To Be A Hero: Family

by jessylane318

The world of the quirkless isn't fair. They're discriminated against, denied rights, & often poverty-stricken. Hoki Rin was born in this world, but unlike her brothers, she has a quirk, and it's terrifying. An exploration of how a teenager, when given love, attention, and respect, can rise above the neglect and abuse of their past. Dark beginnings, Happy ending. Dad!Aizawa. Dad!Mic

2. Chapter 2

-2-

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In this world, there are two types of people. Those with quirks—those capable of superhuman powers and feats—and those too worthless to inherit them. Those without are often bullied, ridiculed, and refused work. Those without are often the most poverty-stricken. Those without are quirkless—a word synonymous to useless.

At least, that's what Mama says.

"How much did you get?" Daddy asks as I shuffle in. He barely glances my way before throwing back a shot. Cup empty, he refills it.

"Maybe a thousand," Mama grunts, dropping the sack on the table. She looks my way, and I wish she wouldn't—her eyes beady and dark. "Go wash your face and go to bed."

I nod, heading up the stairs. Behind me, I can hear their argument.

"…It's not enough. We can't even cover-"

"-Twice in a month is too much-"

"-no work-"

"-she's only five-"

I stumble into the bathroom to wash my face. I can't reach the sink. I drag the stool over, wincing as it screeches across the dirty tile, and the voices downstairs quiet. I run the water, they resume.

"You're back."

I glance over. Ryu, my oldest brother, stands tall and shadowed in the doorway. At ten years old, his pajamas hang dirty and wrinkled on his lanky form, his hair sheared to his scalp and his face sharp and gaunt. I finish washing my face and nod. The voices downstairs rise sharply, and I hear the sound of flesh slapping wood.

Ryu clenches his fist.

"If you weren't so weak, they could get more. They wouldn't fight."

I hang my head, water dripping from my nose.

I know.

"Here," he says angrily. He shoves a flashlight into my arms. I clutch it desperately, thankful. He walks away, but I can hear him muttering. "Should have been me."

He goes back to bed, climbing up top, to his bunk amongst two loud sets of snores. I follow, sliding into my own, a bottom one, and turn on my flashlight. Under the covers, it casts a warm orange hue that doesn't wake anyone. I don't want to wake them.

Still dressed in the oversized jacket from earlier, I snuggle into the sheets and try to sleep. The image of the shaking cashier never quite disappearing.