Chapter 8: Macbeth
Blood on his hands. He had blood on his hands. He'd killed someone for the sake of everyone else. He'd killed and nobody noticed.
They noticed his acheivements, every time he had lept in to defend All Might, prolong the stand off between the villains and the heroes. But all he could think about was the way the bones had crunched so easily under his palm. All that ran through his head were Thirteen's words minutes ago. Yes, he thought. Quirks are dangerous, but so are people.
The blood would never wash from his hands, and he pretended not to notice how purely clean everone else's seemed to be. This time, he didn't have to fake being disgusted by their smiles. Their pride and joy was sickening. Do they not see the bodies, the blood, the fire?
Katsuki had at last found something only he had, blood on his hands, daggers in his smiles, and foul filth under his fair skin. He knew it was the kind of possession he wanted nobody else to have. He would rather not have had it.
Really, they have no idea.