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In the middle of August, while the old hag had gone to some other town for work, Katsuki went to see his dad.
Honestly, he had no idea how to do that kind of shit.
The thing was, he had met a girl a few months ago. He was pretty sure he’d seen her around Aldera, but she was just an extra, a pebble on his road to greatness. She didn’t matter; actually, scratch that. No one mattered.
Until she, somehow, started to matter. He still had no idea why, exactly, her words stuck in his brain, but the fact remained. They struck him like a fucking bolt of lightning and he stood there, frozen in place, until Deku, her and some blue gremlin that tagged along took a turn in another street.
I don’t see a great hero in front of me, I don’t even see a good person.
And, really, how the fuck dared she? She didn’t know shit about, how much work he put in becoming the best in literally any fucking thing, how he sometimes ended up with paralysed hands for days after his training. His whole life revolved around becoming a hero, the greatest hero, it was his goal, his reason to breathe. It was more than a dream, it was his drive.
He started learning sign language when the Quirk counselor said the sound of his explosions could affect his hearing. It could help during stealth missions, or with other disabled heroes, like Present Mic.
After discovering what nitroglycerin was, exactly, he spent months nose-deep in chemistry and physics books far too complicated for his young brain. He learned how his sweat was different but had the same effects, which meant his touch wasn’t toxic to people. He learned how to control the heat of his palms to ignite smaller explosions, or simply burn without activating the reactive component of his Quirk.
When he saw All Might’s jumps on the latest American documentary about his years there, he learned aerodynamics and how to use the shockwave from his own explosions to propel himself. The first times nearly dislocated his shoulders, but with time, perseverance and observation, he mastered it.
After that, he saw some footage of All Might’s incredible reflexes while saving people from a collapsing building. So, in response, he spent weeks, months, and now years refining his reflexes. Losing some of his hearing made his other senses slightly more acute. He focused for hours, meditating in the middle of a forest, learning how his body reacted to the smallest breeze of air, the vibrations in the ground when someone moved, all to reach his goal.
His stamina started worrying him when he noticed how extras could catch up to him in the longest PE classes. So, he improved that too.
Really, Katsuki’s life revolved solely on becoming the best hero the world had ever seen, besting All Might, and establishing himself as the Number One. His diet was focused on healthy, muscle-gaining food. His strict sleep schedule guaranteed him good rest and optimal performance.
And that blue skinned girl didn’t know shit about that. So, her opinion sucked ass and fuck it, right?
Wrong.
I don’t see a great hero in front of me, I don’t even see a good person.
And that got him thinking: why did others want to be heroes? What made a ‘great hero’ in her terms? And how could he become one?
Growing with the nerdiest shitstain in the neighborhood somehow affected him, and so he dug through the internet to watch every single hero interview he could find. For weeks, he noted down the similarities between their discourses, and he started to come up with numbers.
Fifty years ago, more than 60% of active heroes chose that line of work to help people. In those, 30% were self-righteous, 20% were naive idealists and 50% had faced discrimination - personally or from one of their relatives’ experiences. In the remaining 40%, a third liked the spotlight, another was in need of income and the last one was made of lost causes who didn’t know what else to do with their lives.
Nowadays, more than half of the heroes only wanted to make it in the charts to earn as much money as possible. Half of the rest just liked the attention and the easy popularity. In the remaining 25%, some became heroes to actually help and make a change but still loved the Limelight, and 10% went Underground to actively do shit.
Now, here was the 10 billion yen question: why did he, Bakugo Katsuki, want to become a hero, and was it a ‘good’ reason?
Katsuki hated the medias. After the Sludge Villain attack, he was followed for weeks by journalists that wanted his personal opinion on All Might’s intervention, how it had felt to be saved by his childhood hero, if he was scared or if he trusted the heroes present to save his ass. They sometimes trespassed on their property and came to knock directly on their door, thrusting a mic in his parents’ faces the second they opened to the absolute unhinged motherfucker who’d been ringing their bell for fifteen minutes straight. They only stopped coming directly at Aldera when the hag threw a fit and demanded the school to do their fucking job or she’d pull him out of their ‘fine establishment’.
Then, some guy decided to break into Endeavor’s agency to steal intel, and suddenly Katsuki was old news.
So, did he want to become a hero for popularity? No, hell no. He hated crowds and most people were as interesting and relevant as the dust underneath his nails. Kids were a pain, adults disapproved of literally everything he did, and people his age were so uninteresting. The people in his class stuck to him like old gum because he was the best at literally everything, so he didn’t even bother to learn their names.
Katsuki didn’t care all that much about money, either. His parents made good money with their fashion line. Auntie was able to live well as a single mom with her HR agent paycheck. If he wanted only money, he could’ve done literally any other job and he would be fine. In theory.
Which left the protection of people. But he didn’t feel very, huh, connected to that shit either. However, he was pretty sure that was the kind of heroes that blue girl would deem ‘great’, the ones who focused their time and energy into changing the world at their own pace. And Katsuki didn’t want to be a ‘great’ hero, no, he thrived to be only the very best .
And apparently, he wasn’t even perceived as a ‘good person’, so that was a pretty shitty start.
Which explained why he was observing his dad, weighing down whether or not talking to him was a good idea. Better him than the hag, honestly, because she’d probably only yell that he was stupid and throw hands.
His dad threw him a look above his shoulder and smiled. “Can you help me with the vegetables, Katsuki?”
He didn’t even bother answering, stepping in the kitchen to join him. He grabbed his favorite knife out of the wooden block, sharpened it quickly and rinsed it, washing his hands at the same time. His dad handed him his cutting board and a lukewarm cooked potato, and soon the only sounds were the chopping and the stewing of curry.
There was some slurping, a click of the tongue, and his dad said: “Hand me the chilly pepper powder, would you? Your mom isn’t home, so no need to make another batch.” Katsuki stopped cutting the potatoes and grabbed the reddest, spiciest one they had. His dad smiled approvingly and dropped half of the bottle in the mix. “Thanks, son. So, is there anything I can help you with?”
Perceptive old man.
He finished slicing the potatoes and put them in the pot. He plugged the rice cooker in, measured the exact amount they’d need and cleaned it thoroughly. Maybe a bit too much, because now his fingers were all pruny and cold. He rinsed it one last time, put it in the cooker, covered it in water and set the machine on the right program before starting it.
His dad’s stare burned the back of his head during the entire process.
“What’s a good person?” He blurted out, his eyes focused on the pink numbers on the cooker’s screen.
“Well,” he heard him sigh and sit on one of their bar stools. “That’s a difficult question. People have different definitions of ‘good’ and ‘bad’, so it’s a bit difficult to define what a ‘good’ person is in general.” He hummed for a moment, tapping his fingers on their kitchen island. “For me, a good person is someone who has good morals and sticks to it.”
Good morals. Ok, he could deal with that. Shit like ‘don’t kill people’ and other stuff, right? It made sense.
“For example, someone who doesn’t harm others, someone who doesn’t like hurting people or making them feel lesser.”
Katsuki stopped breathing for a second. “But… what if they’re already lesser?”
“Katsuki, everyone is equal. No one is greater or lesser than their neighbor.” He heard him sigh deeply. “Think about it for a minute, okay? We all have the same set of organs, give or take a few differences with genitalia or mutation-based Quirks. We all have blood running in our veins. We are part of the animal kingdom as homo sapiens sapiens. What exactly could make a person above another?” He paused for a long, long minute, obviously waiting for an answer. But Katsuki was too busy trying to remember how to breathe. “Social standard, maybe? But that’s the interesting thing with the world: a person born into a wealthy family could have been born in another, much poorer. Life is unpredictable, and a rich person could end up in the streets over a small mistake. All the wealth and education in the world cannot protect them from illnesses either. Social standards come and go like the seasons. New families rise, old ones fall. It cannot make someone greater or lesser.”
Why was breathing so fucking hard? Why did it hurt? Why did his throat feel so tight, cutting all words and air from traveling? Why was swallowing his saliva so fucking painful?
“Gender could be another thing. However, society’s opinion on gender identity evolved with the uprising of Quirks. What is gender against someone who can manipulate it at will? Or against someone who can control hormones? What is gender, really, when people can be born with one head and three bodies, all a different sex?” He chuckled, and Katsuki wished he could do that too, but his lungs were waging a war against him right now. Breathing was hard enough, so laughter? Unmanageable. “Japan was actually one of the countries that remained attached to gender roles and conformity the longest. We do love our history and traditions, after all. But being stuck in time while the rest of the planet moves on wasn’t ideal, and we caved in. A few old blood families are still sexist, but most of them are disregarded as ‘has been’ nowadays.”
Yeah, no, gender didn’t mean shit. Katsuki was pretty sure he’d kick ass just as well if he’d been born with a vagina instead of a dick. The only thing he wasn’t sure about was the cleavage. Boobs could weigh a ton, and with his blasting way of propelling himself he’d break his back with heavy breasts.
“Sexuality is another thing. Society is a bit on stand-by with that, and has been for a few decades. I’m pretty sure mutation-based Quirks are one of the reasons for that. The general consensus is ‘if someone who looks just like an animal is in a relationship, can it be considered zoophilic’? It’s honestly quite stupid, if you ask me. Love is love, whatever the shape it takes.” Another pause. “Except pedophilia. It’s completely inhumane and I think I would personally hunt down and murder anyone who approached you with that in mind. And non-consensual relationships, too. They’re monstrous and people should know better.”
The rarity of the tone in his father’s voice was enough to cut Katsuki from clawing at his throat to breathe again. Somehow, hearing those words allowed him to take deep, salvaging breaths.
Fuck, he felt lightheaded now.
“Now, what are we left with? Disabilities? Son, you know exactly how I feel about it.” And, fuck, yeah, he did. When they had to learn sign language because he was diagnosed with hearing impairment and chronic tinnitus, his parents went on rampage against anyone who implied he couldn’t become a hero while hard of hearing or deaf. His dad even went no-contact with his own sister because of her own bigoted comments at every family reunion. “But here’s a point we never talked about, son: do you think Quirklessness is a disability?”
That made him pause. His entire body paused, his breath, his thoughts, everything screeched to a halt.
What did he say? Was Quirklessness a disability?
When they learned he could lose his hearing, his parents made sure to sit him down and to lecture him about disabilities and how, yes, he would be different from his current self and his peers, but how that did not make him weaker or lesser. They made sure he learned what the term ‘disability’ meant, but in theory and practice. They used terms like ‘condition’, ‘disorders’ or ‘handicap’ to make him used to them and insisted heavily on how they should never make him feel bad.
Of course, that didn’t stop his breakdown when he was diagnosed, but still.
Now, to apply his teachings to Quirklessness. Honestly, he felt kind of stupid and angry at himself for not thinking of that on his own. Was he really that braindead? Fuck.
Technically, a disability was a physical or mental condition that limited a person’s movements, senses or activities. Deafness, blindness, paralysis and other physical impairments were easily recognized as disabilities and have been for centuries. Mental conditions, though disregarded as laziness or plain ‘crazy’ for a long ass time, were now more accepted and recognized. Some people were hard-asses still, but it was getting better and better. Mental and empathetic Quirks helped a lot with understanding the struggles behind them.
But what about Quirklessness? Did it limit Deku’s activities?
It dawned on him like a fucking meteor. All those extra scholar activities Deku couldn’t participate in because they only accepted Quirked people. Every single administration asked for Quirk status. Once, when they were around six, he asked Auntie why Deku didn’t go to the hospital after breaking his arm after falling off a tree, and she told him he ‘wasn’t allowed in’. How he was benched every single time they had their monthly Quirk Use PE. How people avoided him like the plague, as if he could make them Quirkless too, like a sickness.
How teachers treated him. How people treated him. How Katsuki treated him.
“Katsuki, son, can you hear me?” Someone took his hand and put it against something soft. Cotton fabric. Clothes.
Katsuki treated him like a cockroach. He hurt him. He let other people hurt him. Fuck, he told him to kill himself . Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-
“Katsuki, please, I need you to follow my rhythm,” the fabric moved under his fingers. Up. Down.
The only time Katsuki told someone other than his parents about his ears, it was in his last year of primary school. He just started wearing his aids and they kept bothering him. A girl in his class asked him what was wrong. He told her.
The stare. How she backed away. Her frown. The way she started to stay away from him. How she whispered to her friends, glancing at him, laughing.
Katsuki let his hair grow until they covered his ears after that.
“That’s good, Katsuki, you’re doing great. Come on, in,” the fabric went up, “and out”, and down. He could feel a warm breath on his hand now.
People thought his Quirk was incredible. They thought it was perfect to become a hero. They told him it made him cool, and powerful. They told him his Quirk was beautiful, and flashy, and how they hoped they could have one so great.
That same Quirk took away his hearing.
“Can you hear me now, Katsuki?”
He raised his face to look into his father’s eyes, his own pools of relentless rivers of tears, his mouth trembling on empty words. He searched his dad’s deep red eyes, looking for anger, for disgust, for the same judgment he saw in the girl’s bright pink irises. He looked, and looked, his mouth opening and closing in endless silence.
“Dad,” his voice was broken, low and cracked like asphalt after an earthquake. “Dad, am I a bad person?”
Something broke in his father’s eyes, and he didn’t answer. He put a hand behind Katsuki’s neck and pulled him against his chest, holding him tight. His arms, more used to handling rolls of fabric and sketchbooks, slided around his trembling body, and he kept him in place, against his heart.
When the rice cooker beeped, they ignored it, frozen in place and time.
When the pot started to emit a burnt spice smell, he backed away slightly, kissed his forehead, and said in the most patient voice he’s ever heard: “No, Katsuki. I think you’re lost and misguided, but that doesn’t make you a bad person.”
When they ate their overcooked rice and curry in loud silence, his dad sent him a text with a therapist’s address.