Shadow of Hatred - Chapter 7 - biosbane - 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia (2024)

Chapter Text

You trudge back to class, the weight of embarrassment heavy on your shoulders like a burden too great to bear. Each step feels like an eternity as you replay the lunchtime debacle in your mind, the memory stinging like a fresh wound. Finally, you reach the familiar confines of your classroom, the sanctuary where you can momentarily escape.

Slumping into your seat, you can't help but glare daggers at Present Mic, your homeroom teacher. His boisterous demeanour and flashy antics have always grated on your nerves, but today, he's the focal point of your frustration. It was his insistence on introducing you to Aizawa that set off this chain reaction of humiliation and discomfort.

As you sit there, your eyes boring into Present Mic, you mentally curse him for the string of misfortune that seems to follow in his wake. From that initial encounter with Aizawa to the countless awkward moments that have ensued, it's as if Present Mic's mere presence has become synonymous with chaos and embarrassment. You can't help but wonder if he takes some perverse pleasure in orchestrating these situations, relishing in your discomfort from the sidelines.

Present Mic's vibrant voice cuts through the classroom chatter, capturing everyone's attention. "Alright, everyone, listen up!" he exclaims, his enthusiasm contagious. "I've got some important news to share with you all."

The room falls silent, anticipation hanging in the air. You shift in your seat, trying to focus despite the lingering fog of your earlier confrontation with Aizawa. Present Mic's announcements are usually lively, but today, there's an edge to his tone that piques your curiosity.

"As you all know," Present Mic begins, pacing at the front of the classroom, "the UA Sports Festival is traditionally scheduled for next week." Murmurs ripple through the room, classmates exchanging excited glances. The Sports Festival is a big deal, a chance to showcase your abilities to heroes and agencies alike.

"But," Present Mic continues, raising a hand to silence the whispers, "this year, we're doing things a little differently." He pauses for dramatic effect, his eyes scanning the room. "The UA training camps will switch positions with the festival."

A collective gasp fills the room. "What?" someone exclaims from the back. "Why?" another voice echoes the confusion that spreads like wildfire.

Present Mic nods, acknowledging the shock. "I know, I know, it's a big change," he says. "But let me explain. The reasoning behind this switch is simple: it benefits you, the students, to go through rigorous training before being put under the spotlight."

Mirio, behind you, raises his hand. "But, Mic-sensei, isn't the Sports Festival a part of our training?"

"It is," Present Mic responds, his tone patient. "However, the faculty believes that you'll perform even better after some intense preparation. The training camps will push you to your limits, help you discover your weaknesses, and improve your strengths. By the time the Sports Festival rolls around, you'll be more than ready to show the world what you've got."

You feel a wave of relief wash over you. The idea of competing in the Sports Festival has been daunting, especially given how weak and incompetent you've felt the last few days. The thought of rigorous training beforehand offers a chance to regain your confidence, to build yourself back up before facing such a high-pressure event.

Present Mic, still standing at the front of the room, raises his hands to calm the excited chatter. "Hold on, hold on, there's one more piece of news," he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. The class falls silent again, curiosity piqued.

"Since this is such a big change," he continues, "we're going to try something new. To help both the seniors and the lower grades improve, the upperclassmen will be shadowing the underclassmen during the training camps."

You feel your stomach drop at his words. Shadowing? You'd expected more rigorous training for yourself, not babysitting the underclassmen. The thought of having to mentor younger students while dealing with your own issues feels overwhelming.

Present Mic taps a pile of cards on his desk. "I'll be assigning each of you to a class to shadow," he explains, flashing a bright, mischievous smile. The whole class groans in unison, the earlier excitement dampened by the unexpected news.

"Come on, don't be like that!" he says, trying to lift the mood. "This is a great opportunity to share your experience and knowledge. Plus, you'll get to work closely with the faculty, which can only help you in the long run."

Finally, Present Mic reaches your desk. He pauses, peering down at you through his glasses, pursing his lips together in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. His gaze lingers for a moment longer than necessary, making you feel as if he can see right through you, right into the turmoil roiling inside. With an inscrutable expression, he hands you a card, it's face down, and then continues on his way.

Your heart races, pounding in your chest with a mixture of dread and anticipation. You can feel the weight of the card in your hand, heavier than it should be. Slowly, you flip it over, your breath catching in your throat as you read the words written on it: "Class 1-A."

It feels as if your heart has stopped. Class 1-A. Shoto's classroom. That isn't too bad, you think initially, trying to calm yourself. But then the realization hits you like a punch to the gut. Class 1-A is also Aizawa's classroom.

Thoughts swirl chaotically in your brain. Present Mic has done this on purpose, just like he did with forcing you to meet Aizawa. The way he looked at you before giving you the card—he knows exactly what he's doing. The audacity of it makes your blood boil.

You clutch the card tightly in your hand, the edges digging into your palm. Anger begins to bubble inside you, a fierce, hot rage that you struggle to contain. How could he do this to you? How could he deliberately put you in this situation, knowing everything that's happened?

Nejire, sensing your tension, leans over and looks at your card. "Class 1-A, huh?" She says softly, trying to gauge your reaction. "You'll be with Shoto at least, that's good."

You force a nod, but inside, you're seething. "Yeah," you mutter through gritted teeth. "Great."

Nejire, always observant, catches the anger in your voice. "Are you okay?" she asks gently, concern etched on her face.

"Fine," you snap, immediately regretting your harsh tone. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I'm fine, Nejire. Just... not what I wanted."

You can see Present Mic at the front of the room, finishing his rounds. His cheerful demeanour seems almost mocking now, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions raging inside you. You feel like a pawn in some game, manipulated and maneuvered into place.

The classroom is abuzz with chatter as Present Mic announces the assignments for the shadowing program. You sit there, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, feeling like you're drowning in a sea of uncertainty and apprehension. The prospect of shadowing Class 1-A, especially under Aizawa's watchful eye, fills you with a sense of dread.

Lost in the swirling chaos of your thoughts, you barely notice when Mirio taps your shoulder from behind. His touch is gentle, yet firm, pulling you back from the depths of your internal turmoil. As you turn to look at him, you're greeted by his warm, reassuring smile—the same smile that has brightened countless days in the past.

"Hey there," Mirio says cheerfully, his voice warm and comforting. "Guess what? I've been assigned to Class 1-A too."

His words wash over you like a wave of relief, momentarily dispelling the heavy weight of anxiety that had settled over you. The mere thought of facing this daunting task alone had been suffocating, but now, with Mirio by your side, you feel a renewed sense of optimism.

A smile spreads across your face, genuine and heartfelt, as you grasp onto this lifeline that Mirio has thrown you. The knowledge that he'll be there with you every step of the way fills you with a sense of comfort and reassurance.

"Really?" you exclaim, unable to hide the relief in your voice. "Having you there with me makes me feel so much better about this whole thing."

Mirio's smile widens at your words, his eyes sparkling with genuine happiness. "I'm glad to hear that!" he replies earnestly. "We'll make a great team, I'm sure of it."

The remaining of Thursday and Friday are filled with intense preparation. You and Mirio spend every spare moment meticulously crafting plans on how best to shadow the younger students. Mirio's optimism and boundless energy serve as a counterbalance to your own anxieties, making the task at hand seem less daunting.

"We should focus on their individual strengths," Mirio suggests Friday afternoon as you both sit in a quiet corner of the library. "Identify what they're good at and help them hone those skills."

You nod, jotting down notes in a shared notebook. "And we need to push ourselves during their training periods too," you add. "We can't afford to fall behind. We need to be the best versions of ourselves if we're going to help them."

Despite the detailed planning and Mirio's unwavering support, a sense of inadequacy gnaws at you. To address this, you arrange to visit your mother with Shoto, hoping to find some solace or guidance from her.

The end of the day arrives, and a knot of anxiety tightens in your stomach. Shoto had to excuse himself from your father's relentless training regimen to accompany you, a task easier said than done given Endeavor's expectations.

As you walk to the bus stop together, you turn to Shoto, curiosity gnawing at you. "So, what excuse did you use to get out of training this afternoon?" you ask, trying to sound casual despite the anxiety bubbling within you.

Shoto glances at you, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I told him I was doing training with Aizawa this afternoon."

You snort, the statement catching you off guard. "Really?" you chuckle, shaking your head. "That would have been something."

"I'm joking," Shoto replies with a rare laugh. "I just said I'd be training with friends instead."

"Of course," you say. "And how did he take that?"

Shoto's expression grows more serious. "He wasn't happy. Said he's a far better trainer than any of my classmates."

"He just doesn't get it, does he?" You mutter, shaking your head.

Shoto shrugs, his usual stoic demeanour returning. "No, he doesn't. But it doesn't matter. This is important, and I wanted to be here with you."

As the bus approaches, you take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions within you. "Thanks, Shoto. I really appreciate it."

As the bus rumbles along, you and Shoto sit side by side, the cityscape blurring past the windows. The rhythmic hum of the engine offers a momentary respite from the chaotic thoughts swirling in your mind. You glance at Shoto, who is staring out the window, his expression as stoic as ever. The silence between you is comfortable, yet laden with unspoken worries.

After a few moments, you can't help but voice the thoughts that have been nagging at you. "Shoto," you begin, your voice low to keep the conversation private, "I've noticed that father's been making you practice a lot more recently. Do you think it's because of the UA Sports Festival?"

Shoto turns to you, his mismatched eyes meeting yours with a hint of curiosity. "Probably," he replies, his tone even. "He's always more intense before major events."

You bite your lip, considering your next words carefully. "Did you tell him about the schedule change? That the training camp is happening before the festival now?"

Shoto's brow furrows slightly, and he shakes his head. "No, it hadn't crossed my mind to tell him. He's so focused on his own plans that I didn't think it would matter."

You let out a nervous laugh, the sound almost incongruous in the quiet bus. "He's going to be furious when he finds out," you say, a hint of dread in your voice. "Can you imagine? All that extra training for something that's not even happening next week."

Shoto's lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smile. "He won't be pleased," he agrees, his tone dry. "But it might be good for him to have his plans disrupted for once. He needs to learn that he can't control everything."

You nod, feeling a surge of affection for your brother. Despite the constant pressure and high expectations, Shoto remains grounded and pragmatic. "I guess you're right," you admit. "Maybe it will be good for him. And for us."

"By the way, Shoto," you glance at him from the corner of your eye, "did Aizawa mention to your class that the upperclassmen will be shadowing the underclassmen?"

Shoto nods. "Yeah, he did. He mentioned it briefly yesterday." He pauses, a small smirk playing on his lips. "He said it was an impossible chance that you’d be put in my class."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. "It's funny though, you think there's any chance I'll end up shadowing your class?"

Shoto laughs lightly, the sound rare and comforting. "I'd say the chances are pretty slim. It would be quite the coincidence."

You bite your lip, feeling a twinge of apprehension. "Well, actually... I have been assigned to your class."

Shoto's eyes widen in surprise. "Seriously?" He looks at you, baffled by the news. "I mean, I don't mind, but... after seeing your argument with Aizawa yesterday, I'm a bit nervous about it."

You nod, a sense of incredulity settling over you. "Yeah, I did," you confirm, feeling a mixture of apprehension and frustration bubbling within you. "Present Mic handed me the card himself."

Shoto's gaze narrows in thought as he processes this information. "That's... unexpected," he remarks, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Yeah, tell me about it," you mutter, a hint of frustration coloring your tone. "It's almost like he's been messing with me."

Shoto offers you a sympathetic look, his expression one of understanding. "Maybe it's not such a bad thing," he suggests optimistically. "It could be an opportunity to make amends with Aizawa."

You bite back a bitter retort, the memory of your recent arguments with Aizawa still fresh in your mind. "About what happened yesterday... I know it looked bad, but I promise, I'll be okay."

Shoto's gaze softens as he looks at you, concern evident in his eyes. "Are you sure, (Y/N)?" he asks gently. "That argument with Aizawa seemed pretty intense."

You force a small smile, trying to project confidence even though you're anything but. "Yeah, I'll be fine," you reply, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "And besides, Mirio will be joining Class 1-A too."

Shoto's eyes light up at the mention of Mirio's name, a hint of excitement creeping into his tone. "Mirio's joining Class 1-A?" he exclaims. "I've always wanted to spar with him."

You can't help but smile at Shoto's enthusiasm, grateful for the distraction from your own worries. "Yeah, he is," you agree, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the anxiety swirling inside you. "Having Mirio there will definitely make things easier."

During your first year, memories of those movie nights at your house floods your mind as you sit beside Shoto. You recall the warmth of those gatherings, the laughter that filled the air, and the easy camaraderie shared among friends. And at the center of it all was Mirio, his infectious energy drawing everyone in like moths to a flame.

Shoto had always been a quiet presence at those movie nights, content to sit back and observe while the others bantered and joked. But there was something about Mirio's welcoming demeanor that seemed to draw him out of his shell, to make him feel at ease in a way that few others could.

As you reminisce about those moments, you can't help but draw parallels between Shoto's interactions with Mirio and your own experiences. Just as Mirio had welcomed Shoto into the fold with open arms, so too had you found comfort and acceptance in his presence. It was a feeling of belonging, of being seen and understood without judgment—a feeling that you cherished more than words could express.

The bus halts with a shudder, the doors creaking open to reveal the imposing structure of the psychiatric ward. From the outside, it looks more like a fortress than a place of healing, with high walls and barred windows that cast long shadows over the entrance. The aura of the building is cold and uninviting, more reminiscent of a prison than a sanctuary.

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you rise from your seat. The weight of the moment presses down on you, making your steps feel heavy and labored. Shoto is already standing, his expression calm and composed as he waits for you. He’s been here before, having mustered the courage to face your mother long before you could. His resilience is a stark contrast to your own reluctance, and you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt as you follow him off the bus.

The path leading up to the entrance feels interminable, each step echoing with the sound of your own insecurities. Shoto walks a few paces ahead, his back straight and his demeanor resolute. You know he’s been hurt deeply, the burn mark on his face a constant reminder of the pain he’s endured. And yet, despite the physical and emotional scars, he’s chosen to confront your mother, to seek some semblance of closure or understanding.

In contrast, you feel like a coward. There are no visible scars on your body, no outward signs of the turmoil within. But the thought of being in her presence fills you with a sense of dread that you can’t shake. You recall the nights you spent in your room, grappling with the conflicting emotions of anger, fear, and a desperate longing for the mother you once knew. The mother who, before the incident, was kind and loving, her laughter a source of comfort and joy.

As you approach the entrance, the doors slide open with a mechanical hiss, revealing a sterile hallway bathed in harsh fluorescent light. A nurse at the reception desk looks up, her eyes scanning the two of you before nodding in recognition. Shoto has obviously made this journey more than once.

“Ready?” Shoto’s voice breaks through your thoughts, gentle yet firm. He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You swallow hard, nodding despite the turmoil inside. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He gives you a reassuring smile. As you move forward, each step feels like a battle against your own fears. The hallway seems to stretch endlessly, each door a potential gateway to a past you’d rather forget.

Finally, you reach the end of the hall, where another set of doors stands closed. Shoto pauses, his hand hovering over the handle as he looks at you once more. “Are you sure?” he asks, giving you one last chance to turn back.

You take a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage you have left. “I’m sure,” you say, though the quiver in your voice betrays your apprehension.

With that, Shoto opens the door, and you step into the room where your mother waits. The sight of her is both familiar and jarring, her eyes lighting up with recognition as she sees you. For a moment, the years melt away, and you see the mother you once knew. But then the reality of where you are sets in, and the walls of the psychiatric ward loom large around you, a stark reminder of the distance that now separates you from her.

The door closes softly behind you, the click of the latch echoing in the room. Your mother stands across the room, her eyes widening in surprise as she sees you. The air feels thick with unspoken words and the weight of the past. You hesitate, unsure of how to bridge the gap between the years of silence and the present moment.

Unexpectedly, she moves toward you, her steps unsteady but purposeful. Your heart races as she approaches, and you instinctively brace yourself, half-expecting a harsh reaction—a slap, a scornful word, anything that would confirm your worst fears. But instead, she reaches out and engulfs you in her arms. The contact is so sudden, so unexpected, that you freeze for a moment, unsure how to respond.

Your own arms slowly lift, almost hesitantly, and then you clutch her back, holding on as if you’re afraid she might disappear. Tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you bury your face in her shoulder. You can’t help but inhale deeply, taking in the scent that is uniquely hers, a blend of something clean and comforting that brings a flood of memories rushing back.

For a moment, you open your eyes, and your gaze falls on her hair, strands of white so similar to your own. Your arms, wrapped around her, mirror hers, and it strikes you how much you resemble her. It’s almost as if you’re hugging a version of yourself, a connection that goes beyond mere physical similarity.

She holds you tighter, and you hear her whisper your name, her voice trembling with emotion. “(Y/N), I’ve missed you so much,” she says, her words muffled but filled with a depth of feeling that breaks your heart.

“I’ve missed you too,” you manage to choke out, your voice thick with tears. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hold back the sobs that threaten to escape.

As you embrace your mother, the words you've longed to say for years finally spill from your lips. "Mom," you begin, your voice choked with emotion, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for not visiting you sooner."

Your mother's arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as if to reassure you that it's okay. "It's alright, my (Y/N)," she whispers, her voice soft and soothing. "I understand."

Tears well up in your eyes as you continue. "I... I haven't been able to face you after... after everything. I was so afraid that you'd hate me, that you'd hate all of us, especially Shoto."

Your mother's grip on you remains firm, her touch a source of comfort in the midst of your turmoil. "I could never hate my children," she murmurs, her words filled with love and understanding. "I've missed you all so much."

The weight of years of guilt and fear presses down on you as you finally confront the truth that's been haunting you for so long. "I was afraid that you'd treat us the same way father does," you confess, your voice trembling. "That you'd be cold and distant, that you'd never want to see us again."

Your mother pulls back slightly, her eyes searching yours with a depth of understanding that takes your breath away. "I could never treat you the way your father does. You and Shoto are the lights of my life, the reason I've kept going all these years." She says, her voice barely a whisper.

Tears stream down your cheeks as the weight of her words washes over you. "I'm sorry, Mom," you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry for everything."

Your mother smiles gently, brushing away your tears with a tenderness that fills you with warmth. "There's nothing to apologize for, my (Y/N)," she says softly. "We're together now, and that's all that matters."

Her hands rest on your shoulders as she takes a long, observant look at you. Her eyes, still moist with tears, trace the lines of your face as if trying to memorize every detail. There’s a mixture of awe and sorrow in her gaze, a bittersweet recognition of the time that has slipped away.

“You’ve grown so much,” she whispers, her voice tinged with regret. “You’re so beautiful.” Her fingers brush gently against your cheek, and you can feel the love and loss in her touch. “I’ve missed so many years of your life, so many moments. I wish I could have been there to see you grow.”

Her words hang heavily in the air, a reminder of all that has been lost to time and circ*mstance. The weight of her absence presses down on you, but you force a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“Well, if I’m beautiful, it’s because I look exactly like you,” you say, your tone playful but sincere.

A soft, surprised laugh escapes her lips, and she shakes her head slightly, a genuine smile breaking through the sadness. "You have my hair, my eyes, but you’re even more beautiful than I ever was.”

You blush at the compliment, feeling a rush of emotions. Her words are both a balm and a reminder of the years spent apart, of the childhood you wished had been different. But in this moment, you see the glimmer of a connection that can still be nurtured, a bond that hasn’t been completely severed by time and distance.

“I’ve missed you,” you say softly, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve missed this. Just... talking to you, being with you.”

She pulls you into another embrace, her arms strong and comforting around you. “I’ve missed you too, more than you can imagine. I thought about you every day.”

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, but you don’t bother to wipe it away. Instead, you hold her tighter, savoring the feeling of being held by your mother after so many years. The familiar scent of her, the warmth of her embrace, all of it feels like a homecoming.

Shoto, standing a respectful distance away, watches the exchange with a soft, understanding expression. He knows how much this moment means to you, and his silent support is a comforting presence.

As you both finally pull away from the embrace, you wipe the remaining tears from your cheeks. A tender silence settles between you, filled with unspoken emotions and the warmth of reconciliation. You look into your mother’s eyes, searching for reassurance.

“Would it be okay if I visited you more often?” you ask hesitantly, afraid of hearing a no, even though her earlier words had been so welcoming.

A soft smile spreads across her face, and she nods. “Of course, you can see me whenever you want,” she says warmly. “I want to be a part of your life again.”

Relief floods through you, and you nod back, feeling a little lighter. You both move to sit down beside Shoto, who has been watching the exchange with a gentle, understanding smile. As soon as you settle, your mother turns to Shoto and engulfs him in a hug as well. Unlike you, he seems more at ease, having already rebuilt a connection with her over his previous visits.

You take a deep breath, ready to share something that’s been weighing heavily on you. “Mom, I’ve been struggling with my quirk,” you admit, looking down at your hands. “The ice... I’ve been finding it hard to control, to use it effectively.”

Her expression shifts to one of concern and determination. “I’d been dreaming of this moment - to finally be here for you,” she says, her tone firm and encouraging.

You feel a surge of hope at her words, and she reaches out to take your hands in hers. “Tell me what’s been happening,” she says gently.

You explain the difficulties you’ve been facing, how your ice powers sometimes feel unpredictable, how you’ve struggled with precision and control. As you speak, she listens intently, nodding occasionally and squeezing your hands reassuringly.

“When I was a hero,” she begins, “I learned that controlling ice requires a calm mind and a clear focus. It’s not just about physical control but mental clarity as well. Your emotions play a big part in how your quirk manifests.”

She pauses, considering her next words carefully. “One thing that helped me was visualization. Picture the ice forming exactly how you want it to, in your mind, before you try to create it. See the details, feel the cold, the shape, the texture. This mental preparation can make a huge difference.”

You nod, absorbing her advice. It’s something you hadn’t considered before, focusing more on the physical aspect of your training. “I’ll try that,” you say, feeling a newfound determination.

As your mother presents the idea of controlling your emotions to harness your power effectively, a whirlwind of thoughts and memories flood your mind. You think back to the recent emotional turmoil you've experienced, the conflicts with Aizawa, the pressure from your father, the uncertainty about your abilities.

But then, a deeper realization hits you like a sudden gust of wind. It's not just recent turmoil you've been in; it's a perpetual state of unrest that has defined much of your life. From your earliest memories, you've always felt a sense of unease, of tension, of constant striving to prove yourself.

You remember the countless hours spent training, pushing yourself to excel, driven by a relentless desire to prove your worth. You recall the sleepless nights spent agonizing over your failures, the fear of falling short, the pressure to meet your father's expectations.

Even in moments of fleeting joy or success, there has always been an underlying sense of unease, a nagging feeling that you're not doing enough, that you're not worthy of the praise or recognition you receive. As you sit with these thoughts, you realize the profound impact your emotional state has on your abilities.

“Also,” she continues, “don’t be afraid to practice in a controlled environment where you can push your limits without fear of consequences. Find a space where you can experiment freely. It’s important to understand the full extent of your abilities.”

Shoto chimes in, “I could help you with that. We can train together. It’ll be good for both of us.”

You look between your mother and Shoto, feeling a sense of unity and support that you’ve longed for. “Thank you, both of you,” you say, your voice filled with gratitude.

Your mother smiles, her eyes shining with pride and love. “You'll make a better hero than I was,” she says simply.

“Just trust me, you'll be fine”

Shadow of Hatred - Chapter 7 - biosbane - 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia (2024)
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