8 years ago:
The sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows across the playground, but the warmth it provided felt miles away. I thought the sky was always pretty, the way it was so many miles away and able to express so many different scenes. It was recess, but I hadn't dared to step outside. I could hear their laughter echoing through the hallways, a twisted symphony of mockery and disdain. I was huddled in the corner of the art room, surrounded by piles of discarded crayons and empty paint cans, desperately trying to drown out their voices.
I stared out the window,
stared out at those who played with others,
stared at those who ran with smiles,
those who shared their lunches with friends.
"Hey, Deku! What are you doing in there? Hiding from us?" The familiar sneer cut through the door. It was Katsuki Bakugo, the tyrant of our class, his trademark explosion of energy and anger a constant threat. There was a cacophony of laughter from his gang of lackeys, feeding off his bravado, always ready to join in on the torment. I didn't respond, hoping he'd grow bored and leave me alone if I stayed quiet.
The door swung open, and Bakugo strolled in like a hurricane. His presence filled the small room, overshadowing everything else. His hungry red eyes briefly scanned the room before landing on my scrawny body. "Aw, look at this pathetic loser." He stepped closer, fists clenched at his sides, radiating rage. Explosions erupted from his fists as he stomped closer. "Still drawing stupid pictures instead of living in the real world? You really think you can be a hero? With no quirk?"
I tensed, gritting my teeth as I knew what was coming. I tried to ignore his words, but still.
The words he spoke struck like blows. I cowered on the floor, scooting away from him as I hid more into the bookshelf behind me, clutching my sketchbook—the one space where I felt I had control over my own existence. But he didn't stop. He lunged forward, grabbing my sketchbook, ripping it from my hands and tearing it in half, scattering drawings across the floor like the shards of my hopes for a quirk - for a better life.
Anything than this.
"See? Useless!" he barked, his face twisted in a vindictive grin, his fist clenching on the heam of my shirt as he brought me closer to his face and sneered. "You think anyone gives a crap about your stupid doodles?" My eyes flickered to the burnt scrapes and back to his grinning, sadistic face. Did he really get off in bullying me like this?
I had thought at a different time we were best friends,
At a different time - we were best friends.
I felt hot tears prick my eyes, but I fought against them, determined to hold my ground. "Stop it, Katsuki!" I whimpered, but it was a feeble protest. My brows furrowed in protest and tears prickled down my face. But the laughter radiating from his friends only made the humiliation burn deeper.
And just like that, he was gone, leaving me with the ruins of what little confidence I had. My face burned as I stared down at the torn-up mess.
No one bothered to help,
no one bothered to intervene or tell me I was more than what those bullies thought,
No one was going to save me.
I sat at the dinner table, my head hung low, trying to disappear into my own body. Mom set down my plate, a concerned expression crossing her face. "Izuku? You seem a bit off today. Did something happen at school?"
I forced a smile, but I knew all she'd see were the bruises I hid beneath my uniform. "It's nothing, Mom." I pushed the food around my plate. I couldn't burden her with my troubles—how could I explain that my heart felt heavy with despair and loneliness, that I felt like I was being crushed under the weight of everyone's expectations?
"Just eat your dinner," she urged, but I wasn't hungry. I could still feel the sting of Bakugo's latest insults, the echoes of their laughter bouncing in my head like a warped record.
That evening, after dinner, I found myself sitting in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My green eyes were bloodshot, dark circles framing them. A series of bruises blossomed on my arms, reminders of Bakugo's roughness—an unkind mark of just how powerless I felt. I stumbled back, feeling sick to my stomach as despair closed in on me as I sunk against the wall and slid down it.
The day had barely begun, but I was already bracing myself for the onslaught. Sure enough, as I walked towards the school gates, I felt the familiar shove—Bakugo knocking me off balance so I stumbled into the dirt. "Get up, Deku!" he shouted, his voice like a roaring flame.
"Pathetic. Can't even walk without tripping over your own feet?" He backed me into a corner, a calculated predator toying with its prey. I glanced up, searching for sympathy in the eyes of passing students, but they were all too wrapped in their own worlds.
I scrambled to my feet, cheeks burning with shame. I whipped around and faced him, hoping that this outburst would make him go away. "Just leave me alone!" I shouted, the plea sounding weak even to my own ears.
Please..!
His laughter was a sharp sound, slicing through my thin armour. He wore his school uniform as he should, but it was opened and wore sloppily - a sign of disrespect towards authorities. He dug his hands into his pockets as he closed the distance in between us. He smelled like caramel and smoke. "Why would I? Watching you fall apart is the best part of my day!" He pushed me back down, and I hit the ground hard, pain radiating through my body.
I must've fell on my heel.
That pain felt so familiar, it almost became comforting—a twisted kind of solace.
Months passed, and every day felt like a repeat of the last—a ceaseless cycle of torment. I would come home covered in bruises, my spirit a fraction of what it once was. Each time I looked in the mirror, I could see a shadow of the boy who had once dreamed of being a hero. Memories of endless bullying bled into thoughts of hopelessness until one day, the whispers turned into shouts shouting, 'Just end it!'
Mother would try and consult me, try to make me feel better but I knew better.
Everyone did.
It was in those desperate moments that I contemplated the unthinkable—the final escape. My heart raced, fear and desperation clashing violently. But pondering freedom from the pain only left me more terrified. Would anyone even care if I was gone?
I'm sure she'd be more relieved to have a son like me off of her shoulders than anything. Each day, I returned home with my uniform crumpled and stained; a kaleidoscope of painful colors blossomed beneath my skin like a grotesque canvas of despair. And no matter how many times I assured my mother I was 'fine,' she could see the shadows in my eyes. She would sit with me, trying to pry open the darkness, but every time she reached for the truth, I pushed it away like a scalding ember.
"Sorry, Mom. I just tripped..." The lie twisted on my tongue, more hollow with each pronouncement. It was easier than admitting I was the daily target of bullies - not just a singular, but Bakugo had made sure I was his own punching bag.
A boy from class,
A boy who used to be my friend,
A boy who I used to look up to and hope to grow old with,
But that never happened —all because I aspired to embody a hero. All because I aspired to embody a hero as a quirkless boy. Someone who never stood a chance in this hero and villain society.
With a shaky hand, I quietly reached for the blade resting on my father's workbench, my pulse pounding in my ears. Would it all really be better if I just ceased to exist? As I stood there, the darkness pressing in more tightly with every passing second, I gasped for air. My hands trembled, my heart raced with adrenaline and my throat tightened. Waves of anxiety shot through my sides and up my spine suffocating me as the thought of killing myself as those suggest in the past actually became an option.
A part of me whispered that this would be the only way to silence the storm brewing inside.
But just before I could take that irreversible step, a different thought flickered across my mind—a vision of what I had once wanted, a glimpse of the hero I dreamed of becoming. Ultimately, as my breath hitched and tears fell freely, it was this desire for redemption, no matter how faint, that pulled me back from the cliff's edge... for now.
After the tormentors finally left me, I scramble to my feet, clutching my sore ribs and wincing at the pain that shot through me with every breath. I could feel the hot sting of tears pent up behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. No, I could not let them see me cry.
But Bakugo was right.
Maybe I shouldn't believe a delinquent whose goal in life is to make everyone's lives miserable, but looking in the mirror now - I can see that he was right. My beedy green eyes and pale skin stare back at me. Sweat groped my forehead and my hair was messy - a gruely sight. The lump in my throat still nagged with a harsh dryness and my puffy vision seer away from the pathetic sight down to the faucet running.
"I'm not sure why you're still here. You don't even have a quirk. You're so useless I would've killed myself if I was in your shoes." A bellow laugh escapes the blonde's lip and his movements are too quick for me to comprehend. He uppercuts me and I stumble.
Blood tickles at my mouth.
"Katsuki, stop!" I try to protest, sending him a glare as I try to regain my posture but he continues to get in my face, pushing me again and again until I eventually lose my balance and fall.
"Just admit it." His gleaming red eyes flare with hatred as he crouches over me, his body covering the sun. His face is contorted with disgust and he spits at my shoes with a scoff. "You'd be doing everyone a favour if you just simply kill yourself."
A booming laugh escapes Bakugo's lips, and in an instant, he's on me. He shoves me hard, and I stumble back, barely catching myself against the cold ceramic tiles. My heart races, fear and humiliation raging a war in my chest.
"Katsuki, stop!" I plead, sending him a glare as I struggle to regain my stance, but he doesn't relent. He pushes me again, and again, my protests falling on deaf ears. Eventually, the pressure overwhelms my balance, and I crash into the ground.
"Just admit it." Crouching over me, he blocks out the sun, leaving only a shadow. His eyes burn with disdain, a furnace of rage and mockery. He spits at my shoes, the forceful act mixing with the weight of his words. "You'd be doing everyone a favour if you just simply killed yourself."
There was one particular day, marked vividly in my mind, when Bakugo cornered me in the hallway. "You think you'll ever get a quirk? Look at you, you're just a worthless Deku!" Every word was loaded with venom, his eyes flashing with the thrill of the hunt. He pushed me against the lockers, the cold metal biting into my back. I could feel the eyes of my classmates on me, their silent gasps amplifying my humiliation.
"I'm not worthless!" I shot back, daring for once to meet his gaze. The moment hung in the air, fragile and trembling like a delicate thread about to snap. I yet again scrambled to my feet but this time I shoved back, making him stumble a few feet back.
"Yeah, you are. Just a no-name loser," he spat, before ramming me into the lockers again. I landed on the floor, breath knocked from my lungs, overwhelmed by a whirlwind of pain and shame.
That evening, as I faced my reflection in the bathroom mirror, the once vibrant glimmer in my green eyes had become a dull haze. The bruises told stories all their own, stretching across my arms and ribs, physical manifestations of my internal agony. I hated what I saw—a boy shackled by fear drained of the dreams that once lit his way.
Sinking to the floor, the oppressive weight of hopelessness bore down on me again. The whispers returned, louder than before. They echoed in my mind like relentless thunder, "Just end it! No one would care."
Each day felt like an insurmountable burden, but on this particular night, despair clawed at me with newfound fervor. With shaky hands, I reached for my father's workbench; the blade gleamed like a cruel promise. Would this really be the end of my suffering? My mind raced with the possibilities of freedom from pain, but they quickly morphed into a fear that consumed me yet again—would anyone miss me?
For the hundredth time, just as I contemplated the irreversible act, a flicker of hope grounded me momentarily. A vision of what I once wanted—the hero I dreamed I could be. It was a memory now overshadowed by darkness, but it was enough to push the temptation away.
No matter how many times I had gone to kill myself or brought that blade near my body with the thought of that option - my body responded in desperation to live and continuously send those nasty pheromones through my body to keep me alive; to give me hope for those moments in darkness.
With a choked sob, I dropped the blade, shattering the silence of my own despair. If I could get paid for the amount of times I'd dropped that blade and cried my heart out - I'd be rich as a damn fool. But I remained there, curled up on the floor, eyes brimming with tears and soul trembling—caught in the relentless throes of a battle I fought silently, in a world that felt merciless.
Those moments, each breath heavy with pain, shaped the path that lay ahead—leading me farther and farther away from the boy who once dreamed of saving others and deeper into the abyss that would eventually swallow me whole.
The darkness was calling, but somehow, for now, I still stayed.
Until that one day.
"Maybe it's better this way," I whispered into the void, my voice barely audible over the wind. I closed my eyes, letting the memories flood back—the constant bullying, the unrelenting pain.
Every laugh,
every bruise,
every insult,
every concerned question from his mother,
every cruel day from Bakugo played vividly in my mind. I could almost hear him now, the echo of his voice taunting me, reminding me of how pathetic I truly was.
As I recalled the way he would shove me aside, the way the world seemed to conspire against me, I felt my resolve harden. I stepped closer to the edge, ready to let go of this burden once and for all.
"NO!" A voice shattered the silence—Bakugo's voice. It rang out just as I stepped off the roof, but it was too late. I had already made my choice.
In that fleeting moment, as gravity took hold, I thought about how freeing this would be, how oblivious I'd be to Bakugo's taunts. But instead of the cold embrace of death, I was halted, snatched away by a pair of firm hands. I felt my own blood pool around me, the darkness consuming me as I was prepared to die. But the man who had found me—the very person who saved me from myself—watched me with a mix of concern and understanding as he took me into his arms.
"Why would you do this?" he asked softly, his voice cutting through the haze of despair that clouded my mind.