Chapter Text
From the moment he was born, the odds were stacked against him. Having inherited stubbornness from his mother and determination from his father, Hitoshi was everything but a quitter. One by one, the impediments in his life gave way, clearing the path for his road to heroism. However, no matter how many obstacles Hitoshi overcame, there seemed to be twice as many that landed in his path.
In the early years of his life, his future roadmap was a single trail. Just wide enough for a single person to walk through without getting their clothes nicked by the sharp branches and thorns that lined the edges of the trail. For years, an invisible force called “parents making decisions for their children” pushed him steadily along that path.
Hitoshi walked and walked and walked, tethering precariously on the thought that he was going everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
At some point, the dirt that marred the white edges of his shoes and the small pebbles that wedge its way between the pattern of his soles disappeared, giving way to the pavement. The coarse texture of the asphalt scuffed against the soles of his shoes, wearing down the rubber to the point where it had smoothened the surface.
Those conditions made for a slipping hazard but unlike the other kids who could afford to stop and rest, Hitoshi needed to trudge head on to his road to heroism. There was no time to stop to change his shoes; Hitoshi didn’t fancy himself being left in the dust.
Slowly, but steadily the roads widened. At the point where it was wide enough for three people to stand side by side, shoulder touching shoulder, was where the once linear path branched out into three different paths.
The middle path was blocked. Thick, wooden blocks planted themselves right in front of the entrance. They were stacked on top of each other, forming an intricate square like pattern, in a two by two manner. The blocks extended as high up as Hitoshi could see, like a never ending Jenga tower.
Tendrils of light seeped between the cracks of the wooden blocks, almost in a mocking manner. His destination was right there in front of him, yet seemingly so unattainable.
A gust of wind rushed past him, the force ruffling his unruly hair and making it even more unkempt than usual. Mouth parted slightly open, Hitoshi watched in awe as a boy with spiky tan hair raced past him. He ran full speed at the blockade, never even slowing to a stop, treating the blocks like they weren’t even there.
His body phased through the wood, making it successfully to the other side.
A second boy cruised past him, the soles of his shoes gliding along the makeshift icy path that extended from his right foot. Like the other boy, he seemed to have no trouble getting past the barrier.
While Hitoshi remained rooted to his position, more and more people passed him. The same people that he tried so hard to keep up with, tried so hard to stay in front of him. And now he watched as the deep seated reality that all of his efforts had been in vain punched him in the face. The blockade of denial shattered upon impact. Hundreds of shards bursted into the air, scattering around his feet.
When a green haired straggler appeared into view, Hitoshi lurched forward. The sharp edge of the shard easily pierced through the thin and worn sole of his foot, slicing through the skin deep enough to draw blood. A tinge of pain blossomed beneath his left feet, yet this felt like nothing in comparison to the aches, the soreness, and the emotional and mental weariness that Hitoshi previously endured.
Yes, this was nothing compared to the pressure that mounted on him for years. Yes, this was nothing compared to the mental burden that he carried around for years. Yes, this was absolutely nothing compared to everything else he had gone through-
Hitoshi broke out into a sprint. His feet slapped against the asphalt, each step driving that shard deeper and deeper into the underside of his foot. The pain didn’t stop him; on the contrary, it reminded him of his dream, his goals. The pain spurred him to go faster and faster.
Until he ran head first into the wooden blockade. The force of the impact sent a jarring vibration throughout his body, hitting all of his nerves in the wrong places. A numbing sensation washed over him. His feet carried him three steps back. Arms flailed in an haphazard circular motion in the air as he worked to right his balance.
Everything froze. Still tethering precariously in that uncomfortable imbalance between standing upright and falling, Hitoshi watched with wide eyes as the green haired straggler half-dragged, half-limped his way through the blockade. A guttural shout forced its way out of Hitoshi’s throat, yet no sound could be heard. His arm shot outward, somehow wishing that he magically had a quirk that could extend the length of his arm so he could prevent the boy from going through.
Hitoshi didn’t work harder than anyone else to finish in last place. Resentment snaked its way from the pit of his stomach, wrapping itself around his blood vessels and veins, skating along the twists and turns until it reached his heart. The darkness enveloped his organ and seeped into the crevices of his heart. The purple hue of his eyes darkened.
He found his balance again. His feet found his momentum again too, yet instead of carrying him towards the lit path, he was running head first into the pitch black tunnel. Or at least, he was, until an invisible force rammed him in the stomach with the same amount of force as a car going a hundred kilometers per hour.
The impact knocked all the air out of his lung, sending him into a garbled mess of wheezing and coughing. Too focused on trying to breathe again, it didn’t really register Hitoshi’s mind that he was flying through the air.
No, he didn’t notice. Not until he was sent sailing into the path on the right, the one layered with fog and mist that he could barely see twenty centimeters in front of him.
By then, it was too late. Unwillingly, he had chosen his path.
In retrospect, Hitoshi wondered if not for that invisible force if he would have ended up on the road of becoming a villain.
Three years old: When Hitoshi showed no signs of developing a quirk, his parents had been quick to write him off as quirkless despite the fact that quirks could develop as late as five years old. The late night hushed whispers in the kitchen of how much their only son was a disappointment to their family lineage haunted him in his sleep.
It hurt.
Five years old: It was his first year of school and he struggled. His childhood left too many mental scars on him for Hitoshi to simply open up to the other kids. The energy, the exuberance, and the affable nature of the other kids was simply something that he couldn’t achieve.
And they couldn’t understand his reserve nature. For a while, he was the prime target for bullying, mostly teasing him for being mute. For a couple months, Hitoshi endured the taunts, the shoves, the jabs, the sneers and simply accepted that he would never get along with his classmates.
That was alright though. It wasn’t like he needed them to become a hero.
Except, Hitoshi couldn’t tamper down on his simmering rage forever. He could barely remember what they said to him that day, probably something along the lines of what they usually said because their insults were just that uncreative. All he really knew was that he had yelled something back, his voice hoarse and pronunciation accented from the lack of use.
When the other kid yelled something back, a click sounded in his head. A rush of power washed over him and Hitoshi desperately latched onto the short-lived sense of safety.
“Go away!” And the kid did.
While the rest of his classmates were torn between a mixture of indignation and confusion, Hitoshi was the only one who really knew what was going on.
He activated his quirk. And as if the world hadn’t gotten enough laughter from watching the disaster called his life, fate had to go and assign him a mental quirk too.
None of the kids dared to speak to him after that.
Eight years old: Despite his best attempts to hide it, his parents eventually found out about his quirk. Apparently, letting them assume that he was quirkless had been the better alternative.
Twelve years old: Hitoshi entered middle school with a burning determination that he was going to attend U.A. High. No matter what.
Fifteen years old: Knowing that a portion of the test to get into the hero course relied heavily on physical strength and stamina, Hitoshi had spent his middle school years working out. It wasn’t until he experienced the test for himself did Hitoshi realize that raw strength would never be enough to carry him through the test.
The bitter reality that mental quirks would always be at a disadvantage hit him like a trainwreck during that examination.
In the end, Hitoshi was offered a position in the general course class. The result was a far cry from his original dream, yet that meant he still had a chance, even if that opportunity seemed so far in the distance.
Hitoshi took it.
Fifteen and a half years old: Among the crowd of elites from Class 1-A and 1-B, Hitoshi was practically nobody. In the first obstacle test, Hitoshi barely ranked above the cutoff. In the second test, he had such a lack of presence that no one even spared him a glance, much less was aware that he had taken their points headband.
That served in his favor. While the rest of the teams went after Midoriya Izuku, the kid he recognized as the green hair straggler in his mindscape, Hitoshi lamented how far behind he was compared to him now. The Sports Festival was supposed to be his shining and defining moment in the society of heroism, yet despite his best efforts to put up a decent fight in the final rounds, his name had already been forgotten three seconds after his defeat.
Later that evening, the news outlets reported the contenders in the final line up. Only eleven names appeared on that screen.
His name was the forgotten twelfth.
Sixteen years old: Shinsou Hitoshi was offered the opportunity to transfer to the exclusive hero class, Class 1-A.
He took it.
Eighteen years old: Hitoshi hung in the backdrop as they lined up in front of the camera to take their final class picture for graduation. Taller than the majority of the class, Hitoshi could see clearly over their heads and see the people waiting on the other side of the camera. Parents. Families. Friends. Heroes from the top twenty rankings; heroes that hired his classmates to go work for their agency.
He was the only one without a single person waiting for him on the other side.
And now, twenty-five year old Shinsou Hitoshi was perched on the couch in the break room of the Road to Nowhere agency.
With his mental quirk, Hitoshi knew from the start that he would never fit in with the society of heroes. He didn’t have flashy moves or glamorous combat skills that the media could rave about. In fact, most of the time, no one really knew what he was doing when he activated his quirk.
While he couldn’t find a place in the society of heroes like the rest of his classmates did, becoming an underground hero was his calling. Hitoshi had always known that it was an option for him, having learned all about it from his teacher, Aizawa, but he’d always held on to that hope that he could become a real hero. At graduation, the harsh reality had been a slap to the face, but it didn’t take him long to pick himself back up.
Shinsou Hitoshi was not a quitter.
Despite it being completely unknown to the rest of the world, the Road to Nowhere agency was the most popular underground hero agency. With over four hundred members, the agency was lively with activity for the majority of the twenty-four hours in a day.
Aerugonian was the creator and the head of the agency. Another victim of what society would consider to be an unideal quirk to have, Aerugonian wanted to make use of her quirk to create a space for all of the misfits in society.
Her quirk: Sleep Cycle Speedrun. While a normal human body needed around eight hours of sleep to function, Aerugonian could shorten the eight hour sleep cycle into one hour each night. On the surface, the quirk seemed utterly useless, especially in terms of fighting off villains, but Aerugonian had turned the so-called useless quirk into a powerful one. With the ability to stay awake for twenty-three hours in a day, Aerugonian established a twenty-four hour underground agency to banish evil.
Some would even say that Road to Nowhere had one of the highest efficiency rates, even higher than the top ten agencies in the country, but as most of their activities go undocumented, it was hard to tabulate an accurate statistic.
Like everyone else, Hitoshi found his way here because he belonged nowhere else. Aizawa, one of the most famous underground heroes in the agency, was the one who extended the invitation to the agency. With nowhere else to turn, Hitoshi figured it couldn’t hurt to try it out, even for a little bit.
The moment he was in, Hitoshi found that he never wanted to leave. This...was exactly the sense of belonging that he was looking for.
The T.V. droned on in the background. Hitoshi would like to claim that he was barely listening to the reporter raving on and on about the most recent incident in Musutafu involving a quartet of villains, the kidnapping the child of the number fourteen hero. Deku and Dynamight’s names were splattered across every news station, praised as the heroes who saved the child. In the initial confrontation, the duo took down one member of the quartet, Deja Vu, who had been the slowest to escape from the crime scene. Enlisting the help of the police, Deja Vu cracked under the pressure and revealed their plans and hideout.
Or supposedly that was what the media reported.
“After obtaining the hideout location, Deku and Dynamight spearheaded a rescue operation to retrieve the child…” the news anchor was saying, but her voice was immediately drowned out by the newcomer’s.
“Does it ever bother you?” Asteroid asked, jutting her chin in the direction of the television screen. “That people like Deku and Dynamight take all the recognition when the reality is that if not for your quirk, Deja Vu would have never talked.”
His half-lidded eyes darted over to look at her, getting an eyeful of red hair in the process. This was the first time they had ever spoken to each other. The most that he knew about her was that she was Aerugonian’s best friend.
“Does it really matter whether I get the recognition?” Hitoshi drawled. Underground heroes were never meant to be recognized. Underground heroes were never meant to make it on the ranking board for heroes.
His dark purple eyes swung back to the television screen, although he was hardly looking at the images that flashed across the screen. “At least the child is safe.”
Asteroid let out a noncommittal hum. “You have a cool quirk, you know. You’re also one of the few who graduated from U.A. High’s heroics course. I think that’s pretty impressive.”
“Is it all that impressive if it prevented me from being a real hero?”
“Well that depends on your definition of a real hero. Some seem to think that earning recognition for their heroics is the criteria. For others, being a hero simply means to save lives. And for me? A hero is someone who doesn’t compromise on their original convictions in the wake of pressure.”
In the middle of the night, a faint orange and yellow glow lit up the city. While most of the city slept soundly in their slumber, assured by the presence of heroes prowling on the dark streets, the villains used the cover of darkness to sneak around the village.
In the center of it all, a young man with flaming orange hair snapped his fingers. The light switch flicked on. Light rapidly pervaded the darkness, forcing it to retreat into nothingness. One moment it was dark and then the next, everything was on fire.
From three blocks away, Hitoshi watched as flames zipped up, twisting and dancing in an intricate pattern, the wall of the tallest building in the city. The sight made for a hauntingly beautiful image, one that Hitoshi knew would be forever ingrained into his mind.
The earth rumbled beneath his feet, jolting him out of his reverie.
Fire. The villain Flare was back.
Despite knowing that he had absolutely nothing in his arsenal that could stop Flare, Hitoshi found his feet slapping against the pavement as he sprinted towards the epicenter of chaos. A combination of distant screams and the roar of the flames filled his ears, drowning out the dull buzzing noise.
On his way to the center, civilians ran past him to get to safety while Hitoshi charged head on towards the flames. These types of flames weren’t the type that regular water could control, only Shoto Toadoroki’s ice had proven to be effective for containment. No one even knew where he was at the moment, if he was still even in the city.
Hitoshi wasn’t the only one with that doubt on his mind. As he approached the rising flames, civilians weren’t the only people that he passed.
Heroes. The heroes that were often revered by the news outlets and the rest of society for their contribution to the city’s safety. Heroes, just standing there, watching as the flames swallowed everything they stood to protect.
Heroes, if Hitoshi could even call them that, joining the ranks of the civilians and turning away from the scene.
Where did their courage go? Had their convictions been so flimsy that the instant a match was lit, it had crumbled into ashes?
Gritting his teeth, Hitoshi continued pushing forward through the thick, gray layers of smoke. Pulling up the scarf around his neck to serve as an added layer to his mask, his eyes strained in the whirlwind of heat and ashes to look for any survivors.
There! A silhouette of a mother and a child.
Hitoshi had taken one step forward when he felt a hand clamp around his arm. He whirled around, staring into the face of another hero he didn’t recognize.
“We need to leave the scene right now,” he was saying. “We’re not equipped to handle Flare. We need to work to evacuate the rest of the city while the more capable pros handle this.”
Disbelief was etched all over his face, but Hitoshi doubted that the other hero could see when the only parts of his face that remained visible were his forehead and eyes.
“Do you even know if the other heroes are coming?” The hero shook his head. “Then what about the civilians here? Are we just supposed to leave them here to hope that reinforcements show up?”
“It’s too dangerous to go charging in right now. Without a quirk to control these flames, we could very quickly become a victim too. Not to mention, what will you do if you have a run in with Flare? You’re no match for him. We just need to hope that Shoto arrives quickly.”
“It’s foolish to hold out hope for someone who we don’t even know if he’ll show up,” Hitoshi bit back, struggling to keep his simmering anger in check. “Our job as heroes is to minimize the number of casualties. We may not be a match for Flare, but at least we can save lives. Buildings can be reconstructed. Human lives cannot be revived once lost.”
With that, Hitoshi pulled his arm out from the hero’s grasp and dove head first into the thickened smoke. Vaguely, Hitoshi registered the other hero calling out to him but his shouts were muted as his focus zoned to find the civilian pair he had seen before.
They were gone.
Damn it.
If not for the hero who cost him a few precious seconds, Hitoshi would have gotten them out by now. At this point, he could only hope that they had found their way out themselves, even if it was unlikely.
His fist curled up tightly by his side as Hitoshi made his way out of the ring of smoke. Skirting around the edges of the dense fumes, he scanned furtively for any signs of life. And kept running and running, until-
The sound of cheers erupted, filling his ears. Hitoshi looked up to see a huge wall of ice, enveloping the flames on the first building, and snuffing it out of existence. The ice spiked to the other buildings, snuffing out all of the flames in the vicinity.
Shoto Todoroki, the son of the number two hero. A former classmate who had made a name for himself as the youngest member in the top twenty rankings. No doubt in a few more years, he would be cracking the top ten rankings.
“Shinsou!”
Hitoshi whirled around to see Todoroki standing a few ways behind him, both hands extended as he executed his quirk.
“Brainiac is on the other side of the city,” Todoroki informed him. “Your quirk would be best suited to stop him.” Hitoshi gave him a firm nod, trusting him to handle Flare and took off running through the dark alleyways.
Of course, his mental quirk was best suited to handle another mental quirk. The rest of the Road to Nowhere agency members have often commented how similar Brainiac’s quirk was with his, to the point they dubbed him as Hitoshi’s villain counterpart.
Sometimes, Hitoshi wondered if he would have turned out like him if he had chosen the villain path.
Blood rushed in his ears as he pushed his body to move quicker. There was no time to waste. With the ability to control people’s movements and peer into their memories activated upon physical touch, there was no telling what kind of chaos Brainiac was causing. Maybe the other hero’s words made some sense: it was better to take on villains that his capabilities were best suited for.
But the only problem with that was Hitoshi didn’t believe in senselessly waiting for false hope to arrive.
A sharp wail caught his attention. The sole of his shoes dug viciously against the asphalt, slowing his momentum to a halt. The sound was coming from his right! With a new destination in mind, Hitoshi took off with renewed vigor in each of his steps.
Flare towered over a civilian girl, who looked no older than sixteen. In her arms, she clutched a younger boy, pulling him tightly to her chest as if that would shield him from danger. Flare took a menacing step towards the pair. His orange hair stood up straight, like a beacon in the night.
From his vantage point, Hitoshi could see him but Flare couldn’t see him. What would he do? Was his mental quirk enough to stop Flare?
Inwardly, Hitoshi knew that he had one chance at this. If his attempt failed, he would have revealed his presence to the enemy. There was a reason why his quirk was more suited for interrogation and espionage activities rather than flat out combat.
The fight at the Sports Festival had shown him that.
Anyone else in his position would turn away, knowing that their capabilities were incompatible with taking on Flare. If he walked away now, no one would ever know that he was even there at all.
Unfortunately, Hitoshi didn’t think he could live with his conscience if he did that.
Right as Flare’s hand rushed downward to execute his final blow at the civilian children, Hitoshi stepped out from the wall he was hiding behind and yelled a loud “Hey, asshole!” As expected, Flare’s head jerked upwards, red eyes scanning the area until it landed on him.
His right eyebrow tilted upwards. “Oh? Another one begging for his death?”
That was all Hitoshi needed to activate his quirk. He latched onto the control over Flare’s mind, clamping down on it as hard as he could. However from the moment he did so, Hitoshi instantly knew that it wouldn’t last very long.
His mental space was searing hot. Controlling him took an immense amount of energy and strength that Hitoshi knew he didn’t have, not when it felt like his limbs were on fire from the constant rolling waves of heat that Flare emitted.
“Run!” Hitoshi ordered the civilians, his voice hoarse and raspy. Two minutes, that was the most that he could do. The sheer effort to keep Flare in place left no power in him to even utter a command.
How useless his quirk was in this situation. At the very least, Hitoshi took solace in the fact that the two kids had gotten to their feet and ran. And hopefully, they would run as far as their feet would carry them, fueled by a mixture of pure adrenaline and fear.
And hopefully, his efforts wouldn’t be in vain.
The hold on Flare snapped like a taut rubber band being released. The sudden impact knocked him backwards, ramming the back of his head against the wall. Warm, sticky liquid trickled down the base of his neck.
“I’ll take care of you first before I go after the other two,” Flare declared. A ball of fire appeared in the palm of his hands, the flames reaching higher and higher with each step he took.
Without warning, Flare aimed the fireball at his face. Mustering up the last dredges of his energy, Hitoshi threw himself to the side to avoid a direct hit. Yet that movement did nothing to protect him from the searing heat that roasted his skin.
A foot stomped on his backside, eliciting a heavy wheeze from him as he felt all of the air rushing out of his lungs.
“How foolish of you to run into a situation that you aren’t equipped for.” Flare grabbed a handful of his purple hair, shaking his head violently like he was a mere ragdoll. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re way over your head? Perhaps you should consider your strengths before rushing head first into a fight.”
Maybe he had been in way over his head, but what was the point in thinking about these things now? Accepting that wouldn’t change the fact that his outcome was going to remain the same: death.
Unsurprisingly, the average hero lifespan was shorter than the average civilian. Most people in the hero industry either ended up in early retirement, forced by permanent injuries, or died prematurely. Too enamoured by the glorious side of heroism, Hitoshi never gave much thought to the concept of death.
Maybe thinking about it in the face of death was far too late, but at least Hitoshi would go out as a hero.
What was a hero anyways?
He never had the opportunity to answer his own question. The last thing he registered was a burst of pain exploding from the back of his head. And then…
Darkness welcomed him.