Naturally, Clint hated them, but what could he do? In this society, they had infinitely better prospects than a Quirkless kid.
Clint's only "power" was utilizing pity to get hired for part-time jobs... It sounded pathetic even in his own head. Though, honestly, even that as an actual Quirk would be better than nothing.
"Say, when's your birthday?" the trajectory-user asked, putting Clint in a headlock. "Hope it's before graduation?"
"N-No, it was a month ago..." Clint answered submissively.
"Tch. Bad luck..."
Getting his answer, the bully walked back to his seat.
They didn't bully Clint too severely, mostly because of his connection to their homeroom teacher, so he lived a relatively peaceful life compared to most Quirkless kids.
Just recently, the news had been replaying footage from a crime scene. A villain with a sludge Quirk had taken some ash-blonde kid hostage.
The most amazing part wasn't the heroes, but the fact that the person who ran in to save him wasn't a Pro, but some kid who didn't even have a Quirk.
Or at least, Clint assumed he was Quirkless based on the comments section on social media.
With a heavy sigh, Clint stashed his things under his desk and pulled out a notebook filled with drawings.
There were no weapon designs or complex blueprints in there. No. Just simple dashes and lines, drawn during moments of deep thought.
He liked sketching "nothing" in the notebook.
Could I have done that? Could I have rushed in to save someone, sacrificing myself? Clint thought, scratching the pen against the paper.
No...
Lost in these thoughts, the lessons flew by, and soon enough it was time to go home. Taking one last look at his scribbles, he closed the notebook and shoved it into his bag next to his "Ink" bottle.
"Hah..." Chuckling at the name, Clint stood up to leave.
Suddenly, a heavy arm draped around his neck.
"We just had this idea..." the rock-guy drawled, flashing a grin that was far too mysterious for comfort.
He held up a notebook covered in scribbles.
Even at a glance, it was obvious those lines mapped out various flight paths for his projectiles.
"The maneuverability factor is high," he continued, "but the main load falls on our trajectory-controlling asshole here. So, we're looking at a multi-hour session. And, well, you're the dummy."
Crap, Clint thought, sweat prickling his neck. Considering that asshole is basically untrainable... I'm screwed.
"Clint! You coming?" A voice called out from the doorway. Enega-san.
Oh, thank god.
"Oho? What are you boys up to?" she asked, eyeing the group.
"N-Nothing, Enega-sensei!" Stone-face immediately snatched his arm back from Clint's neck and sidestepped, putting distance between them. "Just... chatting."
"Is that so..." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously before flicking over to Clint. "I'll give you a ride."
"Y-Yes, please!" Clint practically vibrated with relief, speed-walking toward the exit.
Saved.
….
Once inside the car, Clint finally let his guard down, sinking deep into the plush leather seat of the expensive vehicle.
"I really don't get you," Enega said suddenly, starting the engine. "Why don't you fight back? It's not like you're weak."
"Are you serious? You're comparing the strength of a normal guy to someone with a Quirk," Clint scoffed. "It's been scientifically proven that Quirk users are physically tougher than the Quirkless. That's just biology."
"Pfft..." Enega spat, steering the car out of the parking lot. "I'm visiting your sister's grave tomorrow. I'm going to complain that she raised a masochist."
"Excuse me?! Complaining to my parents? That's low, even for you!" Clint wagged a finger at her scoldingly. "And since when am I a masochist?!"
"What else should I call you?" She shot him a lazy, side-eyed glance. "You slapped a label on your forehead and you act exactly like it says you should. Like you enjoy it."
"Gee, thanks..." Clint grumbled, staring out the window. "Though, if you think about it, maybe I do get a little satisfaction out of being useful for something..."
"See? Masochist," his aunt declared, sealing the verdict.
"That's not what I meant! It's just... they obviously have a better chance of becoming heroes than I do. They're smart, and when they work together, they make a perfect duo."
"Ma-So-Chist," Enega teased, poking Clint in the shoulder at every syllable while they waited at a red light. She poked him hard enough that one of his earbuds popped out.
"Cut it out! That's the last time I share anything deep with you!" Clint huffed, curling up in the seat to fish for the fallen earbud.
"Fine, fine. Want something to eat?" Enega asked, already turning the wheel toward a convenience store. "My treat."
"Not really..." Clint muttered lazily, still nursing his grudge. "I know exactly how this goes. We're just going to end up eating at my place again because your apartment looks like a pigsty."
"Wow. I open my heart and wallet to you, and you go straight for the jugular. Guess I'll be eating yakitori all alone then."
"Okay, you bought me," Clint said instantly, his expression deadpan.
"Huh?"
"I said, consider me in."
"Heh-heh..."
….
"Did we really need to buy this much?" Clint groaned, arms trembling under the weight of two massive grocery bags. "I think I have food at home..."
"You 'think'?" Enega asked suspiciously.
"U-Understood..." Clint replied submissively, tightening his grip on the plastic handles.
Four more floors...
Ignoring the burning in his forearms, Clint took it one step at a time, praying for the sweet release of the ninth floor, his unfortunate home.
He was used to the climb, and usually, when Enega was with him, the view of her swaying hips ahead of him was a nice distraction.
But not when I'm hauling two bags that feel like they weigh 200 kilos!
It was the same story every month when grocery day rolled around.
"You really are a weakling..." Enega stated the obvious, leaning casually against the railing while he suffered.
"Sorry, Sensei. Not much time for physical training these days..."