Chapter 1: The beginning in Canada
Prologue: The beginning in Canada
The sky over Toronto was heavy, shrouded in dark clouds that seemed to smother the daylight. In the deserted streets, only the echoes of sirens still resonated, accompanied by the screams of the last panicked civilians fleeing. The police officers tried to control the panic, but their voices betrayed their fear.
"Evacuate! Quickly!" one of them shouted, his voice strained.
The buildings around the avenue were ripped apart, slashed as if by giant claws. Fragments of bone, sharp and menacing, were embedded in the cracked concrete. The ground trembled gently, as if something monstrous was approaching.
And then it appeared.
A figure emerged from the smoke. Its body, that of a shirtless teenager, seemed sculpted from raw power. Its hypertrophied muscles pulsed as if about to burst, and bony protrusions erupted from its skin, forming living blades. A yellow mask covered its face, frozen in a diabolical expression, stifling any trace of humanity.
The voice that issued from it froze the air. Deep, distorted, yet strangely confident.
"No one can stop me. Not even your heroes."
Its footsteps echoed like hammer blows, cracking the asphalt. Every movement radiated an aura of pure menace. Fear gripped even the bravest.
Suddenly, a light tore through the sky. A bolt of lightning illuminated the avenue, and in a titanic blast, a massive figure crashed to the ground. The impact made the still-intact windows vibrate.
The symbol of peace had arrived.
All Might slowly rose to his feet. His cape fluttered in the wind, and despite the gravity of the situation, his smile remained, unwavering. His steel-like gaze fixed on the adversary. "So, you're the source of this chaos? Prepare yourself. Your reign of terror ends here." All Might declared.
Their gazes locked, and silence preceded the storm. Then, in a split second, everything exploded.
The first impact was titanic. Their fists clashed in a shockwave that sent cars flying like toys and shattered the facades of surrounding buildings. The ground cracked under the force of the blow. The battle had begun.
The teenager charged, his bones protruding from his arms like living blades. All Might dodged, striking back, each of his blows resonating like a cannon. The street became a war zone: debris, dust, and shards of concrete flew everywhere.
"I'm going to shatter your smile!" the young mutant's distorted voice roared.
"Even broken, a hero always rises again!" All Might retorted, his eyes blazing with determination.
Minutes stretched into an eternity. Their bodies clashed with inhuman brutality, each blow threatening to destroy everything. But All Might held firm, refusing to yield, refusing to retreat.
Finally, in a last, mighty roar, he channeled all his strength. His muscles swelled, his aura burst into a blinding light. Then his fist slammed down.
The impact shook the entire city. A cloud of dust engulfed everything. And when the silence returned, the monstrous figure wavered.
On his knees, the teenager raised his head one last time. His voice was but a whisper.
"...One day... I will return..."
Then, his body began to transform. The muscles deflated, the bony protrusions vanished, retracting beneath the skin. The mask, still clinging to his face, shattered with a metallic clink. And there, before the eyes of All Might and the witnesses, the truth was revealed.
It wasn't a teenager. It was a child. A four-year-old boy, unconscious, lying on the ground, peaceful as if asleep.
A chill ran through the crowd. The police officers remained silent, petrified by what they saw. All Might, however, stood motionless, his fists clenched, his smile wavering.
"Impossible..." he murmured. "Such power... in such a young body..."
He knelt down and gently lifted the child into his arms. The weight was light, insignificant, compared to the threat he had represented just moments earlier.
The hero looked up at the gray sky. His expression was somber, despite the mask of confidence he still wore.
"This boy... is not my true enemy. Someone is acting behind him. Someone is pulling the strings in the shadows."
The wind rustled his cape, and a heavy silence settled over the devastated city.
Thus began a new era. An era in which even the symbol of peace would have to face the unthinkable.
This battle... was just the beginning.
Chapter 2: Deku
Chapter one: Deku's Encounter
I woke up with a start. My body was covered in sweat, my breathing ragged, as if I had just run a marathon. My heart pounded in my temples, heavy, rapid, uncontrollable. Around me, the room was shrouded in semi-darkness. The only light came from a thin sliver of moonlight filtering through the window with its torn curtains. I was alone. Always alone.
The nightmare had struck again. But deep down, I knew it wasn't just a nightmare: it was a memory.
The memory of the first time the mask possessed me. The memory of the fight against All Might.
I was four years old. Just four years old... and already a monster.
I see the flames, the dust, the screams. I see that adult body that wasn't mine, those enormous muscles, those sharp bones protruding from my skin like living weapons. And above all... that voice. A deep, foreign voice that came from my throat but didn't belong to me. It spoke with confidence, with arrogance, as if it were challenging the entire world. But behind it... I was just a frightened child.
All Might defeated me that day.
And when the mask released me, when my body returned to that of a four-year-old, I saw his expression. Surprise. Pity. Perhaps even fear.
Since that day, I haven't really slept. I relive that moment every night, over and over again. I fall into darkness, I feel the mask swallowing me, and I wake up sweating, convinced that I am still that monster.
Today, I am seven years old.
My name is Jack Leclerc. I was born in Canada, in the province of Quebec. But now... I am in exile.
Why? Because it all began when my father found that strange object at an archaeological site. The yellow mask.
I will never forget my father's expression, that mixture of fascination and fear. He was a researcher, passionate about ancient history, always searching for relics and forgotten truths. That day, he thought he had discovered an innocuous artifact, a rare piece to study. But me... I felt it. As soon as my eyes fell upon it, I knew it wasn't normal.
It called to me.
It was like a voice in my head. A soft but insistent whisper.
And when I took it in my hands, everything changed.
The mask clung to my face, merging with my skin, penetrating my flesh as if it had chosen me. I screamed, but the sound of my voice vanished, replaced by another. My body stretched, distorted, swelling with muscles. My bones cracked, pierced, bursting out of me. And in the broken mirror of my father's tent, I saw myself... or rather, I saw it.
A demon.
Since that day, it has never left me. No matter what I do, it is there. Sometimes silent, sometimes whispering, always present. A second identity grafted onto my own.
I get out of bed, stumbling slightly. My bare feet touch the cold, cracked floor of the small room where I live. The walls are bare, barely decorated with a few cracks and damp stains. No toys, no books. Nothing to suggest that a seven-year-old child sleeps here.
I pull my black hood over my head, slip on my worn sweatshirt, and look at my reflection in the small mirror on the wall. My eyes, tired. My face, still that of a child. But just beneath, clinging to me like a second skin... the yellow mask. I run my fingers over it. The metal is cold. Living.
Can I rip it off? Impossible. I've already tried. The more I try to remove it, the more it clings, as if feeding on my fear.
I exhale, and a bitter smile spreads across my lips.
"Monster..." I murmur to myself.
But I can't stay here, wallowing in self-pity. I am in exile, yes, but I will keep walking, keep living, keep moving forward.
I put my hands in my pockets and step out into the street.
Outside, the air is cool. The city hums with its usual sounds: cars, children's laughter, adult conversations, music spilling out of shops. But I walk like a shadow, invisible to those who choose to ignore me. Passersby avert their eyes when they see my mask. They sometimes whisper, calling me strange, peculiar. But no one ever approaches.
And that suits me fine.
I prefer to be seen as a ghost than as what I truly am.
My footsteps echo on the pavement. Each step takes me further away from who I once was, a four-year-old child. Today, I feel old. Too old for my seven years.
That's when I hear them.
Shouts.
Mocking laughter.
The harsh sound of a body hitting the ground.
I stop.
My heart pounds. I know that sound. Not because I heard it, but because I experienced it.
I turn into a narrow, almost hidden alleyway.
And I see them.
Three children, barely older than me, surround two others.
The first, on the ground, with dark red hair, his face contorted with pain.
The second, standing but trembling, with green hair, paralyzed by fear.
And facing them... their tormentor.
A boy with spiky blond hair, his hands crackling with sparks. His laughter is loud, almost animalistic. Behind him, two accomplices grin stupidly, enjoying the spectacle.
I stay in the shadows, watching.
The red-haired boy on the ground looks up at me. His lips move. Not a cry, not a command. A plea.
— "Help us..."
His words echo in my head.
I feel the mask vibrate slightly on my face. As if it were thirsty. As if it were waiting. I keep my hands in my pockets and take a step forward.
The leader of the bullies turns around. His furious eyes fix on me.
I recognize him.
Even though I've never met him, I know who he is.
Katsuki Bakugo.
Bakugo stares at me, his arrogant smirk stretching his lips. Behind him, his two cronies exchange uncertain glances, hesitating between laughter and apprehension. The crackling sparks in his palms illuminate his face with small orange glimmers, as if fire were already dancing beneath his skin.
"Hey! You masked clown!" he spits, pointing a finger at me. "Get out of here. This isn't your business." Bakugo says.
I remain motionless. My hands still in my pockets, my breathing steady, my yellow mask concealing my expression.
The boy on the ground, the one with red hair, continues to look at me with hope. His left eye is swollen, his breathing labored. I sense his desperate plea for me to intervene. But Bakugo sees something else: a threat to his little kingdom of terror.
"Do you hear me, fence-face?!" he roars, his eyes bloodshot with rage. "I told you to leave!" Bakugo shouts.
Silence descends upon the alley. Even his two henchmen fall silent, waiting for my reaction. I slightly lower my head, my shadow stretching across the ground.
Then I speak. My voice is calm, measured, but it cuts through the air like a blade.
"Then make me leave." I say.
Bakugo bursts into laughter. A nervous laugh, yet full of arrogance.
"Heh-heh-heh... bad choice, mask-face," Bakugo says.
He takes a step towards me, his gait heavy, purposeful. Each crunch of his boots on the asphalt echoes in the silence. I don't move. My hands remain in my pockets. My mask reflects the light of his sparks.
I sense the other two taking a step back, their faces tightening with nervousness. They know Bakugo, his violence, his unpredictability. But facing me, they doubt him. Perhaps it was because I didn't flinch, not even for a second.
Reaching a meter away from me, Bakugo raised his right hand, palm open, crackling with explosive energy. He placed it directly against my chest. The air crackled with static electricity, and I could feel the heat of his quirk vibrating in the air.
His eyes locked on mine, he snickered.
"Last chance. Get out of here... or I'll blow you to pieces," Bakugo warned.
I lowered my chin slightly, and I murmured through my mask:
— "Go ahead. Do it." I challenged him.
A challenge. An invitation.
His cronies took a step back, frightened by my calm.
"B-Bakugo... are you sure?!" one of them whispered.
"Shut up!" he roared, without taking his eyes off me.
And he did it.
An explosion erupted from his hand, brutal and deafening. The blast illuminated the alley with a blinding light, sending a wave of heat and black smoke. The ground trembled under the impact, and pieces of gravel and dust flew into the air.
The victims screamed.
The boy with green hair staggered back, his hands raised in front of his face.
The one with red hair closed his eyes, convinced that I had been blown to pieces.
Bakugo burst into laughter, his breath coming in short gasps from adrenaline.
"HAHAHA! That's what happens when you challenge me!" Bakugo said.
The smoke thickened, obscuring the entire scene. For a few seconds, only the crackling of the remaining flames could be heard.
Then silence.
"What?" one of the cronies muttered, tense. "Do you think he's...?"
"Of course he's dead!" Bakugo sneered. "No one survives an explosion from me at point-blank range!" Bakugo declared.
But his laughter abruptly ceased as the wind dispersed the smoke.
I was still there. Standing.
Unmoving.
Only my hood had fallen off, my black sweatshirt torn to shreds. My torso was completely exposed: abnormally developed, sculpted muscles, almost inhuman for a child supposedly seven years old. Under the flickering light of the streetlamp, my body seemed carved from stone. And the yellow mask, gleaming with an unsettling shine, gave me a demonic appearance.
My opponents' eyes widened.
"H-He's still standing..." stammered one of the thugs.
"But... but that's impossible!" added the other, trembling.
Even Bakugo took a half-step back, his face frozen between surprise and rage. But very quickly, his expression changed. His lips stretched into a predatory grin.
"Tss... not bad. Not bad at all..." said Katsuki Bakugo.
He resumed his fighting stance, both hands crackling with explosions.
"Do you think that's going to be enough to stop me?! I'm going to pulverize you!" Bakugo shouted.
I didn't reply. My silence was more provocative than any insult.
Bakugo, stung by my reaction, roared and charged at me. His explosions erupted with every movement, illuminating the alley like a wild fireworks display. His two henchmen, frightened but bound by his authority, also charged forward.
I watched them approach. My breathing remained calm. My fists clenched slowly.
The fight had just begun.
Bakugo leaped forward, his hands crackling with orange flames, as if his explosions were born directly from his rage. His eyes blazed with pure, almost animalistic fury, and his nervous laughter echoed through the alley, a challenge to the entire world.
I watched him approach, unmoving. My body remained perfectly still, my fists clenched in my pockets. The alley erupted in a shower of sparks, followed by an explosion that rattled the windows around us.
Bakugo struck me with full force. But instead of being flung back, I simply raised my arm to block the impact. A wave of heat brushed against my skin, but that was all. No scratch. No burn.
Bakugo's eyes widened.
"What...?!" Bakugo exclaimed.
With a single movement, I pushed his hand away, unbalancing him. He regained his footing, swearing, ready to launch another attack. His two cronies, clearly less confident of their victory, hesitated before joining the fray.
One of them attempted a clumsy kick, which I easily dodged. The other tried to hit me on the shoulder. I let their blows land: they had no power whatsoever. They were hitting a wall.
I merely made one move. A push with my arm. Both boys were flung to the ground, gasping, breathless.
Bakugo roared with rage.
"You useless idiots! Let me handle this!" Bakugo shouted.
He raised both hands towards me and unleashed a double explosion, more powerful, more concentrated. The light blinded me for a moment, the air vibrated, the walls of the alley shook.
When the smoke cleared, I was still there.
Standing.
Unscathed. Silence fell for a moment, broken only by the crackling of dying flames. Bakugo clenched his teeth, his fists trembling. But instead of giving up, his smile returned, wider, more manic.
"Hehehe... You're tough. I love that!" Bakugo said.
He charged again.
This time, I moved. I dodged his attack, slipped behind him, and placed my hand on his shoulder. Not a violent move, just firm pressure. But through his body, he understood. He understood that I could have crushed him with a single movement.
He turned around, ready to explode with rage, but I gave him a sharp slap on the forearm. His quirk deactivated for a moment, his sparks extinguished.
"What the..." he gasped.
I didn't answer. I had already moved back, my hands back in my pockets.
Bakugo, panting, covered in sweat, stared at me with eyes full of hatred and obsession.
"You think you won?! You think you're better than me?!" Bakugo roared.
His two henchmen struggled to their feet, but a single glance from me was enough to make them retreat. They lacked courage.
"You're pathetic!" Bakugo shouted at his comrades. "Let's get out of here!"
The two obeyed without argument, disappearing into the depths of the alley, their faces marked by fear.
Bakugo lingered for a moment longer. His hands trembled, but not from fear. No. From excitement.
"You're lucky today... But remember this: I'm going to become stronger. I'm going to become number one... And the day that happens, I'm going to kick your ass, yellow mask!" Bakugo roared.
His laughter echoed for a moment longer as he, too, disappeared.
I remained alone, with the two victims.
The boy with green hair stepped forward timidly. His body was still trembling, but his eyes shone with genuine gratitude
"T-Thank you... you saved us..." said the boy with green hair.
The boy with red hair, still on the ground, raised his head to look at me. He didn't speak, but his gaze said everything: surprise, respect, and... a strange recognition.
I looked away.
"Don't thank me." My voice was curt, cold. "I'm not a hero," I thought to myself.
But the boy with green hair shook his head.
"Maybe not... but for us, you were a hero today," said the boy with green hair.
I stared at him for a moment. His eyes, wide open, were full of fear, but also of an inner light that I knew all too well: hope.
"But..." he added, lowering his eyes, ashamed. "I... I don't have any powers. I can never... become a hero," said the boy with green hair.
His words struck something deep within me. Like a distant echo.
I knelt down in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes.
"Listen to me carefully." My voice, deeper, echoed through the alley. "Being a hero isn't about having powers. It's about having a good heart. It's about what you do... with what you have," said Jack.
The boy stood frozen, bewildered. Then, slowly, he clenched his fists. His lips trembled, but his eyes took on a new determination.
"Then... I'll find a way. I will become a hero... no matter what," said the boy.
A slight smile escaped my lips. Behind my mask, no one could see it.
I stood up, turned around, and left.
"Good luck, Izuku Midoriya." "
He jumped when he heard his name, surprised that I knew it. But I didn't turn around.
I walked away into the shadows of the alley, my footsteps echoing on the concrete.
And in my mind, only one thought persisted:
Perhaps... this kid will go further than I did.
Chapter Two: the frog
Autumn had invaded Japan.
The sky was pale gray, laden with a veil of cloud that masked the warmth of the sun. The trees in the park were shedding their leaves, spreading a sea of russet and gold colors across the ground. Passersby walked bundled up in their coats, children were still playing, but their laughter was accompanied by small puffs of steam escaping from their mouths.
I was walking around shirtless.
The cold bit at my skin, but I said nothing. I was used to the pain, the discomfort. I had learned to grit my teeth and carry on. My arms sometimes wrapped around my chest, as if trying to keep warm, but it was no use. The autumn wind cut through my flesh as if mocking my efforts.
Each step made the dead leaves crunch beneath my feet. I could feel the gazes of passersby fixed on me, half curious, half suspicious. With my yellow mask glued to my face, I couldn't go unnoticed. Some whispered that I was a poor beggar in a ridiculous costume. Others simply looked away, preferring to ignore me.
I didn't have my jacket on. It was my fault. In my mind, Bakugo's face immediately appeared. That little demon with the explosive hair. I clenched my fists in my pockets.
"Damn dynamite child..." I growled quietly.
I thought back to our fight. His arrogance. His rage. His outbursts. Even though he hadn't won, he had left his mark on me. Not physically, no... but in my memory. And now, every time I felt the cold pierce me, I could almost hear his mocking laugh.
I sighed, my white breath mingling with the autumn mist.
I just wanted to walk. To feel my feet moving forward. To try to convince myself I was free, even though I knew this mask held me on a leash.
That's when I heard it.
A noise different from the relative calm of the park. Not innocent laughter. Not joyful conversation. No... a din. Young voices, but full of mockery and cruelty.
I stopped. My gaze turned in the direction of those sounds.
In the distance, behind a row of trees, I saw a small group. Three children, about my age. They formed a circle. And in the middle... a smaller figure.
I approached slowly, my footsteps muffled by the carpet of leaves.
The further I walked, the clearer the scene became.
There weretwo girls and a boy.
The first, blonde, stood in the center like a queen. Her light hair reflected the faint light of the sky. Her eyes shone with a mixture of pride and cruelty. Her lips stretched into a satisfied smile. She laughed loudly, her mocking words flashing like blades.
At her side, another girl, with black hair, remained slightly behind. But I could see that she was laughing too. Her gaze oscillated between her leader and the victim, ready to obey the slightest order.
The boy, finally, smiled broadly, as if savoring the spectacle. His gaze, cold and empty, fed on the other's humiliation.
And this other one...
In the center of the circle, her head bowed, was a little girl. No more than four years old. Her short, dark green hair fell in front of her face. Her small hands trembled. She wasn't crying. Not yet. But her shoulders trembled under the weight of the insults they hurled at her.
I felt a dull anger growing inside me.
The words I heard made me want to clench my fists. Insults, mockery of her appearance. They called her a monster, a bizarre creature. They laughed at her wide eyes, her hands too large for her age.
She lowered her head even more, as if to disappear.
But then... she saw me.
Through the wall of brutes surrounding her, her wet eyes met mine. A lost, fragile gaze, but also filled with a thin thread of hope. As if, for her, my mere silhouette could change anything.
I took another step.
The black-haired girl noticed my shadow. She turned back over her shoulder. Her eyes widened for a moment.
"Karen..." she whispered to the blonde. "We...we're not alone."
The leader, Karen, whipped her head around. When she saw me, her smile turned into an annoyed sneer. She clicked her tongue, as if my presence were an insult.
"Tsk... another jerk who thinks he's a hero?" she snapped.
The boy noticed me in turn. His smile widened, mocking.
"Look at him... without a jacket, with that ridiculous mask... He looks like some poor guy celebrating Halloween late!" the boy said.
They burst out laughing.
I remained silent. My steps brought me closer to them, slowly, without haste. My hands in my pockets. My breathing calm.
They talked a lot. Too much. But I already knew: these kids didn't bite. Not yet.
Karen raised her hand. Her eyes blazed with pride.
"Do you know who you're talking to?! We have Quirks! And if you keep coming... we won't hesitate to use them!" Threatening Karen
I didn't answer. I just kept walking forward.
So they revealed their cards. Too quickly.
Karen, the blonde, burst into flames. Her body was surrounded by a reddish flame, and behind her back appeared the beginnings of incandescent wings. Her hair seemed to dance in the heat.
To her right, the black-haired girl, Izumi, conjured strange, shiny bubbles from her hands. They floated around her, ready to stick, to get in the way.
Finally, the boy raised his arms, and the water from a nearby fountain rose in brilliant spray. Liquid spheres danced around him, vibrant with power.
Karen laughed.
"See that?! Then get out of here, before we have fun with you!" Karen warned one last time.
I watched them for a moment. Then I muttered to myself,
"What a bunch of idiots..." Jack muttered.
They had just revealed all their cards. While I hadn't moved yet.
There was silence for a moment, just long enough for the wind to blow a few dead leaves between us. The three children stood ready, their Quirks manifested too quickly, while I walked on, calm, hands in my pockets.
I saw their nervous smiles. They still took me for a beggar. An idiot in disguise. They thought I was just a passerby they could humiliate like the little girl.
Karen, the blonde with the burning gaze, raised her chin arrogantly.
"Do you understand?! You're not welcome here!"
Her sidekick, Izumi, popped a bubble against the floor with a wet sound.
"He'd better listen, Karen... he seems weird."
The boy, for his part, began to smile with a predatory air. The water floating around him was already vibrating, as if impatient.
"Let me take care of this," said the boy.
He snapped his fingers. One of the water spheres lengthened, contracted, became a concentrated jet.
And suddenly, water gushed out.
A shot of surprising power, stronger than a simple fountain jet. The column of water crashed against my chest, with enough force to knock me back two steps. My body lost its balance, my feet slipping on the wet leaves.
I fell backward.
A burst of laughter split the air.
"HAHAHAHA! Did you see him fly?!" Karen exclaimed, doubled over.
"Pathetic!" Izumi sneered, her bubbles popping around her like applause.
"One shot, just one!" the boy boasted, his smile swollen with pride. "Not even funny."
Their laughter echoed through the park. The laughter of children, but cruel children.
I lay there for a second, my face turned toward the gray sky. The cold of the water was already mixing with the cold of the air. My skin was shivering. But inside me, something was boiling.
I rolled onto my side, then slowly sat up. My movements were measured, controlled. Not a moan. Not a word.
I stood up.
Standing, facing them.
Their laughter gradually died down. Smiles began to freeze.
Because despite the jet of water, despite my fall, I stood there. Implacable. As if nothing had happened.
My mask reflected their image, and the silence became heavy.
The boy, the one who had hit me, unconsciously took a step back.
"Huh...? How..." the boy asked.
Karen frowned, trying to revive her confidence.
"Tch! He's bluffing! Come on, let's finish him!" Karen ordered.
Izumi swallowed, her bubbles swelling around her. But I saw the hesitation in her eyes.
I took a step forward. Then another. Slowly, unstoppably. Each step crushed the dead leaves with a sharp crunch.
Their breathing quickened. The air became charged with electricity.
I still didn't speak. My silence scared them more than any threat.
I already knew: this fight was going to last. Ten minutes maybe. But the result was certain.
I continued to move forward, slowly, and the crunching of the leaves beneath my feet almost drowned out their shallow breaths. The park, a moment earlier filled with cruel laughter, now held its breath. The little girl in the center—her green hair short, her hands too large for her age—watched me without moving. It was as if she were clinging to my shadow like a rope thrown into the void.
Karen was the first to break the stillness. A flame shot out of her shoulder, then ran up her arm to her hand, like an impatient snake. Her smile returned, but it had lost some of its grandeur.
"Let's burn it," she said. Quick, sharp.
Her fiery wings weren't complete: two uneven, incandescent plumes raised heat and sparks. She leaped, leaving behind a veil of embers, and swooped down on me with a slanted trajectory—the angle of someone who's already tested this move a hundred times on easy targets.
I barely pivoted. The fire engulfed me like a wave. The heat clawed at my skin, ignited a few leaves on the ground, erased the frost from the air. I didn't scream. I took a step forward into the heart of the flame, and my hand found Karen's forearm.
A touch, firm but not violent. She felt the lock. Her head jerked up in surprise. I lowered her arm in a small arc—a short, mechanical curve—and her fiery blade bit the dust. The heat dissipated, replaced by the smell of burning leaves.
"Aren't you in pain?" she breathed, stunned.
"I'm cold," I replied simply.
She tried to pull away, annoyed. A burst of fire erupted from her palm, but I released it before it exploded. The blast grazed my side; I squinted, nothing more.
"Now, Izumi!" Karen shouted.
Izumi hadn't moved since the beginning. Her bubbles, however, had multiplied. They hung from the branches, clustered into translucent clusters, and floated near the ground like pale lanterns. At her signal, she snapped her fingers, and the bubbles swarmed together, converging toward me.
The first brushed against my face; it didn't burst, it stretched like a membrane and then enveloped my arm. The second clung to my leg, heavy, viscous. A third attached itself to my torso and tightened like a harness. Izumi wasn't blowing childish bubbles. Her spheres had real traction, a moist inertia that slowed my gait. I felt my step grow heavier, my movements slow.
"It sticks, right?" Izumi snapped. "And if you move too much, it explodes... everywhere."
Yuito then entered. He no longer had the satisfied smile of the first shot. There was something colder about him, a tense concentration. The puddles along the path reached out towards him like trained beasts; the water rose in polished snakes up his arms and clustered into three dense, milky-blue javelins. He flicked his wrist, and the javelins whistled.
I ducked my head. The first one grazed my ear and nailed an orange leaf against a tree trunk. The second hit my chest, but Izumi's bubble dispersed it in a heavysplatter, splattering everything. The third hit me in the hip, hard enough to force me to take a step back and brace my foot.
"Good, Yuito!" Karen shouted, reinvigorated. "We're pressing him, we're stopping him from moving forward! Izumi, make it denser!"
The bubbles tightened. I felt their pull increase, as if a thousand fingers were tightening around me. I tried to take a step forward:floup, the membrane stretched and pulled me back. A sound like a saturated sponge.
"They learned to play together," I whispered. "But you're showing everything too quickly.
I straightened my chest. The bubbles crushed my shoulder blades; beneath the mask, I breathed slowly, calming the trembling of my skin from the cold. Karen came to my left, her flaming wings half-open; Yuito, to my right, his hand outstretched toward the fountain; Izumi, further away, on duty, ready to restart her membranes. A textbook triangulation.
"Last warning," Karen said, her voice intended to be sharp. "You get out of here. Now. Or we'll knock you to the ground and walk all over you."
I remained silent. My hands left my pockets. I felt the weight of the mask, that cold presence against my skin, and whatever lived inside stirred, as if yawning.Not now, I thought.Just me.
I grasped the bubble "harness" at my torso, my fingers hooked. The material vibrated, elastic, slippery. I pushed my knuckles in and pulled. The bubbles held for a second, two, then a wet sound was heard—a softsnap—and the membrane gave way. The pressure suddenly dropped, and I breathed easier.
"What...?!" Izumi said. "But you can't... They are"
I twisted my shoulder slightly and grabbed the bubble encasing my leg. I rolled it up like a plastic bag, twisting it until I felt a breaking point; then I tossed it aside. It rustled back into the air, but it was smaller, less stable. Izumi gritted her teeth.
Yuito tensed up and let loose a burst—not a jet this time: a shower of compressed water needles. I raised my forearm to protect my face. The impacts stung my skin, an icy hail that bit at my nerves. My vision flickered for a moment. I bent my knees and braced myself, then lunged forward.
Karen attacked head-on. She swooped down on me like a torch, her hand open, her fire concentrated in a blade. At the last moment, I stepped out of her line and placed my palm on her shoulder—not to hit her, just to deflect. Her inertia won out, and she stumbled, surprised, in a half-spiral. Her fiery wings licked the bark of the trees. I let go of her.
"Aren't you hitting?" she growled, her fist clenched. "Afraid you'll break me?"
"Afraid of you, no. Afraid of me, yes." Jack said.
She didn't understand. It was better this way.
I looked back at Yuito. He held the spinning water in his hands like a wheel—a silently screaming disc. He threw it at my chest. Rather than receive it, I stepped sideways and slid my forearm to the edge of the disc, receiving an icy burn in the process. My movement destabilized the flow; the disc broke into a crescent that grazed my ribs and a cloud that soaked him up to his shoulder.
"Tch!" Yuito shouted, shaking his arm.
"Back off, Yuito!" Karen thunders. "I'll take it!"
She swooped down again, faster, lower. Her trajectory, this time, was aimed at my legs. I jumped just enough for her fiery blade to bite into the air and, in the same movement, placed my foot on the top of her shoulder, for a fraction of an instant, to use it as a stepping stone. I pivoted and fell back behind her. Her anger snapped in the air.
Izumi, panicked at seeing me slip out of their triangle, stretched out her arms and released a wall of bubbles—a viscous sheet, like a curtain of plastic wrap. They were no longer spheres, but a translucent wall that vibrated in the wind. I pushed through it with my shoulder. The material stuck, stretched, then tore as it gave me momentum. Droplets covered me; I smelled a sweet scent.
"That's enough," I said. "Don't touch her anymore."
I pointed at the girl without looking at her. She hadn't moved. Her eyes followed the fight silently.
Karen took a breath. The heat around her rose. The small wings of fire became sharper, more jagged. Her silhouette crowned with a whiter glow. She clenched her jaw.
"Last round." Ask Karen
She sprinted. I saw her coming, but at the same time, Yuito lashed my ankles with a whip of water; my foot slipped on a carpet of soggy leaves, and I briefly lost my center of gravity. Karen took advantage of the angle and struck me in the side. The blast stuck to my tattered suit and threw me two meters. I landed on my knees, palm flat on the ground.
"We got him!" Izumi cried, incredulous and relieved.
I raised my head. My skin was stinging in patches; the pain was clear, but it wasn't new. I stood up, put one foot down, then the other. My muscles clenched in the cold.
"Not yet," I breathed.
I dashed forward. Not fast.Straight. One step after another, skimming the ground, my chest low. Yuito armed a shot; I frowned, and when he released his jet, I reached out and grabbed the column of water. It struck my palm with the force of a solid bar; my hand recoiled an inch, then closed. Water doesn't like shape, but the angle of my wrist pinched it for a moment, enough to break the line of fire. I tugged on it like a rope, and Yuito stumbled a quarter step, surprised to be pulled by his own weapon.
I let go. I stopped two meters from him. He raised his hands, but my words froze him:
"Give me your jacket." Jack ordered.
He stared at me, stunned.
"Your jacket," I repeated, more quietly. Now.
He blinked. There was no threat in my voice, no insult. Just an order that left no room for escape. His gaze slid over to Karen. She opened her mouth to say 'no,' but her breath hesitated for half a second—time enough for her to measure the distance between me and him, time enough for her to imagine what would happen if I were to abolish, just for a moment, the restraint that held me. Yuito understood before she did. He unzipped it. He handed me the jacket, trembling.
I put it on. The lining was warm, soaked with the smell of cheap laundry detergent and the scent of soap. The fabric retained its owner's warmth. I zipped it up in one easy motion. The cold stung my chest less. I breathed easier.
"Now," I said, looking up at Karen, "you leave."
"What if we refuse?" she spat, trying to save face.
I looked at her for a long moment. Not her fire. Her.
"Then I'll cut your hair." Jack threatens.
She blanched. Her burning arm dropped a notch. Izumi gasped; her bubbles, for a moment, lost their cohesion. Yuito swallowed.
"You're bluffing," Karen tried, her voice less confident. "You wouldn't dare."
"I won't hit her," I said, pointing at the little girl. "I won't hit you. But I will do what it takes to make it stop. Andeveryoneknows that, for some girls, hair is sacred."
A silence fell. The wind stirred the leaves. The little girl in the center tilted her head, as if amazed that someone had thought of such a detail in the middle of a fight.
Karen bit her lip. His flame wavered.
"We're leaving," she finally said. "Come on."
"More Karen..." Yuito tries.
"We're leaving," she repeated, more abruptly. "Now."
She stepped back first, the flames fading until they were nothing more than a nervous halo, then gone. Izumi, pale, snapped her fingers; the bubbles fell to the ground in heavy puddles. Yuito, his torso in a T-shirt, shrugged his shoulders against the cold and gave a look that said, "I'll see you again." Maybe. But not today.
They walked away quickly, then ran wildly, then fled. The park resumed its normal noise. Children far away began to laugh again, as if nothing had ever disturbed their play.
I stood there for a moment, my jacket too short on my torso, my hands in my pockets, my breathing even. My skin was still stinging where the fire had caught me sideways; the fabric warmed the rest.
I finally turned my head towards the little girl.
She hadn't run away. She wasn't crying. She was looking at me with her big, motionless eyes, as if she were trying to figure out who I was through that yellow mask that wouldn't leave me.
I took a step toward her, then deliberately stopped a good distance away. Children who have been bullied don't like to be invaded. I remember. I haven't forgotten.
"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice softer.
She took a deeper breath than before, then nodded. After a second, she spoke in a clear, slightly hoarse voice.
"Thank you," the girl said.
She paused, then added, very politely:
"My name is Tsuyu Asui. But... everyone calls me Tsuyu," Tsuyu said.
I nodded. The name floated in the air like a perfect note.
"Nice to meet you, Tsuyu," Jack said simply.
She hesitated, then took a step, then another, and came closer to me. Her hands—large, clumsy for her age—placed on mine with exaggerated gentleness, as if she were afraid of hurting me. She squeezed them for a second, then abruptly let go, embarrassed.
"Sorry..." she said, looking down. "My hands are... like this. It's because of my quirk. I'm a frog."
She quickly showed her long fingers, her wide, almost webbed palms. I felt a pang, not of pity—of understanding. You don't have a choice about your quirk. You do have a choice about what you do with it.
"You don't have to apologize," I replied.
I slowly raised my hand. She tensed, closed her eyes for a split second, and I simply placed my fingers on her head. I stroked her short hair, as you would a little sister you don't want to upset.
"In my country," I said, "there are heroes with strange quirks. Some scare people when they're not doing anything. But when they act, all you see is what they save. Even if a power doesn't seem impressive, what matters is how you use it. And with what heart." Jack said.
She looked up. Her mouth revealed a subtle smile, a smile that floated like a leaf on water.
"I want to become a rescue hero," she said. "To help people who fall, who get lost, who... who are cold."
His gaze slid to my borrowed jacket, then back up to my mask.
"You can," I said simply. I had no doubt about it.
I took a step back. She nodded, as if to say, "I know." The wind, gentler, lifted a handful of leaves and tossed them between us like a handful of rusty confetti.
"Do you have a name?" she asked.
I paused, then:
"Jack. Jack Leclerc." That's my name.
"Thank you, Jack Leclerc," she said seriously.
I nodded once. The world was returning to normal. Over there, beyond the trees, I could hear the water from the fountain falling back into a soothing mist. Yuito's jacket felt warm against my skin; the chill was subsiding.
I turned to leave, then stopped, just long enough to add:
"They might come back. If they do, don't let them isolate you. Stand against a tree trunk, or a fence. People who like to humiliate like to put you in the middle. Don't give them that power," said Jack.
She nodded very slowly, as if memorizing the words.
"Okay," Tsuyu said.
"And don't forget," I added, looking back at her one last time. "You don't have to apologize for being who you are."
I started walking again, my steps echoing the rustling leaves. After ten meters, I heard her:
"Goodbye, Jack," Tsuyu said.
I didn't turn around. I raised my hand, palm open, a simple gesture. The park stretched out before me, a path of copper and gray. The cold still stung, but the borrowed jacket—ridiculous on me—kept the chill at bay.
I breathed in the cool air.
A hero, my inner voice thought. Yes. She'll be okay.
And, beneath the mask, something persistent—a worry as old as my first night with him—sighed silently, and drifted back to sleep in my mind.