My hero academia:Am I worthy?

A/N Before you start reading, I sincerely thank you for making it to the milestone 60th chapter. For that, you earn the "Interested Reader" achievement.

Hey, if you're reading this, here's a medal for you (￣▽￣*)ゞ🏅.

Surrounded by unique individuals with

diverse abilities, an ordinary person, deprived of this gift, is forced to feel inferior. They do not experience the same problems as you do. They do not know who you are; everyone is disconnected and fearful of every touch. Television and the media proclaim the individuality of each person, while hidden hatred based on distinguishing traits only grows. The law and law enforcement agencies assert that there is no discrimination based on ability, but in reality, the opposite is true. The democratic liberal system serves the interests of major players, and what happens to minorities, who self-destruct, goes unnoticed. They have the same rights as ordinary people, which irritates others and sparks debates about whether they deserve to remain in a familiar society when they represent a rare breed of humans. Education is provided to everyone, and instead of distinguishing truth from falsehood, they acquire a set of false clichés and stereotypes that simplify life. By law, they are not different from other stronger and more normal individuals, but once people find out that you are deprived of a gift, you become subjected to ridicule.

- Blasphemer.

- Heretic.

- Loser.

- Inferior.

- Relic of the past.

- Primitive.

- Fragment.

- Dying out.

- Bloodless.

- Sterile.

- Mutant.

- Reject.

It's as if all the people in the world have gathered to burn you at the stake, like witches during the Inquisition, and the entire crowd will watch as you suffer while they smile and laugh at your pain. The times of witch hunts are long gone, but the essence remains. Ordinary young people are often bullied when it is discovered that they are not like everyone else. By nature, those without abilities are not evil; they are just as much beings as those with eccentricities, but in an environment, class, or audience where you stand out, it signifies disaster.

An eight-year-old middle school student named Ishida Muramasa first stepped into his new school in Hosu, surrounded by greenery. After moving from Hiroshima with his parents in search of a better life, Ishida hoped to make many new friends. Unfortunately, he left his old friends behind in Hiroshima. Living in a two-room apartment with his devout father and mother, who had embraced Christianity, they tried to adhere to the customs of the old world.

He was taught to be a good and fair boy according to the teachings of the Bible, which he learned from a young age with his parents at the dinner table.

"Remember, son, every miracle in your life is the work of the God who gave us life and the opportunity to move," his father said, having first moved to a new city and thanking his creator before his son and hard-working wife, despite their lack of abilities.

Muramasa believed that despite the new order, God existed somewhere and was testing him and his family before the heavenly gardens. Believing this, he worked hard, using his muscles as his asset and breadwinner for his family. He was not particularly privileged, either by fate or social status. He worked and enjoyed working for the common good, even though deep down he understood that the new city brought new prices and challenges that weighed heavily upon him. Yet, he found the strength to keep going, just like his wife, who chose him as her life partner despite his circumstances.

He hoped that his son Ishida would not have to work in harsh conditions, wishing only the best for him, for he believed that if the Creator had accompanied him throughout his life, then He would also protect his good son.

**Naivety**

Finally finishing his memories of the move, Ishida found his classroom, adjusting his new school uniform to look neat and presentable. He felt slightly nervous since it was a new school and a new city he was unfamiliar with.

Crossing himself before entering and asking his Creator for forgiveness, he opened the door to find many boys and girls in school uniforms writing on the board. The sound of the door opening attracted the attention of the entire audience, and the old teacher turned his head towards the boy with red hair and black eyes, wearing glasses, black pants, a white shirt, and a black jacket.

"Welcome to our class, young man. I take it you are the new student from Hiroshima, correct?" the teacher asked politely, observing the slightly nervous student under the gaze of his classmates.

"Yes, sir, my name is Ishida Muramasa," he bowed to his teacher and classmates, demonstrating his manners. Everyone was silent until the teacher broke the silence with a deliberate cough.

"Very well, Muramasa-san, please take a seat at the available desk," he instructed, directing his gaze to an empty spot.

The lesson ended quickly, and as soon as Ishida stood up, several classmates surrounded him at his desk.

"Hi, new kid. I heard you're from Hiroshima," a boy asked, smiling warmly. In response to his friendliness, Ishida relaxed and extended his hand for a handshake.

"Hi, yes, that's true, I'm from Hiroshima. I just arrived, and unfortunately, I have no friends, so I'm glad to meet anyone," noticing more new classmates starting to gather around him, Ishida was happy that they didn't first ask about his lack of ability.

"Wow, my brother studies at the university in Hiroshima. Tell me, new kid, what's your quirk?" a girl with blue skin asked, causing Ishida's smile to fade, replaced by nervousness. The girls and even the boys surrounded him, waiting for his answer.

"Come on, tell us, don't hold back, this is really interesting," another boy urged him, nudging him on the shoulder, but he felt a lump in his throat that was hard to swallow. Finally, overcoming himself and silently praying to God, he said:

"I don't have a quirk." As soon as the words left Ishida's lips, a dead silence fell. For a few seconds, his classmates simply processed what they heard, then someone chuckled softly. This was followed by another, then another, until laughter filled the entire classroom. It sounded like a rising chorus of mockery, loud and piercing.

"Are you serious?" a boy scoffed, pushing him harder on the shoulder.

"No quirk? At all?"

"Maybe he's just joking?" the girl with blue skin giggled. Everyone looked at him, smiling, until his silence confirmed his words. He didn't smile back, but they refused to believe that it was possible to see someone without quirk .

"Come on, show us something. You're just shy, right?"

"Yeah, what a relic of the past!" someone sneered from behind. This was what he feared most: others had warned that such words insult those who have no quirk at all.

"Did you escape from the Stone Age?" said a girl with the quirk of sharp nails.

"Oh dear, watch out, guys, what if he's contagious?" another chimed in, pretending to recoil from him. This upset Ishida, realizing that it would now be hard for him to make friends in this class.

"What if we lose our quirks too if we touch him?"

"Ugh, a quirkless, and he actually attends a regular school?" another girl snorted.

"I thought you all were sent to special classes so you wouldn't bother normal people." Ishida felt heat rush to his cheeks. He wanted to sink into the ground, disappear, evaporate into thin air. His hands trembled, fingers clenched into fists, but he knew it was pointless to respond. He stood before them like a child before an angry crowd of inquisitors. Someone grabbed him by his school jacket and gave it a slight tug.

"What are you standing there for? Bow to us, loser!" hissed a boy with a toxic green quirk, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"Maybe his pastor daddy told him that living without an quirk is better?" another mockingly suggested.

"Come on, Ishida, are you going to ask your little god for a miracle?" Laughter rolled through the class again. Someone threw a paper wad at him, hitting him square in the face. Ishida gasped, his fingers digging into the sleeves of his jacket. He felt something inside him break, but he couldn't let them see his weakness. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

But it was all futile. One day, some classmates caught him trying to quietly leave school, and upon discovering his plight, the older students decided not to stay out of it.

"Hey, Ishida, come here!" shouted an upperclassman, realizing where this was headed. Ishida tried to escape with all his might, but he was quickly caught.

"Where do you think you're going?" the older boy exclaimed, turning his head to see his friends approaching.

"We just want to talk to you, Ishida," replied the second one. Seeing other students closing in on him, Ishida attempted to escape their grip, but the hold was unyielding. His struggles and attempts to flee bored the upperclassmen until one punched him in the stomach, prompting the others to join in, tormenting him until Ishida lay on the ground, huddled and tearfully pleading for it to stop.

"If you tell your parents about this, you'll leave here with broken legs, got it?" The upperclassman kicked him in the stomach, and through tears, Ishida whispered,

"Y-Yes." But the bullies were not satisfied with his answer.

"I can't hear you, say it louder!" said the second one, kicking him even harder than before.

"YEEESSSS!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, and after that, they left, abandoning him on the ground.

"Will they leave me alone after this?" he asked, holding his cross, praying to God.

From the day Ishida Muramasa confessed to his lack of ability, his life at school turned into an endless nightmare. At first, it was the mockery, disdainful glances, and whispers behind his back. But soon, his classmates stopped holding back. Every morning began with someone pushing him in the hallway, causing him to slam against the walls or lockers.

"Watch out, relict!" someone laughed while others joined in the taunts. His textbooks and notebooks were found in trash bins or trampled on the floor. Teachers pretended not to notice, and when Ishida tried to complain, they would say,

"You need to learn to adapt, Muramasa-kun." During breaks, he tried to keep to himself, but that didn't help. He was ambushed in the restroom, locked in stalls, and doused with water. One time, someone threw a lit piece of paper at him, and by some miracle, his hair didn't catch fire. Another time, he was dragged behind the school, and several people began kicking him while he lay curled up, trying to protect his face.

"Aren't you strong? Aren't you a human? Why don't you fight back?" one of his tormentors screamed, waving his fists. Lunches were a separate hell. His tray was flipped over, food spilled on the floor, and when he tried to leave, they forced him to eat straight from there.

"You're primitive, so eat like an animal!" laughter rang out. Sometimes he had to skip lunch because someone would flip his tray as soon as he sat down. By winter, his coat had disappeared, and he had to walk home in a thin shirt against the icy wind. One time, someone broke his glasses, and he spent a week with a headache until his parents could buy new ones. In gym class, they used him as a living target for balls, and in the locker room, they spat on his belongings. But the worst part was the realization that no one cared. Teachers looked the other way; other students remained silent, afraid of ending up in his position. Even those who initially smiled at him now turned away. In the eyes of the school, he was an empty space, a useless being who did not even deserve to hope for respect. Months passed, and the bullying only intensified. Ishida stopped making eye contact, his back constantly tense with the anticipation of another blow. He prayed, as his parents taught him, but God remained silent. Eventually, he stopped asking for help and simply moved forward, day after day, through humiliation, beatings, and pain. He no longer believed that this would ever end…

He couldn't tell his parents; he was afraid that if he did, it would only make things three times worse. Every day after school, Ishida Muramasa returned home with his head down. His body ached, but he learned to hide the bruises beneath the long sleeves of his school uniform. He knew that if his parents saw the marks of abuse, they would start asking questions. And he feared questions more than anything.

"How was your day, son?" his father would ask at dinner, tiredly rubbing his temples after a long shift.

"Everything's fine, Dad," Ishida would reply with a strained smile, trying to seem cheerful. His mother watched him closely, her eyes lingering on every movement he made, but he learned to control himself. He didn't wince when he accidentally bumped into the corner of the table, didn't grimace in pain when the spoon touched his split lip. He wouldn't let them suspect that every day at school turned into hell for him. When his father or mother asked why he didn't hang out with classmates, he attributed it to exhaustion, homework, or simply made a joke. One time, his mother noticed a torn sleeve on his uniform.

"What happened to your shirt?" she asked with concern.

"Oh, I just got it caught on a fence," he quickly replied, hiding his arm under the table.

"Be careful, son," she sighed, unaware that on that day he had been pushed into the mud and kicked until he couldn't get up. Every night, when his parents fell asleep, Ishida would carefully take off his shirt and examine his body in the mirror. Bruises, scratches, cuts — all of this was his secret. He washed his wounds with cold water, biting his teeth to keep from groaning in pain, and whispered prayers, asking God to give him strength to survive another day. He knew that if he told his parents, they would try to intervene. And that would only mean worse bullying. His tormentors wouldn't leave him alone; on the contrary, they would make his life even more terrifying. So he endured. Stayed silent. Smiled. And hoped that one day all of this would come to an end.

Ishida loved his parents despite their circumstances. Simple workers trying to find ordinary jobs, they labored with their muscles in various fields — from factories to window washers and builders, who earned significantly less compared to people with quirk.

Watching his father and mother come home tired from work, he noted that still, they found time to talk and support each other. Ishida lied to his parents, understanding that his deception would eventually be revealed, but he hoped every night that God would forgive all his sins and bring justice into his life, tearfully begging for forgiveness for his lies.

Kneeling after a long day and clutching the chain with a cross, he looked up at the ceiling of his room, calling out to God. His parents taught him how to pray properly, and together they read the book of sacred writings, and he prayed to his Creator, asking for forgiveness.

" Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."

Removing his glasses, tears streamed down his face; he couldn't cry out loud, lest his parents hear him and everything would get even worse. Clutching the cross in his hand, Ishida looked out the window and saw the moonlight shining on him. With his youthful mind, he thought that God heard him and, praying with all his heart, he spoke again, opening his hands for another act of repentance.

"Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me! Where shall I begin to lament the deeds of my wretched life? What first-fruit shall I offer, O Christ, for my present lamentation? But in Your compassion, grant me remission of sins."

In a world where miracles were not surprising, for Ishida, a miracle resided only in the God he believed in. He was grateful that his parents were not distant from him, thanks to his father, mother, and God. Whenever he felt pain, he always communicated with Him, sharing his worries and doubts regarding his existence.

"Maybe I won't get an answer to this question, but why did you create me this way? No, I don't blame you for my problems, for you often help me. I just have questions for which I have no answers. You probably know best since I am just a boy who wants to be like everyone else. My mom believes in you, and my dad, and we are very grateful to you; perhaps this is just a test before something greater?" he whispered to himself. Ishida rose from his knees, and fatigue overwhelmed his body. With slow steps, he moved toward his bed, which called him with its embrace, and he collapsed face-first onto the pillow, smiling for the first time all day.

Waking up earlier than everyone else in the house and hiding the scars and bruises left by the bullies, Ishida sat at the table with his parents, putting on a smile to show that everything was fine with him.

"Before we start our morning meal, let's pray for a peaceful morning without fears and nightmares. May He protect us from sin and from evil forces before our feet cross the threshold of our home."

"Lord, we thank You for this new day, for the peace and silence of the morning. May Your will be with us in every step. Protect us from evil, keep us from sin, shield us from wicked forces. Fill our hearts with light and wisdom, so that our deeds may be righteous and our path pure. May Your mercy and grace be with us. Amen."

As he continued to have breakfast, Ishida's back throbbed with pain, and slightly hunched over, he tried not to show anything to his parents. Walking had become much easier than the previous day, but the pain still lingered in his joints, making it impossible to move freely.

After finishing the meal, Ishida headed towards the door, but upon feeling his mother's touch, he stopped, hissing from the pain yet still enduring it. Looking down, he thought about how they would scold him for the lies he had hidden from them for many months of schooling, but instead, his mother turned him around, warmly embracing Ishida, who was ready to cry and spill everything. Stretching out his trembling arms, he locked his embrace around his mother and rested his head on her shoulder.

"Come back as soon as you can, Ishida. Your father and I have prepared a surprise," she said, touching Ishida's forehead with her lips. Hearing the word "surprise," the young man's mind screamed with joy, but he had to make it to that moment safe and sound, without any noticeable bruises on his face. How wrong he was to think that God would show him mercy on this day.

As soon as Ishida stepped over the school threshold, he felt the heavy, scorching stares on him. The hallway was noisy, but to him, the hum sounded like a deathly silence. Every step sent pain through his back, but he kept himself straight, trying not to show weakness.

"Look who we have here!" a mocking voice rang out, and a group of classmates appeared in front of him. The ringleader, a tall guy with short dark hair, smirked, tilting his head to the side.

"You look even worse than usual today. Did your god punish you, Ishida?" he sneered, grabbing his waist with his Quirk, squeezing his stomach and back with such force that his breakfast threatened to come back up and stain the floor.

"Oh, come on," another one chimed in, clenching his fist and delivering a punch to Ishida's head. He clutched his head with both hands, but that only fueled their amusement. He remained silent, trying not to entertain them further, biting his tongue so hard it sent waves of pain through him.

"Hah, do you think his parents even notice him?" a girl from their group chuckled, crossing her arms.

Ishida didn't respond. He just wanted to walk past them. But he didn't get the chance. A hand grabbed his shoulder and slammed him against the nearest lockers. His back exploded with pain.

"Why so quiet, huh? We're talking to you!" The boy yanked Ishida's hair, forcing him to look into his eyes, which were filled with cruel amusement.

"Let's play a game," he hissed.

"Let's see how many hits you can take before you start crying."

The first punch landed in Ishida's stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. He coughed, doubling over. Immediately, a second blow hit his side, followed by a knee to his ribs.

"He's such a weakling!" one of the onlookers laughed.

They were stronger than him in every way. If he fought back, they would only hurt him more.

"Maybe we should help him lie down?"

Ishida's legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the cold tiles. But that wasn't enough. Someone kicked him in the back, right where his bruises from yesterday still ached. The pain burst through him, stabbing every nerve in his body.

He wanted to stand up, to defend himself, but he knew that would only make them angrier.

"Leave him be, let him recover. We still need him for some after-school fun," the oldest of them said.

Ishida didn't know whether to be grateful or resentful, but he couldn't allow himself to feel anger. His Creator had commanded him not to give in to temptation. Clutching his cross tightly, he thanked Him—but the temptation to fight back grew stronger every day. He believed in his Creator, but what could he, alone, do against tormentors stronger and tougher than him?

Holding his aching back, Ishida slowly got to his feet, feeling his body protest with every movement. His classmates stood around him, smirking and chatting, discussing their plans for "after-school fun." A cold dread twisted inside him. He knew this wouldn't be just another round of bullying—today, they had something special planned.

The bell rang, sounding like salvation. The teachers were oblivious to what happened behind their backs, and for Ishida, these forty-five minutes were his only reprieve. He sat at his desk, trying not to draw attention, but the oldest bully's gaze pierced through him.

"Meet us by the back exit after class," he whispered as he walked past.

Ishida remained silent. He knew that if he ran, the punishment would be twice as bad. All he could do was hope that someone would intervene, that a miracle would happen… but with each passing day, his faith in miracles faded.

After school, when the building was empty, Ishida slowly walked towards the back exit. His legs trembled, but he kept moving. Running was pointless—they would find him anyway. Around the corner, the same faces awaited him as in the morning. The group leader, smiling, waved him over, inviting him to come closer.

"Come here, preacher," he said, tilting his head to the side. Two of his friends grabbed him by the arms before he could say anything and dragged him into a narrow alley behind the school. There were no cameras, no random passersby—just deaf walls, trash cans, and damp, dirty asphalt. Ishida inwardly prayed for it to end quickly, but the longer it continued, the more terrifying it became: his home awaited him, but instead, he would be beaten so badly that it would be visible, and he wouldn't be able to hide it. But was he to blame for this?

"I hope you rested well during class," one of the boys sneered, rolling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckles.

"We need to make sure you remember your place." The first punch landed in his stomach. He doubled over, gasping for air, but they didn't let go. The second punch hit his side, and then someone grabbed his hair and yanked him back. It hurt, but he endured it—was it deserved? He had done nothing wrong.

"Is it all because I'm quirkless?" he asked himself as the leader squeezed his face with his large hand.

"Are you still praying to your God?" the leader hissed, gripping his face. Ishida tried to say something, but the lump in his throat stopped him. Closing his eyes, he continued to pray, whispering:

"God, help me."

"Our Father, forgive our sins, forgive me for lying to my family, forgive Your slave. May Your name be glorified in the heavens."

"Do you think He hears you?"

He reached for Ishida's chest and roughly tore the silver cross from the thin chain around his neck.

"Let's see what your God has to say about this." With those words, he squeezed the cross in his fist, using his power on it, and then yanked it hard, breaking the chain. The metal clinked pathetically as it fell to the ground.

"No..." Ishida whispered, his eyes filling with tears. The cross that his father had given him when he turned four was meant to be a protective charm that he had vowed never to take off and to keep until his last breath. The leader stepped on the cross, pressing it into the dirt.

"If he's so dear to you, why doesn't he protect you, huh? Remember, God is dead. You're not needed. You're just a byproduct." Anger flared in Ishida's chest, but he couldn't do anything. Too weak. Too exhausted. A punch to the face knocked him back, followed by kicks. He curled up on the ground, covering his head with his hands, feeling the blows land on his stomach, back, and ribs.

"Enough, he's not moving anymore," someone said. The leader leaned over him, grinning. The blows had exhausted his already battered body, and due to the multitude of hits and shock, he lost consciousness, no longer able to resist their attacks.

"You cry too much, Ishida. It's annoying. You know what? I think we'll calm you down a bit."

He nodded to his henchmen, and they lifted the limp Ishida off the ground. Losing consciousness, they dragged him along, their grinning faces looking at him with malice.

With a crunch, the lid of a large trash container opened. The stench hit his nose, and still unconscious, Ishida did not realize the hopelessness of the situation. They lifted him and threw him inside, like useless garbage, tossing the broken cross on top of him.

"Good night, preacher," the leader laughed, slamming the lid shut.

Darkness closed in around Ishida. Pain throbbed in every inch of his body. He wanted to pray... but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he simply cried quietly in the pitch black, holding the broken chain to his chest, lying in the trash container for an unknown amount of time. His keeper did not help him, but merely stood by and watched as he was beaten; perhaps this was how it was meant to be.

Maybe the kindness and morality he learned were just the last spark he held onto in order not to fall into despair?

The unconscious Ishida lay on a pile of trash, unaware that he had been lying there alone in the damp and filth with a broken cross in his chest until morning. Finally opening his eyes in the pitch darkness, he saw nothing but the light pouring through the cracks of the trash container. Attempting to get up, Ishida met the pain in his back, which screamed for him to lie down in the filth until he recovered.

Ishida's Parents

"God, save my son! Where has he gone? Was he kidnapped?" Ishida's father that evening, when his son did not come home, called all the law enforcement agencies. They promised they would find him, but after eight hours since his disappearance, no one had answered him.

Morning

Waking up to the smell of eggs and rice filling the house with its aroma, Tadao got out of bed, hearing the frying pan sizzle. Looking at himself in the mirror, he opened the door to his room and saw Nejire in her home clothes preparing breakfast for two. Energetically, Nejire added the batter for pancakes to the pan, and as soon as the whipped milk touched the pan, it sizzled and took shape. Tadao smiled, watching Nejire as she hummed to herself while juggling several dishes simultaneously.

"Good morning," said Tadao with an encouraging smile as Nejire tossed pancakes in the air.

"Oh, you're awake, Dad! I'm sorry, I couldn't choose from your favorite dishes, so I decided to make my favorite pancakes, eggs, and freshly cooked rice. I hope you're not upset that I didn't add soy sauce to the rice, as we ran out just yesterday," Nejire bombarded Tadao with words in the morning, causing a slight smile to appear on his face.

Tadao smiled, watching his daughter. Her energy always infected those around her, and now, seeing her skillfully cooking, he felt a warm pride.

"You're doing just great, Nejire," he said, stepping closer and ruffling her hair.

"And don't worry about the soy sauce. Breakfast already smells amazing!"

"Really?" She turned around, beaming with a smile.

"I worked really hard!"

She carefully transferred the pancakes to a plate, then quickly grabbed a spoon and skillfully stirred the rice, checking its readiness.

Having breakfast together, Tadao cherished those moments when he could spend carefree time with his family, knowing that it would not be boring in the company of his only family member.

"How are your training sessions going?" Tadao asked, not taking his eyes off Nejire, whose cheeks puffed up like a hamster, adding to her cute appearance.

"It's tough, Dad. I feel like all the energy has been drained out of me. I tried to fly for a long time, but after an hour, I felt a very strong fatigue throughout my body. But the spiral wave is still powerful; the trainers were surprised when I destroyed a special punching bag for such quirks," Nejire giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

"I hope they don't file a complaint against me for the damage you caused," Tadao said, and Nejire waved her hand energetically at her father's words, stuffing another pancake into her mouth.

"Don't worry, Dad. This happens quite often, and mostly such incidents are well insured by insurance companies, so my quirk is perfect for such gyms," she said, her speech becoming less clear as she spoke with food in her mouth.

"I hope no one is bothering you, you know, older boys. Otherwise, knowing my work, it's not uncommon for girls to be harassed," Tadao said, sipping tea, recalling the calls and complaints about how such incidents were common in public places or in large crowds of people. He was very against such actions towards young people by older individuals.

"No, Dad, luckily that's not the case. I chose a female trainer, and she's a former professional hero. Her training is tough, but she wishes me the best," Tadao nodded, satisfied with his daughter's response.

"That's good," he said, finishing his tea, knowing that his daughter would be safe while he was not there with her. She was strong and not foolish, but she still had a lot to go through before stepping onto the adult path. As long as she had the drive, who was Tadao to forbid her from enjoying her youth?

"The main thing is that you feel safe," Nejire nodded, continuing to chew quickly, and then, swallowing a piece of pancake, spoke again.

"Dad, why did you come home late from work yesterday? Did something happen?" Worried that her father returned so late, for Nejire it meant that something serious had happened at work.

"A quirkless boy named Ishida Muramasa went missing last night. Along with the heroes, we tried to find him, but it was as if his trail had vanished. I stayed late at work trying to find any clues regarding his search, but it was as if he had disappeared into thin air," Tadao replied, as if giving a report. Nejire felt a bit sad upon learning that quirkless people were disappearing again, recalling her friend.

"Maybe he's hiding?"

"Unlikely, Nejire. I was at their house with his parents. His parents are good people, and when we were in his room, we found nothing suspicious," he quickly replied, getting up from the chair, slightly surprising Nejire, but she quickly realized that the search for this boy was ongoing.

"Thank you, dear, breakfast was very delicious, but I have to run to work," kissing her on the cheek and hugging her, he quickly ran to his room, putting on his police uniform.

Nejire, watching her father leave the house, not finishing her breakfast, felt a bit sad, but understood what kind of work her father had. Coming out of her room, he appeared before her in his uniform, swiftly heading for the door.

"Don't be late for school, Nejire. I promise I'll be back earlier today," Nejire nodded, watching her father leave.

"Be careful, Dad," she said quietly as the door closed behind him. She sat for a moment at the table, looking at the unfinished pancakes. Thoughts about the missing boy wouldn't leave her alone. She remembered how she had heard conversations at school recently—people were saying that quirkless individuals were disappearing more frequently lately.

Too strange a coincidence.

Sighing, Nejire decided not to dwell on it early in the morning. She quickly cleared the table, got herself ready, and grabbed her bag, preparing to leave. On her way to school, she tried to distract herself, humming to herself and greeting acquaintances. However, the uneasy feeling did not disappear.

****

Finally emerging from the trash container, through pain and darkness, and distressed that his amulet had been broken by hooligans, he desperately searched for his school supplies bag, but all he noticed was his tattered bag, which looked more like rags. He approached it, and besides soaked notebooks and supplies, he saw nothing else.

"Why? What for?" he said in a trembling voice. Now he was scared of what his parents would say when they saw him dirty, beaten, and hurt, but through the tears from his eyes, he noticed a shiny object under the pile of trash. Curiosity overcame him, and he approached the sparkling item, clearing away the trash that covered the shining thing, and what he saw frightened him even more than before.

It was a gun.

"A real one?" he asked himself, seeing it gleam in the light.

"No, I shouldn't do this.

I can't.

Why is this thing here?

Maybe someone lost it?

Doubt overtook the boy, maybe this was a sign that he should get back at his bullies who beat him nearly every single day. He was afraid that something bad might happen. His hands trembled, and his throat dried up from stress, and swallowing a large lump, he couldn't help but feel a sense of temptation that urged him to take the weapon and get back at his tormentors.

"God, please forgive me. Our Father, give me a sign of what to do in such a situation," he prayed, feeling the weight of temptation. He was raised to be kind and righteous, but that hadn't helped him in life.

With trembling fingers, he reached for the gun. The steel was cold, even through the layer of dirt and dust. The weight of the weapon in his hand felt strangely familiar, as if this moment had been preordained by someone above.

Maybe God gave him this chance to correct the injustice.

His heart raced wildly. It was a choice from which there was no turning back.

"No…" he whispered, but his fingers had already wrapped around the grip. The weapon was heavier than he had expected. He lifted it, examining every detail, and anxiety flared inside him. The gun was loaded.

"Who… who could have left this here?"

There was no answer. Only his own reflection in the cold metal. A dirty face, tear-streaked eyes, fear. And something else. A spark hidden deep inside, unlike the timidity that accompanied him every day. A sense of justice bubbled inside him.

Why should I be kind and endure all this when they kick and beat me?

Why can't I fight back?

Maybe God is giving me a chance?

He recalled the humiliations he had faced. He remembered how laughing faces surrounded him, how they took his belongings, pushed him into a trash can. How they destroyed everything he held dear and aspired to. The pursuit of knowledge was Ishida's main goal in life, the very reason his parents worked hard for his future, but he was just a quirkless boy with no chance for a better life.

And now? Now he held something in his hand that could change everything.

But what if it's a trap? What if the weapon belongs to someone who is already looking for him? What if he takes it and ends up guilty of a crime he didn't commit? Doubts tore him apart. But he couldn't let it go. The gun became part of him in that moment. A symbol of power he had never had.

A voice from deep within spoke—one that always knew what to do.

"Decide. You either remain a victim… or change everything." He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.

And then he tightened his grip on the weapon and took his first step toward school.

As he approached the school building, he saw passersby casting sympathetic glances his way. He hid the gun behind his back in his pants, but the glimmer from the sunlight still gave away his new weapon, and seeing how passersby focused on the dirty and beaten boy who was barely moving, they were afraid to help him.

Continuing to walk, he caught the attention of a patrol officer, who was concerned about the lonely wandering boy in a dirty school uniform. Approaching him and seeing his dirty red hair and broken glasses, pity overtook the man, and he tried to approach him.

Meeting the police officer, Ishida became frightened. His mind screamed at him to defend himself; the officer's large figure loomed over him, and the sound of his footsteps heightened the boy's already frayed nerves. The officer extended his hand, but in this gesture, Ishida recalled how a similar hand had reached out to him. When he took it, his bullies grabbed him and threw him into a puddle.

"No, I won't let that happen again," he told himself, and he grabbed the weapon, surprising the man, but he decided to try to establish contact.

"HE HAS A GUN!!!" shouted a woman from behind upon seeing the gun behind the boy. Before he could reach for his stun gun, the young boy grabbed the weapon faster than he could imagine.

"D-don't come closer!" Ishida stammered, stepping back. The people nearby began to flee in different directions in horror. His hands trembled, grasping the pistol, and his palms were sweaty, sliding on the gun's grip.

"DROP THE WEAPON ON THE GROUND!!" shouted other police officers from behind. Fear pierced him from all sides, and frightened Ishida, in panic, pointed the gun into the air and fired.

The shot. Everyone froze, but through the tears in his eyes, Ishida aimed the barrel of the gun at them. Hearing the shots, the police officers quickly took cover, and the passersby began to scatter in different directions. Goosebumps ran down Ishida's skin as he realized that people were now afraid of him.

6/7

"I S-S-Said D-don't c-come near me!" Pressed against the wall, his gaze darted between three police officers, who were slowly approaching him like predators trying to devour their cornered prey.

"I SAID DON'T COME CLOSER!!!" Ishida shouted in panic, firing and hitting the ground. The officers, evaluating the boy's mental state, realized they couldn't talk to him, knowing that they were exacerbating an already terrible situation and decided to call a negotiator who was nearby.

5/7

"Every post needs help: an armed child is holding a gun. Emotionally unstable state, I need a negotiator at XXX-XXXXXX-XX."

Surrounded by enemies, Ishida was scared. He prayed and begged for forgiveness from the Creator for his actions. Tears continued to flow from his eyes, blurring his vision. Seeing several vehicles arrive, he became even more frightened; stress overwhelmed every corner of his mind, driven solely by instinct. In addition to the police, other people arrived with cameras and microphones.

"G-g-g-get away!" Ishida said, firing again and pressing the gun to his temple, further escalating the tension among the police.

4/7

"Don't do this, kid," a strict voice boomed through the loudspeaker. The police slowly approached, their hands resting on their holsters. One wrong move and everything would end in a shot.

"I… I… I didn't want to! Forgive me!" The police officers' wails sent shivers down their spines, and realizing this, they turned off the sirens to avoid further agitating him, but what infuriated the police even more was the media, which they were trying to fend off from sensational material that would boost their channels' ratings.

"Breaking news! A minor quirkless individual with a firearm is threatening the police! How could the system let it get to this?"

"We see a negotiator now; perhaps he will persuade the culprit to surrender…"

"Dangerous complexes of quirkless individuals: how envy turns them into criminals?"

"Quirkless individuals can't cope with life and resort to violence!"

"Is being quirkless a disease or a predisposition to violence?"

"Today with a gun, tomorrow with a bomb: who will stop the quirkless?"

The media was already creating their version of events, not caring who Ishida truly was. A broken boy who had been mocked and ridiculed, the last thread of patience had snapped, revealing all his despair to the people.

Upon exiting the car, Tadao first took cover behind the door of the police vehicle, asking his colleagues about the situation.

"Have you determined what kind of weapon he is holding?" Tadao asked, putting on his bulletproof vest without taking his eyes off the boy, who was trembling with fear.

"Sir, he has a seven-shot pistol, and at the moment, he has fired three times," said the assistant, sweating profusely.

"Sir, should we quickly neutralize him or call in heroes to resolve this issue?" Hearing such a request from his subordinate, Tadao barely restrained himself from hitting him on the head.

"Find a suitable hero for this situation, idiot. If this were your child, would you act the same way?" Without hiding his disdain, Tadao ordered all the other colleagues to clear the media so he could negotiate with the boy. Tadao took a deep breath, stepping out from behind cover. He raised his hands, indicating that he did not intend to cause harm. His voice was steady, but concern was visible in his eyes.

"Hello, my name is Tadao Hado," he greeted him, and Ishida aimed the gun at him in fear, his hands trembling.

"Can I know your name?" he asked, keeping his hands open, showing them to avoid alarming the boy. Seeing the gun on Tadao's hip, Ishida looked at him distrustfully.

"You have a… a… weapon," Tadao noticed the gun on his hip and looked back at the boy.

"Yes, I have a weapon. Do you want me to put it away in front of you?" he asked, receiving a nod from Ishida.

"Look, I'm placing the weapon on the ground right before your eyes." Carefully taking off the weapon, he slowly lowered his hand to the ground, watching the young man who had calmed down slightly but raised his hands again.

"Let's try again, what's your name, young man?" A slightly calmer boy lowered the gun a bit but still kept the barrel aimed at Tadao.

"I…I…Ishida, my name is Ishida," he said, trembling. Tadao paused for a moment, thinking.

"Wait, your name is Ishida Muramasa?"

"Y-YES! How do you know my name?" Ishida asked with surprise, shocked that someone outside his family knew his name.

"Your parents have been looking for you. They called me to express their concern about you. You went missing yesterday, and your parents were afraid someone had kidnapped you. They pleaded with me to find you. They prepared a surprise for you and were afraid you had run away." Upon hearing the negotiator's words, Ishida's eyes, red from tears, filled with sorrow, but his hands still held the gun on the trigger.

"I was in your room to find clues to where you might be. Tell me, do you believe in God?" he asked, trying to find a compromise with the child. Hearing Tadao's question, Ishida relaxed his tense shoulders.

Tadao watched Ishida closely, noting every change in his expression, gestures, and breathing. The boy trembled, fear and despair clouding his gaze. He was like a cornered animal, but inside, he still remained a child in need of help.

"Do I believe in God?" Ishida quietly repeated, looking down.

"I don't know… If God existed, would he allow all this to happen?" Tadao nodded, contemplating the answer.

"Sometimes it's hard for us to understand His plans. But know that your parents are praying for you, worried. They didn't sleep all night, fearing something happened to you. You are important to them, Ishida." The boy's eyes filled with fresh tears. He gripped the gun tighter. He wanted to believe that his parents truly cared. But what of it? They couldn't protect him. No one could.

And then there were shouts from the crowd.

"Look at him! Another quirkless psycho!"

"He'd be better off shooting himself than threatening normal people!"

"Typical loser, all he can do is threaten!"

Ishida flinched. These words pierced him like a thousand needles. He knew people hated him, but to hear it so openly, right now… It was unbearable. His chest tightened with pain and anger.

"Shut up…" he whispered, lowering his head. His voice was quiet but filled with suffering.

But the crowd wouldn't quiet down.

"Quirkless trash! Hurry up and get rid of him!"

"Let him finally do something useful and shoot himself!"

Tadao tensed, his fists clenched. He knew such words only pushed the boy closer to the edge. His hand instinctively reached for the radio to order the officers to push the crowd back, but seeing Ishida grip the gun even tighter, he held off.

"Shut up…" Ishida said a bit louder, raising his head. Pain mixed with rage sparkled in his eyes. But the people continued to mock him, throwing away the last shards of his hope for trust in others.

And then he couldn't take it anymore.

"I SAID SHUT UP!!!" he screamed and pulled the trigger. The loud shot shattered the air. The bullet soared into the sky, scattering birds and causing the crowd to duck. An eerie silence fell. Even the journalists froze for a moment, shocked by what was happening.

3/7

Ishida breathed heavily, his hands shook, but in his eyes, there was neither fear nor doubt—only despair.

Tadao took a cautious step forward.

"Ishida…" he called softly.

Seeing him come closer, Ishida aimed the gun at the police officer with trembling hands.

"I don't want to, don't move! Forgive me, Hado-san. I didn't want to do this, they made me!" Tadao understood the boy's fear, and the sight of him dirty and injured raised numerous questions in his mind.

"I know that. But can I ask who treated you this way? Maybe friends treated you like this?" Ishida flinched upon hearing this, recalling how his classmates had tormented him for six months. Trembling, he replied.

"Yes, I moved from Hiroshima to Hosu, and when I came to the new school, they laughed at me for not having a quirk. Every single day, I prayed for it to stop, but they soaked me with water, beat me, humiliated me, ruined my school supplies, and broke the cross my father gave me." Tadao listened with understanding and sympathy; there were often cases of extreme cruelty towards quirkless individuals. Given how the boy spoke, he was expressing what was on his mind. He had told no one about this, not even his parents. Meanwhile, he was counting the bullets he had fired from the gun.

"I'm sorry that you've been treated this way. I sincerely want to help you; tell me what's on your mind, and I'll solve your problems so that they won't trouble you anymore." Ishida flinched slightly but continued to look into Hado's eyes, which reflected sincerity, and lowering his gaze, he spoke.

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

Ishida breathed heavily, his hands trembled, and his heart raced. Blood pounded in his temples, drowning out all sounds around him. The crowd finally froze, but he knew it wouldn't last long. Tadao did not look away. He took another cautious step forward.

"Ishida, listen to me. I know you're in pain. I know you feel alone. But trust me, you are not alone. There are people who care about you. People who love you."

Ishida tightened his grip on the gun. The police officer's words sounded… sincere. But the voice of doubt still whispered in his head:

"He's lying. They all lie. They just want to take away your last hope."

"No one loves me," he whispered hoarsely.

"No one… They want me to disappear." Tadao clenched his fists. Damn crowd… Their hatred made this day worse than it could have been. But he couldn't let his emotions take over.

"That's not true," he said firmly. "Your parents are waiting for you. They're scared. They're worried. They love you, Ishida."

"Lies!" the boy shouted, aiming the gun at the police officer, who flinched at Ishida's despair.

"If they loved me, they would have protected me!" Tadao froze. There was so much pain in Ishida's voice… He understood. He knew what it was like to feel unnecessary.

"You're right," he said unexpectedly.

Ishida blinked, looking at him in confusion, not understanding what he meant. His parents loved him, but no one had said he was right, which surprised him.

"They couldn't protect you. And I won't justify them for that. But that doesn't mean they don't love you. Sometimes, adults make mistakes. Sometimes they don't know how to do the right thing. But they never stop loving their children." Ishida swallowed, his eyes filling with tears again.

"Then why must I suffer?" Tadao took another step, raising the boy's tension even more, but somehow he trusted him. His friendly voice had a way of putting people at ease.

"You shouldn't. And you don't have to do this. Just give me the weapon, and we'll figure out what to do next." Ishida squinted. His mind was in turmoil. Anger. Pain. Resentment. Fear. And then—relief. He slowly loosened his grip. The gun trembled in his hands. He lowered it… But suddenly there was a loud bang.

Someone threw a bottle.

Ishida flinched. Instincts took over. He tightened his grip on the gun and turned toward the threat.

" NO!" Tadao shouted, lunging forward. But it was already too late. A loud gunshot shattered the air.

2/7

Silence.

The crowd gasped.

Tadao felt his heart stop.

And then someone screamed.

"Ishida, if you allow me, I'll tell my colleagues to take these bad people away from here." Ishida nodded, and Tadao slowly pressed the radio, giving the order.

"Take the people and the media away; they are having a bad influence on the boy."

"Roger that."

"They will all leave now; don't worry."

The police immediately began to push back the crowd. People reluctantly stepped back; some protested, but most silently obeyed the order. Journalists tried to take a few more shots, but they were also forced to leave. Gradually, the square emptied, and only the echo of the last departing footsteps lingered in the air.

Ishida stood, breathing heavily. He was tense, gripping the gun in his hands, but his gaze darted around as if he didn't know what to do next.

Tadao spoke softly:

"See? Now we are alone. No one is screaming or pressuring you. You can talk, and I will listen." Ishida calmed down a bit, lowering his weapon slightly.

"I can be your friend, honestly and without any deception." Ishida looked at him distrustfully, not believing his words. His pulse was above average, and he struggled to control himself to avoid doing something foolish.

"I have a daughter named Nejire, and she wants to be a hero who helps those without quirks and everyone who can't protect themselves. She has a friend, Izuku Midoriya, who is just like you — quirkless and also wants to become a hero."

"If all this ends, I promise they will be your friends. They don't divide people into quirkless or not."

"R… really?" Hope sparkled in his eyes as he looked at the adult, accidentally pulling the trigger and shooting into the ground, missing Tadao, who believed that the good boy had simply been bullied into desperation and had resorted to extreme measures.

"I didn't mean to; it was an accident, I'm sorry," he said in a panic, trying to apologize.

1/7

"It's alright, Ishida," he said, and Ishida almost believed his kind words and nature, but doubts whispered in his head not to trust him.

Ishida trembled, gripping the gun so tightly his fingers turned white. Tadao's voice was soft and calming, but a storm still raged inside the boy.

"Lies. He's just using you."

"You're not needed. No one wants to be around someone like you."

"You're just a burden to them. They would be happy if you were gone."

"God has abandoned you."

"He won't help."

Doubts twisted like snakes in his mind, poisoning his thoughts. His hand shook, but he slowly raised the gun, aiming it at his temple. His heart raced in his chest, and his breath quickened. This was the only way, the only way to make everyone silent.

"Ishida!" Tadao's voice pierced through the noise in his head, but his fingers were already tightening on the trigger.

A gunshot rang out.

Tadao collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest. The bullet hit his bulletproof vest, knocking the wind out of him but not penetrating the protection. Pain spread through his body, but he ignored it — his eyes were fixed on Ishida.

The boy froze, his face contorted in horror. With trembling hands, he pulled the trigger again... and again...

But the magazine was empty.

0/7

Click.

Click.

The gun slipped from his weakened fingers and fell to the ground with a dull thud. Ishida sobbed and then sank to his knees, covering his face with his hands.

"I... I didn't want to..." his voice broke, his body shaking with sobs.

"I just... just wanted it to end..." Tadao, overcoming the pain, got to his feet and slowly approached him.

"It's okay, Ishida..." he said gently, kneeling beside him and carefully embracing the boy. He did not resist, only cried even harder, burying his face in the adult's chest. His small fingers clutched Tadao's uniform like a lifeline.

"It's okay..." Tadao repeated, stroking his back.

"I'm here. You're not alone." Ishida gasped for air, sobbing so hard it seemed he might choke. His shoulders trembled, and his fingers still clutched the fabric of Tadao's uniform tightly.

"I... I want to go home..." his voice trembled, sounding so quiet as if he himself didn't believe what he was saying.

"Please... I just want to go home..." Tadao felt his heart constrict. Those words... they were filled with such pain, such despair that something broke inside him.

"We will go home, Ishida," he said softly, not releasing his embrace.

"I promise." The boy continued to cry, but his body was no longer tense. He nestled against Tadao trustingly, like a small child seeking protection.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore," Tadao whispered. Slowly stroking his back, Tadao realized he needed to deal with the people who had brought the boy to such a terrible state.

"I'm with you." Ishida squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

"You... you're not lying, are you?" Ishida asked, trying to calm down from his tears. Covered in dirt and sweat, with trembling hands, he clung to Tadao's embrace as if it were his last hope for something better.

"Never," Tadao replied firmly. The boy quietly sniffled, burying his face in his shoulder.

"Then... let's get out of here... please..." he whispered, laying his head on Tadao's chest.

Next chapter

In the shadow of one's own self