MHA: Thorny Path of a Pro-Hero

So…

To summarize, Yui’s father is a jerk.

If I don’t summarize, it seems the issue was this: Sato Kodai, an ordinary office worker, was one of those who drew the unlucky ticket in the name of Izuku Midoriya and fell into the twenty (at least, according to the figures known to the general public) percent of the population that is quirkless.

To be honest, this statistic raised a lot of doubts for me when taken out of context. For example, in our class with Yui, there wasn’t a single student without a quirk, and in my previous elementary school, there were only one or two. And even on the streets, I rarely saw people of this kind. It’s quite likely that this misinformation was just another way for the powers that be to prevent a war - this time a liberation one under the banner of some “saviors of the purity of the planet’s gene pool.”

But that’s beside the point.

Sato grew up as a disappointed, pessimistic, and extremely depressed apathetic person, and that would have been fine if his apathy hadn’t extended to his daughter. She wasn’t a wanted child - more like a consequence of circumstances… and her parents shrugged and did what was required of them. And not an ounce more.

Her father wasn’t interested in her achievements, didn’t expect anything from her, and dreams like “I’ll become an astronaut” or “I’ll be a professional hero!” were extinguished with phrases like “Give it up, you don’t stand a chance.” Because of this, Yui apparently grew up insecure, quiet, and slightly antisocial - simply because no one cared enough about her.

She was an only child, and her mother was from the typical, though quite rare nowadays, breed of women who meekly obeyed their husbands, never contradicted them, didn’t work, but took care of the home and family. She wasn’t happy in marriage, according to Yui, and almost never smiled, rarely sought out conversation, didn’t invite guests, and preferred solitude.

And the girl observed and adopted this role model, sitting quietly in a corner, looking at books…

Her dream - my dream! - was supported by no one.

I felt myself starting to boil over.

Apparently, Yui noticed something because she began to somewhat clumsily ask me not to go to her parents and not to try to demand anything.

But I interrupted her:

“I’m not going anywhere today. It’s foolish to do such things in a hot-headed state.”

Kodai blinked in surprise.

Yes, I was angry. But I wasn’t, like, five or fifteen (mentally speaking), to recklessly rush into imposing good and justice, which would probably only reinforce her father’s point of view.

No, this approach needs preparation. Both emotionally and even physically.

From whichever side you look at it, Yui didn’t have a very happy family. Sure, no one abused her, there was no violence in the family, nothing like that. But obviously, her idea of becoming a hero, let alone enrolling in the best hero academy in the world! - received no support from her relatives. Her mother didn’t care, she didn’t have a quirk either, so hoping for understanding or advice was foolish. Her father simply didn’t believe, didn’t want to believe, or even just didn’t want something that didn’t work out for him to work out for his daughter.

Or maybe he’s just an idiot and doesn’t understand what she’s capable of.

Sigh…

If I were older, I’d pay for all of Yui’s lessons myself. But I couldn’t.

And it’s not right when parents neglect their children’s future. Yes, she’s more or less healthy, she attends a decent school and does well (which, by the way, is entirely her own achievement, for which Yui deserves respect. I wouldn’t have managed that), but… children’s success can and SHOULD be the victory of their parents as well! The fact that Yui is who she is seems to be the merit of the writers whose books she read, not her father.

Maybe it’s worth hinting at this to him. Before it’s too late.

By Friday, I had prepared a summarized report on her quirk, containing most of our ideas, tactics, and empirically confirmed methods for using her powers. The folder turned out to be quite substantial, although, of course, most of the material had been accumulated over the past two months.

In the evening, after her introductory lesson at the new dojo (I dragged Kodai there despite her objections, using my own hard-earned money - I had just enough savings from tea and my own training), we approached the door of her apartment. Yui was less nervous than I expected… in fact, she seemed almost indifferent.

Not good.

Stepping inside, I found myself in a dimly lit apartment, which left a somewhat… empty impression, despite the fact that they had lived there since her birth.

We entered the living room, where, in the blue light of the screen, a figure could be seen sunk deep into a large chair. Yui quietly introduced me. Sato didn’t get up.

“Right…”

Well, at least a tin beer can didn’t roll out from under my feet, so there’s that. I was spared that cliché…

Those cans were neatly lined up on the table.

As we got closer, it became clear that the man sitting in the chair was tall and thin, wearing glasses. Fairly young. A formal suit. The tie, however, was loose and hanging untidily to the side.

Sato Kodai stopped staring blankly at the TV screen and turned his gaze to us.

His eyes were like those of a dead fish.

“Hi, daughter. How was school?”

“Fine,” came the emotionless reply.

“And why did you bring someone here?”

“R-remember, I explained yesterday… my classmate wants to talk about my… q-quirk.”

“Ah.”

The most depressing thing here was that my protégé didn’t show any surprise or irritation. Rather, just resignation.

Emotions started to overwhelm me again. I wanted to grab the man by the collar and shout at him.

Yui’s mother, Yoko, entered, bringing the traditional tray with tea and something else. Long, neatly combed hair fell over her face, preventing me from seeing her expression, so we only exchanged the most basic polite phrases.

Sato cleared his throat and adjusted himself slightly in the chair. But he still didn’t stand up, didn’t fix his tie, and didn’t extend his hand. He didn’t even turn off the TV. Although, to be fair, the sound had been muted even before we entered.

Creepy guy.

“So, classmate-kun…”

“Niren.”

“… Niren-kun… what brings you to our humble abode?” Sato asked, with a barely audible hint of irony.

It seems I know where Yui got that emotionless tone of voice from.

I bit my tongue to avoid responding with “Yui!” and calmly said:

“If this is a good time, Kodai-san, I would very much like to discuss your daughter’s future profession and the ways we might develop her abilities and improve her training.”

It seemed - judging by the slight twitch of his eyebrow - he was surprised:

“Future profession?”

“Yes. Her career as a professional hero.”

“Ah… that.”

Since he didn’t say anything else, I continued:

“If you’ll allow me,” I said, showing the folder with copies of our findings, “I’ll summarize everything we’ve come up with and, if you support Yui, what we will achieve in the future. Her quirk is one of the most versatile and flexible I’ve ever encountered, and she could become an amazing hero. If you help her attend training at…”

“That’s enough, Niren… kun,” the man interrupted me, slightly wincing, raising his hand. Then he removed his fogged-up glasses and wiped them with his shirt, accidentally knocking over one of the beer cans. He put them back on, and…

Meeting his gaze, I immediately understood that nothing was going to come of this. This wasn’t just the gaze of someone who had lost hope, dulled by an endless gray routine. No, it was more like the gaze of someone who, in defending himself from the harshness of the world, had been thoroughly soaked in coldness, bitterness, and pessimism.

In some ways, it was probably a good thing that he didn’t care about Yui.

“You see, Niren… kun, I don’t believe that my daughter has the potential, that she has a chance to achieve anything. It’s not that I think Yui is stupid or untalented, but this world doesn’t belong to people like us. It doesn’t matter whether a person has a weak and non-threatening quirk or not… what matters is that there’s a vast gulf between us and those who are lucky. Those who, without lifting a finger, are capable of almost godlike feats by nature. Strive, All Might, Thirteenth… Stars and Stripes or Shining Knight, if you prefer foreign icons… the world belongs to them. The whole world will watch those whose strength is flashy, effective, even if its owner uses it stupidly like a sheep, but it’s enough on its own to win.”

A drop of sweat rolled down his temple.

“For her own good, Yui is better off not even trying to enter this… swamp, teeming with predators. No cunning tricks or strategies will help her. No one needs small people like us… Niren-kun.”

“Listen… for example, Best Jeanist or Hawks, they…”

“Do you have a quirk, Niren?” Sato interrupted me, sitting up straighter in his chair and adopting a rather rude tone.

“I do,” I replied darkly, realizing what was coming next. I was walking into a trap.

“And what is it, care to share?”

“Enhancement… to some extent.”

Sato smirked crookedly, having gained some weapon, however slight, against my arguments. He finally got up from the chair and stretched to his full, considerable height, I must say.

“You see, Yui,” Kodai Senior addressed his daughter for the first time during the meeting, “Niren… kun here has a future as a real hero. He’s naturally lucky enough to someday hope to climb that toy golden ladder where all the other lucky ones with power quirks stand, right? Those Rabbits, All Mights, Endeavors…”

I barely restrained myself from pointing out that Enji Todoroki doesn’t have a quirk that enhances physical strength. Though, honestly, I can’t imagine how he managed to bring his body to such physical conditioning without a quirk…

As Yui’s father continued to ramble somewhat incoherently about the unfairness of the world, I had time to think: how can I make this jerk understand that just because something didn’t work out for him doesn’t mean his daughter is a failure too? And at the same time, keep things civil, avoid provoking his anger, and not put Yui between a rock (me) and a hard place?

And I realized…

I couldn’t.

This isn’t some fairy tale where, if you talk to someone sincerely enough, they immediately see the error of their ways and change. The older people get, the more limited their life and outlook become, the less willing they are to change their point of view, which they’ve held for years. And I’m not a psychologist to try to get through to a not-so-reasonable person.

Yes, maybe someone else in my place would have escalated the conflict and used dirty tactics like threats and blackmail, someone else would have resorted to blunt force, and maybe someone else, some genius, another “isekai-transmigrant”, or just a favorite of fate, would have found the right words to make this… half-dead man’s heart beat again.

But I’ve never been good with words, and honestly, I was more used to communicating with my fists. And I believed in them more.

My hand clenched, unpleasantly creaking as it squeezed the folder with the report. But…

Sighing, I relaxed my fingers and carefully placed our presentation on the coffee table.

I quietly addressed the man, who was looking at me with an unreadable expression:

“Thank you for your time, Kodai-san. I sincerely hope you’ll find a moment to look through this folder, to appreciate the work your daughter has done, and the incredible potential that awaits her in the future. In any case, I believe she’ll succeed, no matter how difficult it is. Sorry for the disturbance. Goodbye.”

The man’s gaze flickered slightly toward the folder, but he said nothing.

Nodding in response, I stepped out into the darkness of the hallway.

I suppose, in this situation, I should be proud that it didn’t end with broken faces, broken noses, and broken chairs. As well as broken relationships.

I’m a damn hero, right?

But I wasn’t proud.

 

***

 

After saying goodbye to Yui - quiet, calm, and even looking around with a sort of… condescension, perhaps… - I put on my shoes and left the apartment.

But I hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when the door behind me opened again, and Yui’s mother, Yoko, peeked out into the hallway.

I turned around. I wasn’t sure what to expect at all - maybe she’d pull out a pitchfork and torch from somewhere and chase me away from their door?

No, it didn’t come to that.

“Thank you,” Yoko said.

Pause.

“Niren...”

She just kept silent, leaving me no choice but to say the last name:

“Shoda.”

“Thank you, Shoda-san,” she said, bowing, which somewhat surprised me. And then she added, “Please forgive us, and understand. It’s not easy for him either…”

I was stunned. Somehow, suppressing the bubbling anger somewhere in my throat, I asked:

“Excuse me, what?”

My mind was spinning. You, the wife of that jerk, seriously want to convince me that such rudeness and neglect could have some kind of…

“He’s sick,” came the quiet response.

Blinking, I shut down. Like a boiling kettle that had been unplugged.

“Sato Kodai-san is sick,” his wife repeated, and at that moment, I realized how uncomfortable she was in this conversation and in this situation. “He’s undergoing treatment, Shoda-san… he has chronic depression. Sato-san is constantly on medication… Thank you, Shoda-san, for trying to share your perspective. And for not choosing to escalate the conversation into a conflict…”

When the shock passed, and the sudden turn of events settled in, I frowned:

“But why doesn’t your daughter know about this, Yoko Kodai-san?”

Yoko sighed heavily:

“She knows. I’ve tried to explain it to her, but, um… I think she doesn’t take it as seriously as she should. Maybe because of her age - not many twelve-year-olds can grasp that the diagnosis ‘depression’ is more than just ‘feeling down.’ Or maybe it’s because of the internet and the fact that now every child has the ability to read what people write online. I know what I’m talking about; I’ve read what they write on various, um…”

“Forums?”

“Y-yes, yes. On forums about chronic depression. Yui is a smart and diligent girl; she reads a lot and understands things, but… It’s not like what they say there, it’s much worse!… Or, well… maybe I… I really tried to talk to her,” she sighed, lowering her head and hiding under strands of dark hair again, “With Yui.”

It’s rare to find yourself in a situation where someone else’s mother is trying to justify the problems with her child to you. To another child.

Although, maybe she’s doing it to herself.

I just nodded. There was nothing to say.

Well… except for one thing: I’m not a doctor, but I’m pretty sure alcohol is contraindicated for depression. Even if it’s just a couple of beers in the evening… it might actually be worse.

But I doubted I could change anything, so I said nothing.

Yoko broke the silence first:

“From the way you reacted during the conversation, Shoda-san, I can see that you act much more maturely. Like an adult. I’m sorry that we couldn’t convey our thoughts… or at least have a proper conversation. I truly am.”

I knew the chances were slim, but I decided to try:

“Hmm, but… would you, personally, Kodai-san, be able to help her…”

“No.” came the sharp, whiplike response. “I won’t go against my husband’s decision, and I certainly won’t act behind his back, Shoda-san.”

“I apologize, Yoko Kodai-san,” I bowed in turn. Just as expected.

Damn these feudal customs, but… we have to deal with what we have.

“It’s nothing,” she softened noticeably. “I understand that you had to try. Thank you very much for supporting my… our daughter.”

 

***

 

As I walked home through the evening city, I pondered the situation.

Maybe it’s good that I am who I am. In my place, any of those transmigrants I’d seen in anime before my death would have rushed in, fists and ego flying… what was that genre of anime called again…

I, however, thought a bit, acted cautiously - and in the end, avoided making a mess.

Live and learn.

Unfortunately, even if things are as they are… it doesn’t change anything.

I need a trained Yui, and I need money, which I don’t have, for this damn training. I can’t teach her myself, and no one will train her for free.

Why do I need her?

Because, first and foremost, I already promised her.

Sure, I could back out… at the first problem, right?

I could betray… the first person who trusted me, right?

Great hero you’ll be.

No. No one needs a shitty savior if he can’t keep his word and can’t even help a little girl! Besides… a hero MUST help people! That’s the whole point!

This is my first, primitive… you could say, quest.

On the way, I half-heartedly searched the internet for grants for gifted youth who will become the next generation of heroes.

Not to say I found nothing - such funds do exist - but their waitlists were booked years in advance. No need to explain why.

Neither Yui nor I can find work right now. And we don’t have time for it anyway.

I smirked humorlessly. What a lousy reborn protagonist I am. Someone else in my place would already be running some global corporation - weapons, social networks, or gaming… at the very least, they’d have written a bestselling book. Or inherited a factory… or started recording music…

No.

And it’s not like I didn’t try.

But this world is several hundred years older than my home… my first world. Most of the cultural values, artistic works, paintings, films, and music from mine are also present here. The countries and even historical figures, up to a point, are the same. Inheritance didn’t come my way - being from the lower-middle class, that was obvious. The technology here is far ahead of my time. And finally, I didn’t turn out to be much of a writer either… well, I’ve already mentioned that.

And most importantly, I’ve devoted all my time to training, studying, self-motivation, and preparing for the future.

And here I am, prepared.

And, ironically, I KNOW the simple solution.

Maybe they’ll refuse, maybe they can’t afford it, but without trying - I’ll never know.

After all, in these twelve years, I’ve never asked for anything…

So why is it so hard?!

To swallow my utterly absurd, misplaced pride, and just…

Ask my parents for help?

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I knocked on the kitchen door. Dad waved warmly, Mom smiled - we’d been getting along better lately; she couldn’t be more pleased with her independent, wise-beyond-his-years, and determined son.

I exhaled loudly. Another tough conversation awaited me…