At first, I was a brilliant girl. Everyone said it.
Teachers praised me. Neighbors bragged about me. My parents smiled like they already saw my future shining ahead.
And honestly… I believed it too.
I loved machines, equations, gears, circuits — anything I could take apart and rebuild better. I wasn't strong, I wasn't loud, but I had a mind that worked faster than my hands could keep up with. People called me gifted. Exceptional. A prodigy.
But then came the age every kid waits for — the time when quirks awaken.
One by one, my classmates discovered their powers. Little sparks. Floating objects. Tiny flames. Suddenly everyone had something special.
Everyone… except me.
Days passed. Weeks. Months.
Nothing.
And the moment it became clear that I was quirkless — everything changed.
The same classmates who once came to me for help started to avoid me. Whisper about me. Laugh at me.
Then the whispers turned into jokes.
The jokes turned into insults.
And the insults… turned into something worse.
Every day, the bullying grew more brutal.
Every day, I walked into school knowing someone would shove me, mock me, trip me… tell me I was useless. A defect. A waste.
I kept telling myself: It's fine. I'm smart. I can still make something of myself.
But brilliance means nothing when the world decides you don't matter.
Little by little… the confidence I once had crumbled.
Piece by piece… I lost the girl I used to be.
And the day everything truly broke —
—was the day I realized even my own parents had stopped looking at me the same way.
The world loves a genius.
But they l
ove a quirk more.
And I had neither.
One day, the bullying went too far.
I remember the concrete of the schoolyard scraping my palms as they pushed me down. Their voices blurred together — cruel laughter, insults sharp enough to cut deeper than any wound.
"Quirkless freak."
"Waste of space."
"Why don't you just drop out already?"
I tried to stand, but someone shoved me again. My books scattered. My tools spilled. Someone stomped on the little circuit board I had spent all night working on.
For a moment, I thought —
This is my life now. This is all I'll ever be.
But then a voice cut through the noise. Steady. Strong. Almost gentle.
"Enough."
Everything froze.
I looked up. A tall figure stepped between me and my bullies, blocking their path like a shield.
A hero.
Not one of the top ones you see on billboards. Not flashy. Not famous.
But to me—right then—he felt larger than life.
The bullies hesitated, fear replacing their arrogance.
"This ends now," the hero said, and for the first time in a long time, someone was standing for me.
He knelt down, offering me his hand.
"Are you hurt?"
I wanted to say no. I wanted to pretend I was fine.
But the truth slipped out in a small, trembling whisper:
"I… I don't have a quirk."
He looked at me — really looked — and didn't flinch, didn't pity me, didn't turn away.
"That doesn't make you less," he said softly. "The world can be cruel. But you—"
He tapped the shattered circuit board at my feet.
"You're brilliant. Don't let them take that from you."
My throat tightened. No one had said something like that to me in so long.
He gathered my tools, helped me stand, and walked me home.
It was the first time I'd felt safe in years.
But what I didn't know then…
was that this hero — the man who saved me —
would soon become
the reason everything in my life would collapse.
His name was Kaito Sora.
Not a top-ranked hero. Not a celebrity.
Just a steady, reliable hero whose kindness felt warmer than any spotlight.
After that day, he checked on me often.
Sometimes he walked me home.
Sometimes he dropped by the school to "inspect the area," but really… I knew it was for me.
For the first time in years, I felt seen.
Valued.
Protected.
He encouraged my inventions, asked me to show him my prototypes, told me I had the potential to become the greatest support engineer of the next generation.
I started smiling again.
I started trying again.
I started to believe that maybe… just maybe… I wasn't broken.
But heroes don't stay forever.
2. The Day Everything Fell Apart (Akari POV)
I remember the sirens first.
Then the smoke.
Then the screams.
A villain attack.
Not in the city.
Not at a hero agency.
But at my home.
My parents were trapped inside.
I ran toward the flames, coughing, crying, begging for someone—anyone—to help.
And Kaito… he came.
He ran into the fire without hesitation.
For me.
For my family.
For the promise he made to protect.
Minute after minute passed.
The house crumbled.
Heat twisted the air.
I kept waiting for his silhouette to appear in the smoke—
But he never walked out again.
A weak villain.
A minor attack.
A hero who wasn't supposed to die that day.
And in the aftermath, people whispered:
"It was the villain's fault."
"No… it was the quirkless girl."
"She distracted him."
"He died because of her."
I lost my parents.
I lost the only hero who cared.
And I was blamed for all of it.
That was the moment something in me cracked—quietly, irrevocably.
The world didn't hate me for being weak.
They hated me for existing.
That day…
no hero came.
Not for my parents.
Not for the hero I admired.
Not for me.
The fire spread so fast it swallowed the sky. The smoke burned my lungs as I screamed their names, my voice cracking, my legs shaking—
But the street was empty.
The heroes were busy elsewhere.
And the world didn't stop for people like us.
My neighbors stood back, watching from a distance, afraid to get involved.
"Stay back," they said.
"Help is coming," they said.
But help never came.
I remember clawing at the burning doorway with my bare hands, splinters cutting into my palms.
I remember hearing my mother's voice choke behind the flames.
I remember the ceiling collapsing.
And I remember the moment I realized—
that the hero who once saved me, Kaito Sora, had rushed inside to pull them out…
…and no one came to pull him out.
He died trying to save my family.
My parents died waiting for heroes who never arrived.
And I lived—
the quirkless girl who could do nothing.
Afterward, the reporters twisted the story.
The public found someone easy to blame.
And I became that someone.
"If only she had a quirk."
"She got them killed."
"What a burden."
That day didn't just break me.
It erased the world I believed in.
Heroes didn't save us.
Heroes didn't protect us.
Heroes didn't care about people who were powerless, useless… or quirkless.
That was the day I made a silent promise—
a promise carved into my bones:
If the world refuses to save people like me…
then I'll build a world that no longer needs heroes.
And that promise is what eventually led me to VEGA.
To Ren.
To the only place where my mind mattered more than my quirklessness.