ducks; he feels a pang of slight guilt for making them cry. "I shouldn't be doing a lot of things, but I do them anyway." They mutter, cryptically. Bitterly.

He weighs his options; he could say it outright, but the kid probably wouldn't give him a straight answer. Or… "Come, sit down with me." Their lids widen, stepping back as he sits. "You're not in trouble. I just want to sit down with you. Will you join me?"

They hesitate, gripping their arms with their hands crossed. "You're a pro hero right?"

"I am."

They sit, blinking at the ground. The tears fall freely but silently. They don't move either.

"Is your home safe?"

They flinch, shaking and more tears pouring. "It doesn't matter." They whisper.

"Are you safe?"

Groaning, they scrub their face as they choke out frustrated words. "They won't do anything! I told them, but they came and there was no proof and-" They stop, sniffing and pulling their hands away. Defeated.

"Like I said Mr. Hero, It doesn't matter."

His heartbreaks and a large part of him understands. Has been in a similar position, with all those words unsaid. "It matters to me." They blink up to him, a small burning piece of hope. "I am sorry that our system has failed you, but I can do my best to listen if you need me too."

Sobbing openly now, they spill their story. Of their homelife, their Father, and how they just moved from America, even if they were originally from Japan. Of not feeling like the other kids or the times they remember being so sick, but their father denying it or him pushing the blame onto his child.

Or how terrifyingly for him, how calmly they tell him of gaps in their memories. Complete years missing, and how their father tells them their wrong. It makes him sick.

"But I know differently. I know something… happened but- no one believes me." They clamp their legs around their chest, shivering with no more tears.

"I'll do everything I can to make sure you're safe."

They smile sadly at him. "I'm sure you will."

"What's your name?"

"Otsuka."

He escorts them home after, despite their reluctance. Then he goes to the police station and finds the report for a possible domestic abuse claim with Otsuka Itachi and a man named Otsuka Yuki; Their Father. They were biologically male and quirkless.

Otsuka's father had no signs of violent behavior, and his place was up to code for childcare. No signs of physical abuse or drug use. He frowns. When some parents are notified that social services workers are coming over, they clean the house up and work with the system until they were off their trail.

He hates cases like these. Nothing you could do about emotional abuse and no concrete evidence to support the kid's claim. The father also labeled quirkless, so no case of quirk abuse. Any other family members were either distant or dead. The case goes cold.

There was nothing he could do for them, besides keeping a close eye on them himself.

He finds them another night, sitting on the edge of that same roof. Staring down to the concrete floor. Aizawa sits next to them and stares up at the sky.

"You know, they couldn't do anything for me either." He lets them stare at him in shock. Not turning to look. "But you want to know what I did to prove they had no control over me?"

Quietly, they shook their head. He smiles. " I excelled in everything I did. All of the dreams I wanted to chase after, I worked harder than anyone else. To prove that I could stand on my own, without their help."

"You can do that too."

He grunts, jumping in surprise as they cling to his middle and sob into his shirt. He awkwardly pats their back and turns his head. They needed their privacy.

()

"How are you doing?"

I huff and pull away my hands to cross my arms.

"I'm top of my class in school and I'm looking for a job, but no one wants to hire me…"

"That's not what I asked."

"Ok ok! I'm a little tired, but I'm fine." He stares at me intently. "Really! I'm probably studying too much and sleeping too much, but I'm fine."

He exhales, "Alright. So tell me, what are you learning in school?"

I prattle on for a while, jumping from subject to subject. Everything that I learned at school just somehow stuck and my English studies were a breeze after living in America for six years. They had put me in advanced classes back then, and it pushed my grades to high marks.

"Now enough about me. How are you?"

"I'm fine." Aizawa blandly states.

I wait, seeing if he'll continue. Yet he just blinks, and my shoulders shrug. "That's it."

"That's it."

Giving a small huff of laugher, smiling up at him. "You're so stubborn! Come on! Tell me a little about your life?"

He smirks back. "As a pro hero, I don't have a life."

"Oh come on! We both know that pro heroes have lives too. You just won't tell me yours."

"You're correct."

"Now you're just taunting me."

We both banter on for a while until I notice how dark it's starting to get outside. "Sorry, Aizawa. It was good seeing you again, but I need to be getting home." I set the book back on the shelf, moving past him.

"Good." He sleepy yawns, trailing after me. "Get home safe. Don't make me catch you on the roof again."

Smirking over my shoulder as I leave out the door, adopting a wide eye expression. "Sure will mister!"

Aizawa snorts, the door closing and a thrill of victory goes through me. I've gotten him to snort at least three times in the duration of knowing him. Then, once I'm far enough away, I groan loudly.

My father is going to scream at me for being late, but there is too much to do tonight. After the nice day I had, I couldn't care what he thought. Not today. I hadn't told Aizawa about possibly applying to a hero school, because I didn't want to hear what he had to say.

It didn't hurt to try, right? A chance was better than never trying at all.

The days passed by, and I chewed through my nails waiting for my finals. It was all for nothing, as the teachers passed back each test, praising me for getting the top score in all classes. I couldn't help it, I squeaked into my hand. I have a high enough score to apply to a ton of high schools across the country for no cost at all!

I ran home from school, preparing a dinner that I enjoyed and ignoring my father to go eat in my room. Luckily, he didn't stop me.

A whole stack of books lay beside me, and I grab the one on the top stack to begin my long binge reading session. It didn't matter how many times I had read these books, it was always great to be transported back to that world. To experience adventure with pay off, and mighty fights that the hero's always win

Ten months. That's how long I had to become the hero I've dreamed of. To find a job and a place that would even take me. I tremble and shove the thoughts away. For now, I deserve time to relax. I'll deal with that later.

Slumping further into my bed with pillows propped up, nibbling on my dinner and a book in my other hand.

The job adventure is hopeless. No one would take me at my age, and they thought that I was too weak to do most things being quirkless. What the hell did they know?! They had no right to judge what I can do and what I can't do because I'm not like the majority of the world. It wasn't fair!

I stomp into my home, boiling over in fury at having to do this. I pause in front of my Father, who turns his attention to me after a minute of me standing there.

"I need your help. I want to take fighting classes because I want to defend myself when the time comes." Direct and to the point.

That man doesn't say a word, and I start to get nervous. Is he mad? Or, frustrated with me? It's impossible to tell.

"How much you need?"

Gaping, flabbergasted and tripping over my words. I can't believe he said yes. "I-I don't know yet."

He glares. "Well then find out."

I nod but pause my way out of the house again. "Thank you!" Closing the door before he can have a chance to respond, and began my hunt for a dojo.