Toji in My Hero Academia

He was four years old in this new life, and although still young, he already understood that things at home were not going well. The daily routine was not particularly exciting, and the situation seemed complicated, especially since his mother had taken a somewhat questionable night job. She would usually come home late, sometimes with a slight scent of alcohol, wearing rather tight and revealing clothes—something he understood was not typical for a mother. Every time he saw her come home in that state, he would always cover his face with a pillow to avoid looking but could still hear her muffled sobs. Apparently, she wasn't happy with what she was doing. However, ever since she started working that way, the quality of life at home had noticeably improved. Now there was more food, of better quality, a new TV, and they had even managed to fix the water heater—something that was a blessing during winter days.

One night, as he tried to sleep, he overheard an argument between his mother and grandmother in the other room. It was clear his grandmother had already found out what her daughter was doing, and the conversation—or rather, the fight—turned bitter and tense. Although he couldn't understand all the words, he caught some reproaches and crying. He felt a certain discomfort hearing it, but deep down, he didn't really care. After all, his mind was occupied with something else: he knew he wasn't in his world, or if he was, then millennia had passed, and humanity had changed in ways he couldn't even imagine.

He had noticed that in this place, people seemed to have something special, something called a "quirk." His grandmother explained that a "quirk" was a kind of unique ability that most people developed as children. However, he didn't seem to have one. At his age, he should have already shown some sign of a "quirk," or so they said, but he wasn't too worried about it. He simply watched how other kids used their abilities and seemed delighted with them, though to him, they were just pointless distractions.

The first day of kindergarten was as boring as he had expected. From the moment he entered the classroom, he noticed the curious gazes of the other kids, some of whom were already showing off their "quirks" with little tricks. The whole environment seemed tedious and meaningless to him. He kept to himself, silently observing the others as they talked about their abilities as if they were the most important thing in the world.

Suddenly, a blond boy with spiky hair and an arrogant expression approached him with a frown.

"What's your quirk?" he asked in a challenging tone.

Toji just looked at him and waved his hand dismissively. "Get lost," he replied effortlessly.

The blond boy frowned even more, and small sparks and explosions began to form in his hands. Clearly, he wasn't happy with the lack of response.

"Answer, or else!"

Toji let out a crooked smile. He had no interest in playing along but also had no patience for threats.

"See this fist?" he said, calmly showing his hand.

The boy nodded confidently, and before he could react, Toji landed a strong punch to his face, immediately knocking him to the ground.

"That's my quirk. One everyone has," he added with a hint of satisfaction as he watched the boy squirm on the floor, tears beginning to flow from his eyes.

The scene quickly drew the attention of a teacher and the other kids, who didn't waste time tattling on him. They called his grandmother, and she arrived immediately, apologizing on his behalf. The teacher asked him to apologize to the injured boy, who now had an ice pack on his face. Resigned, Toji approached the boy, but instead of apologizing, he raised his middle finger.

"Next time will be harder." The teacher was horrified, and before she could do anything, his grandmother firmly grabbed his ear, pulling him toward the exit.

"Hey, let go, old lady!" he protested, trying to free himself, but she only pulled harder.

Back home, she looked at him with a mix of disappointment and anger.

"I can't believe what you did, Toji. I didn't raise you like this."

He just rolled his eyes, tired of hearing the same lecture. He had lived long enough to know that this world had its own rules, but he wasn't going to be one of those who went along with them.

Months passed since that day in kindergarten, and as expected, he was expelled. Toji didn't mind; he found kindergarten unnecessary and uninteresting. However, his mother grew increasingly worried, especially about the possibility that he might be one of those children without a "quirk."

Finally, she decided to take him to the doctor for a check-up. Upon arriving, the doctor examined him briefly and, in a monotone voice, broke the news: "No, he doesn't have a quirk."

His mother sighed, as if she had already expected it. She wanted her son to have a quirk, thinking it would open more doors for him and make life easier. But neither she nor her mother had one, so the news wasn't much of a surprise. The doctor tried to explain some scientific details about quirks and their relation to the pinky toe, but Toji immediately tuned out.

As they left the clinic, his mother took his hand and, while walking, leaned down a bit to look into his eyes.

"I hope you don't feel sad... You don't need any of that for me. You're already my hero," she said with a smile, lifting him in her arms to hug him.

Toji scoffed, as he wasn't fond of such affectionate gestures, but decided to let it slide this time.

"A hero doesn't need a quirk to be a hero," his mother whispered in his ear. "You can be one without it, but you need to change that attitude of yours." She set him down and ruffled his hair. "You can't fight every kid who messes with you... although, well, if it makes them stop bothering you..." She sighed, thoughtful. "Just finish your studies. That'll make you the greatest hero for me. You don't need anything else."

Toji, with no apparent emotion, looked away and muttered, "Drop the speech. I never cared about quirks. I just want to go home."

His mother watched him silently, then smiled tenderly and patted his head.

"Right, it doesn't matter."

They both boarded the bus, and she kept him close, gazing out the window as they moved forward.