Every man is not born equal.
In a world where superpowers—Quirks—are the norm, those born without them are treated as defects. Outcasts. Mistakes.
They are called Quirkless.
To be quirkless is to be ridiculed. To be bullied. To be told—every day—that your life has less value.
Most cases of suicide in Japan come from the quirkless population.
Nobody cared.
After all… what good is a quirkless person?
They had no idea.
Sam Suzuki walked home from another shift at the construction site, boots scraping against cracked pavement as the sun dipped low over Musutafu. His shoulders ached. His hands were raw.
People avoided him.
They crossed the street. Turned their heads. Pulled their children closer.
Again, he thought bitterly. They all run away… just because of a scar.
Sam had a handsome face—sharp jaw, strong nose—but it was ruined by a brutal mark. Four straight claw-like lines dragged from his forehead down to his jaw.
"Bastards," he muttered.
The apartment he lived in was cheap, cramped, and barely standing. A place no one wanted—perfect for someone like him. It had only been a few weeks since he'd returned to Japan.
What was once a dream had become nothing but disappointment.
People whispered. Assumed he was a delinquent.
He ignored them.
I can't stand how relaxed everyone is, Sam thought. If they saw what I saw—
He shook his head sharply.
No. Stop.
The past was a pit.
I need to move on. The past is the past.
But for just a moment—a woman appeared in his mind.
Blurry. Gone.
"Tch."
I need to go home.
Then—
"Get off of me!!"
A scream.
People glanced over. Looked away.
"A hero'll handle it."
Sam froze.
Snow. Gunfire. Villagers falling.
"Help!!"
Sam dropped everything.
Never again.
He sprinted.
A man dragged a woman into an alley.
Sam lunged.
The knife flashed.
Two fingers fell.
The man screamed.
Sam slammed his face down and raised the blade.
End it.
Then a voice.
You have a second chance.
Sam stopped.
The woman stared at him—terrified.
"I'm trying…"
Then—
"Kid, you're under arrest."
Eraserhead.
Sam vanished.
They clashed.
Sam mounted him.
Hands around his throat.
Then Sam let go.
"I—shit!"
He fled.
Aizawa coughed and raised his phone.
"Dangerous and unstable suspect. Threat level: extreme."
(Here's a picture of Sam, complements Chat GPT)