My hero academia:Am I worthy?

Morning had not yet come, but the sensation of an unknown hero, who dispenses justice not for himself but for others, spread like a hawk soaring at the peak of its life force. Many people admired him, while others expressed discontent with his actions. Human greed manifested in all its forms, like a substance that poisons the mind. The media created a frenzy around him, portraying him as a hero. Many were impressed by his actions, but deep down, their greed corrupted their understanding of heroism.

- "It should be me..."

- "I should have been in his place, not him."

- "A lyncher or just a stupid mercenary doing

this for money..."

- "A show-off..."

- "One of the broken people trying to find himself in this world..."

Silent Phantom's actions had never evoked such a stir in society. They saw him as a competitor drawing attention away while they played knights and robbers. He accomplished what most considered too risky. Every hero was expected to fulfill a debt of honor and perform a feat that surpassed their peers, but one thing is to help genuinely, and another is to show off for ratings and publicity. The desire to hold power made most heroes arrogant, thus undermining the principle of altruism dedicated to the profession of "hero." It was hard to blame people for their greed, as everyone wanted to eat porridge with butter in the morning. But as practice has shown, no one is born equal. Some strive to become a perfect version of themselves, while others have everything: from a better life to goals that are no more than a stepping stone for the amusement of their ego.

****

The Edge of Heroism: A Threat to Society of Heroes or a Blessing for the Oppressed?

Special Report from News of Mustafu.

- "Good day to all, dear viewers," — the news anchor proclaimed, looking presentable against the backdrop of a large monitor with a blue screen and the channel's logo.

- "Last night, in one of the abandoned warehouses on the outskirts of the city, a rescue and liberation of heteromorphs from slave labor took place. A lyncher named Silent Phantom, known for challenging the heroic society, saved dozens of people and dismantled a criminal network of slavers." (The screen shows footage of the destroyed warehouse: broken cages, shattered collars, stunned but grateful heteromorphs sitting on the floor. Doctors are providing assistance.) Many people viewed this feat skeptically. On one hand, no one asked to save these heteromorphs — they thought, "If they perish, so what? Others will replace them; what's the point in saving what can be replaced?"

— "According to official data, the place where the abducted were held was on the outskirts of the city and had long remained off the authorities' radar. Where were the heroes? Where was the police? Why did it take the intervention of a mysterious lyncher to save the innocent?" — (The scene changes, showing police officers giving interviews. A young officer with a tense expression speaks.)

— "We cannot make excuses. This is our mistake. However, we do not support the methods of this person. Silent Phantom operates outside the law, which is unacceptable." Everyone understood the ineffectiveness of the police, which had become something of a joke for society: "What are they needed for if there is a hero?" (Next, there is footage of the bodies of mercenaries defeated by Silent Phantom. Among them are many who sustained serious injuries but survived.)

— "This person doesn't just save; he punishes. Violence breeds only violence, and we cannot allow the city to become a battlefield. For the sake of order on the streets and the stability of citizens, we will work harder with heroes to catch Silent Phantom." (The screen shifts back to the studio.)

— "However, public opinion is divided. We surveyed several people on the streets and victims of the slavers, and here's what they think." (Scene change: street report. A young guy with a reptilian head nervously rubs his hands together.)

— "He did what no one else did… If it weren't for him, I could have been sold! I'm grateful to him." (The next woman, with expressive eyes and fashionable clothing, snorts disdainfully.)

— "Oh, that's just cheap showboating. If he's such a hero, let him be an official hero! As it stands, he's just another impostor who fancies himself a hero. What if a bunch of teenagers follow his example?" — Disapprovingly snorting at such a question, she simply walked away from the reporters. (Scene change. An elderly man with a mustache and goat horns speaks calmly.)

— "I've lived long enough to see different heroes. But this young man… he fights not for glory. And that frightens those who are used to doing good for money." (Return to the studio. The anchor smiles slightly at the camera.)

— "Who is Silent Phantom? A hero who doesn't ask for gratitude? Or a dangerous avenger who can break loose at any moment?" (The final shot shows a blurry photograph of a figure in shadow with white lenses in a mask.)

— "Well, gentlemen… it seems we are witnessing the emergence of a new stage of heroism." The next moment, the monitor turns off. In the reflection of the monitor, Izuku was having breakfast, eating his oatmeal on the couch, lounging like a king.

— "I don't want to brag, but we did an amazing job." Exhausted from yesterday's battle and saving people, Izuku was more drained than ever after the heroic patrol. He remembered how people thanked him. They bowed, trying to express gratitude, but that prolonged thought was interrupted by hunger demanding another spoonful of oatmeal.

— "Despite our help, people still see us as a threat," — venomously muttered Venom, taking a spoonful of oatmeal and tossing it into his mouth. Although he didn't feel the filling of calories since his source of life was his host, he could still enjoy the tastes of ordinary foods, especially sweets, which triggered a dopamine surge in the host's brain. Izuku chewed his oatmeal silently, staring at the turned-off TV screen. News about Silent Phantom spread like hot burgers. Now the whole city knew about him, but opinions were mixed: some loved him, some hated him, but no one knew the true identity behind the mask.

— "Even when we save them, even when we break the chains for their liberation, they still have the audacity to speak of us in such a negative light." Finishing his oatmeal, Venom plunged into his thoughts. Izuku, lying on the couch, shared his opinion but understood why people had such contradictory views of him. He was right, and that was hard to dispute.

— "You know, I think we should ignore people's opinions about us," — summarizing everything mentioned, Izuku spread his arms and legs in different directions, placing the plate with the finished oatmeal on the ground.

— "What do you mean?" — asked Venom, holding the empty plate with a tentacle. Venom continued to be surprised by his host since there were too many contradictions in his words. On one hand, fame brought them recognition, but ignoring other people's opinions was foolish.

Izuku sighed, looking at the ceiling.

— "Just think about it, Andy. People crave heroes, but they hate them when they step outside their expectations. They want to be saved but want their savior to fit their ideal. And if he deviates from it even slightly…" — He snapped his fingers. People had a conventional image, which Silent Phantom disrupted with his actions. The incident on the bridge was still fresh in people's minds.

— "That's it. He becomes a threat." Venom was silent, digesting the host's words. No matter how many times people thanked them, Venom was dissatisfied with the outrageous behavior from ungrateful people. Although Izuku's heroic nature did not ask for their gratitude, what Venom had read about etiquette rules resonated too strongly with this.

— "So what? We don't aim to please everyone," — he grumbled, taking the last spoonful of oatmeal from the plate.

— "Exactly." — Izuku raised his hand, looking at it.

— "If you're a hero, those who consider themselves better will hate you. If you're a villain, everyone will hate you. And if you're someone in between, you become a threat to both sides." He smirked, resting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

— "Silent Phantom is an anomaly. He is neither a hero nor a villain, but something in between. And that is what frustrates them. They don't know what to do with us." Venom growled in agreement with his host, as their thoughts merged into one.

— "They fear us."

— "Yes. But those who pose a threat should be feared." Izuku stretched and sat up, taking the empty plate from Venom.

— "So what's the point of trying to please everyone? We will never succeed." Venom nodded, but there was a sly tone in his voice since he liked the taste of oatmeal and wanted to hint at chocolate.

— "And does that include eating chocolate every day?"

— "No."

— "Damn."

*****

A cold morning in the musty and moldy confines of an abandoned building found a young boy who had been unjustly cast aside by fate, which spared him no chance at a good life. Almost all the time, he slept, trying to escape the harsh reality of life in his dreams, where everything looked different. Everyone loved him, and even those who did not know him treated him with respect and approval. In his dreams, he could help, just like his idol, who praised him for any actions.

— "You're making progress, Takeshi, keep it up." In his imagined world, he saw Silent Phantom running alongside him on rooftops, keeping pace without falling behind. The run continued for a long time until his teacher-idol made an interesting proposal.

— "Don't you want to fly with me in search of villains?" In his friendly manner, he extended his hand, which Takeshi accepted with a warm heart and a smile. Light poured in from all sides.

— "I never turn down the chance to catch villains. Let's go, teacher, let's save people from the evil in the world!" Jumping onto his back, he wrapped his arms around his neck.

— "Hold on tight, Takeshi, it might get a little bumpy." Takeshi brushed off his warning, ready for the most fun moment of their heroism. In the light of the golden sun shining upon his dream, Takeshi felt the air whistle past his ears as he and Silent Phantom soared over the city. High above the rooftops, between the shining windows of skyscrapers, he clung tightly to his idol's neck, laughing with joy.

— "Wow! We're flying so fast! This is faster than a train!" — exclaimed the boy, looking down at tiny cars moving along the roads like toys. The childish mind, despite everything, looked at all positively and, as a magnificent hero who saves everyone, did not lose optimism even when he was not there.

— "Just hold on tighter, Takeshi," — Phantom warned, but warmth radiated from his voice. Takeshi beamed, squeezing tighter, and they dove towards the ground as fast as they could.

— "Of course! I'm a future hero; you can't scare me that easily!" — The city beneath them unfolded like a large map, and Takeshi began to scrutinize the alleys like a real detective. Everything was as usual: people going about their business and cars disrupting the city's silence with engine roars.

— "Oh! Someone's running! Maybe it's a villain?" — Phantom looked in the indicated direction. In the alley, a woman hurried past with a bag, rushing to catch her bus.

— "Nope, just someone hurrying home." With a cold voice, Phantom replied, but the tone of his idol did not faze Takeshi; it only fueled his enthusiasm.

— "But over there!" — Takeshi eagerly pointed to a dark corner of the courtyard where two people were talking.

— "Definitely villains! They're up to something!" — Phantom shook his head.

— "Maybe they're just friends? Not everyone who stands in the shadows is a villain." — Takeshi frowned, in his view of the world, villains acted in a caricatured manner, shouting their evil phrases, unaware of the reality in which they lived.

— "But… in all the movies, villains always hide in dark places." — Phantom chuckled softly at this.

— "And heroes in masks must also be villains?" — The boy pondered, then giggled, realizing the absurdity of the situation.

— "No, of course not! You're the coolest hero!" — They continued their flight, and suddenly Takeshi squealed again, seeing a person burst out of a store with several bags.

— "Oh no! Over there, at the store! That person stole something!" — Phantom looked down. Indeed, a hooded guy rushed out of the store, with the seller running after him, waving his arms.

— "Great job, Takeshi. Hold on tight — it's time to act!" — And they swooped down, swiftly diving into the reality of their dream, where they defended the city together as partners. Phantom shot forward towards the robber, and after setting Takeshi down, they chased after him. But the robber was faster and almost slipped away into the streets if he hadn't come up with a good idea.

— "Teacher, throw me at that villain!" — shouted Takeshi. Without a second thought, Phantom picked up Takeshi and hurled him at the robber, who was not expecting such an outcome and felt the impact as if a torpedo had struck him at incredible speed.

— "Tremble, villain. You cannot escape our justice," — shouted Takeshi in his manner, trying to bind him as his teacher appeared in the next moment to praise him.

Phantom landed nearby, smiling slightly beneath his mask. He leaned down to Takeshi, who was already sitting on the back of the downed robber, proudly crossing his arms over his chest.

— "Great job, partner," — Phantom said, patting the boy on the head. Takeshi beamed with happiness.

— "Of course! I'm a future hero!" — He raised his fist in the air, striking a victorious pose like All Might. The robber, still dazed, attempted to rise, but Phantom pressed him back to the ground in one swift motion, wrapping him in strong bonds made of black tendrils.

— "You have no right to grab me like that!" — the thief mumbled, but Phantom merely shook his head, holding him tightly to prevent any resistance.

— "And you have no right to steal. Maybe next time you'll think before doing something foolish?" — Meanwhile, the store owner, breathing heavily, caught up to them and, seeing the captured criminal, froze in amazement.

— "O-oh… Silent Phantom?!" — Phantom nodded briefly, grabbing his young partner.

— "Your goods are returned. Call the police."

— "Y-yes, of course! Thank you so much!" — But the seller barely had time to reach for his phone when Phantom suddenly raised his head, listening to something distant. Somewhere on the horizon, the alarming sound of sirens rang out. Takeshi noticed the change in his idol's demeanor and frowned.

— "What happened, teacher?"

— "This wasn't the only villain out tonight," — Phantom replied grimly, gazing at the flashes of lights in the distance.

— "Then… then we need to go there!" — exclaimed Takeshi, jumping to his feet. — "After all, heroes never rest!"

Phantom smirked and extended his hand.

— "Exactly, partner. Let's fly."

Takeshi, without hesitation, wanted to grab his hand, as he needed him as a partner, something he had never had before. The outstretched hand of his idol vanished in an instant, and he opened his eyes to meet the cold gloom of his situation. While birds chirped outside, he lay on his dirty mattress, trembling from the cold, and even the blanket couldn't protect him from the chill of the room he was in.

He was needed by no one, not even his idol.

— "Am I not worthy of a normal life?" — the thought echoed in his mind amidst the silent depths of the building, where silence was interrupted by his heavy and ragged breathing. Throwing off the blanket, Takeshi caught a whiff of the musty smell that hit his head like a hammer, swirling it from the repulsiveness of the scent.

Struggling to rise, he felt his hands trembling. His breathing was heavy, and everything inside him burned. He attempted to swallow, but his dry throat refused to cooperate.

— "Teacher…" — he whispered weakly, but no one answered, only silence and loneliness accompanied him when he was told he was worthless. Everything swam before his eyes. His stomach ached painfully, as if someone were squeezing him from the inside; hunger and his body consumed each other, trying to nourish themselves, but all of it was accompanied by pain that tearfully begged Takeshi to eat something. He coughed again, tasting blood on his lips, but the most frightening thing was that his hand was paler than usual. Turning his head, he saw small dark burgundy drops on the floor, visible despite the color of the floor.

— "Again…" — he rasped, running his trembling fingers across his lips. Like a wounded bird, he tried to take flight from his nest, but his leg and hunger forced him to lie down and stay still. With determination and saying,

— "This… isn't scary. I'm a hero…" — he attempted to stand, but his legs gave way, and he fell heavily back onto the mattress. His body felt so light, as if the wind would soon lift him and carry him away. Hunger would not give him peace. The last time he had eaten… when? Yesterday? The day before? He couldn't remember. All that remained in his mind was the indistinct noise of hunger and fatigue.

He closed his eyes, trying to see his dream again. The warm hand of Silent Phantom, his voice, flying over the city, the feeling of freedom… But instead, only the dark emptiness accompanied by cold and gloom appeared before him.

— "…I don't want… to be here… I want to eat..." — he whispered, feeling the cold slowly take away the last strength of the young dreamer. The first hour passed in the cold atmosphere of the abandoned building, but finally, he found the strength to rise from the ground. Each step was accompanied by dizziness and pain that tormented him more than in previous days. He tried to quicken his pace, searching for at least a trash bin where people might have left leftovers, but his body protested stronger than his will to live.

— "Just a piece? A piece of something edible," — he whispered, clutching his stomach, which was eating away at itself. Step by step, he emerged from the abandoned building, feeling the icy morning wind lash against his frail body. His clothing was thin for the morning — just a sweater and tattered pants through which the cold air seeped, stealing all the warmth from the young talent. His hands trembled from the cold and from his body desperately trying to warm him with all its might, expending all its strength on his hungry wanderings alone. He had no desire to look around, only at the trash bin, which he hoped would be his salvation from hunger, but there was nothing near it, only trees beginning to bloom with cherry blossoms, calming him before the final road to a better life in which he had no place.

After half an hour of active wandering, Takeshi's eyes finally sparkled upon seeing a trash bin, which he viewed as his last hope for something edible. Jumping with his last strength onto the trash can, he rummaged through it, trying to find something that resembled food. Digging through the garbage with his hands, he found a piece of moldy, hard bread, but it was still better than nothing.

Takeshi wasted no time and, with all his might, opened his mouth and eagerly sank his teeth into the piece of bread, which was as hard as a stone rather than soft dough. He bit into it, desperately trying to eat something that was no longer edible and had long lost its taste, just to quell the hunger that tormented him since morning. However, he had barely begun to enjoy his food when a male voice rang out behind him.

— "Hey, what did you find in my trash can, you ragamuffin?" — Opening his eyes wide, Takeshi froze, slowly turning around to see a scruffy man in torn clothing with a dirty puffer jacket and ripped sleeves. His eyes were filled with malice. Like Takeshi, he was homeless, also searching for food and sustenance.

— "This is my territory and my food. Get lost before I break your legs." Takeshi swallowed. This was his food, and he found it first, not him. He had no strength to run or do anything. Shout? He had no energy to do that; his throat was as dry as a desert, and his throat ached from a cough trying to escape his lungs with a strong hack.

— "Hand it over," — said the man, trying to yank the food from his small, skinny hands. It didn't take much effort, but finding the last remnants of strength to fight, he kicked at the adult man's legs, desperately trying to do something. But with one punch to the face, the boy fell onto his back, looking up at the adult man.

— "I said get lost." Casually stating this, he kicked Takeshi in the stomach, causing sharp pain that triggered a chain reaction of agony throughout his body.

The man snatched the bun from him and began to devour it greedily, ignoring Takeshi's suffering. Takeshi tried to rise, but his body wouldn't obey. He could only watch as the last piece of food disappeared into the mouth of this man.

— "See? This is life," — the drifter scoffed.

— "Only the strong survive here." He turned and left, not even glancing back at the boy, leaving him lying on the cold asphalt, clutching his bloodied palm.

Fire burned in his chest. The world faded around him. Sounds pulsed in his ears.

— "Teacher…" — he whispered into the void, but no one answered his plea.

Takeshi lay with his cheek pressed against the cold asphalt. A sharp pain pierced his body, and in his head, the noise rang as if distant thunder was crashing. He felt a warm drop of blood slowly trickling down his lip, but he lacked the strength even to wipe it away. His whole body ached, his stomach twisted in pain, and ice-cold fear spread within him.

"This is life."

The words of the drifter echoed ominously in his consciousness.

"Only the strong survive here." Takeshi clenched his bloodied fingers.

"But… I'm strong too, just like he is?" — His body refused to obey. Hunger, cold, fatigue — all of this bound him like chains, leaving him unable to move. He didn't know how long he had been lying there — minutes? Hours? — but each moment felt like an eternity.

"I… I'm a hero, right? I must get up." — A new heat ignited in his chest. It spread through his body, as if reminding him that he was still alive and that he should not give up.

— "What am I doing? I can't give up," — he rasped. Clenching his teeth, Takeshi strained every muscle of his worn-out body. Pain flared in all his limbs, but he knew — if he surrendered now, he would never rise again. He groaned, pushing himself up on his hands, and, trembling, tried to turn over onto his stomach. Every movement was incredibly difficult. His arms trembled, his knees shook, and his lungs felt as if they were burning with fire, but he stubbornly continued to crawl forward until he finally managed to rise to all fours.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to stand. His knees buckled, and he fell again, hitting his elbows against the ground.

"No… one more time."

His lips pressed into a thin line. Takeshi inhaled deeply and, gathering the last of his strength, tried to stand again. Slowly, trembling, he straightened his back, leaning against the wall with shaking hands.

"Just a little more…" — Finally, he managed to stand. The world swam before his eyes, but he was upright.

— Ha… ha-ha… — he weakly laughed, feeling his knees treacherously shake. But standing doesn't mean moving. Taking the first step, he immediately stumbled, but by grabbing onto the wall, he steadied himself.

"Step by step… I will get there." He slowly moved forward. His head was spinning, the cold wind whipped against his thin body, but he stubbornly pushed on, clutching at the walls and lampposts until he finally emerged from the alley.

In front of him unfolded a bustling urban landscape — streets, shops, tall buildings, streams of people. Takeshi looked at this scene with a kind of detachment. These people, these bright signs, the smell of fresh pastries from the nearby café — all of it seemed distant, unattainable, as if he were invisible in a world that didn't notice him. But he couldn't stop.

He gathered his last strength and took a step forward. Then another. And another.

Takeshi walked along the sidewalk, laboriously moving his legs among people who didn't even glance his way. Heading toward the city center, where there was a chance to find something that could help him survive this day.

Even if it was just another empty hope that would fade away, he had to try.

No one paid him any attention, despite his emaciated body that barely trudged along and his tattered clothes. Everyone looked down on him without extending a helping hand. They all knew they weren't obligated to help each other, but the question lay in the humanity of the individual; people were simply afraid of each other, for with the age of quirks, it became a rule that you couldn't touch someone without warning, as any careless touch could lead to catastrophic consequences due to various quirks. The sight of Takeshi also repelled everyone who saw him. In dirty, torn pants, he walked in search of sustenance, while other people thought of him as a harbinger of curses, and because of that, they kept their distance.

While the boy wandered, he was met by several heroes in their uniforms, but due to their status, they didn't dare approach him. One of them came up to him, extending a hand, but was immediately distracted by screams and pleas for help from the other end of the street.

— Where are your parents, boy? Are you lost? — a heroine with light hair asked gently. She reached out her hand to the boy, and Takeshi, seeing her, was frightened; maybe she wanted to kidnap him or do something even worse. Pressing his hands against his chest, he didn't take her hand, but her yellow cat-like eyes slightly scared him. But maybe this was his last hope?

The sight of the emaciated boy frightened the heroine; his pitiful appearance disturbed her, but he remained silent, trying not to cry.

— Are you alright? — He shook his head negatively, and upon seeing the blood on his palm, she immediately panicked. As she tried to pull out her phone to call emergency services, an explosion roared.

BOOM!

A pillar of flame engulfed the bustling street. A villain was rampaging, throwing something that resembled explosive stones. Most residents fled upon witnessing such a scene, and Burnin, seeing the villain and the child, hesitated but couldn't decide what to do. After all, she was a heroine who had to help everyone, but now there was a choice between helping the boy or saving dozens of lives from the villain; she chose the latter.

— Please hide in a safe place; I'll return to you. Just don't go far, okay? — Takeshi was terrified by the explosion; he also wanted to prevent the villain's attack with her but couldn't do anything due to his frail state. Burnin awaited his response, and Takeshi simply nodded silently at her question.

Burnin gritted her teeth, torn between her duty as a hero and her concern for the child. A fire burned in her chest, but her mind had already made the decision — people were in danger, and she couldn't abandon them.

— Stay here! — she shouted, rushing forward. Takeshi watched as she dissolved into the flames of battle, then turned his gaze to the chaos unfolding on the street. People screamed, scattered, and heroes engaged in combat with the criminal. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and destruction.

"I want to help too."

But his legs trembled, his hands were cold, and his consciousness blurred from exhaustion. Even if he wanted to move forward, his body simply wouldn't obey. It didn't take Burnin long to deal with the villain. She dodged another explosion; her hair flared brighter, and with one powerful burst of flame, she sent the enemy flying back. The bomber failed to react, and the arriving heroes quickly subdued him.

— Good job, Burnin! — shouted one of them. She didn't linger; her heart told her to return to the child. Turning around, she rushed back to the place where she had left Takeshi.

But he was not there.

Her heart sank.

— Boy?.. — she scanned the street. No one. Only passersby conversing with worry. She dashed into the adjacent alley, peeking around the corner of the building — empty.

— Damn it… — Burnin clenched her fists. "He was so exhausted… Where could he have gone?" She tried to ask passersby, but no one could give a precise answer. Someone saw the boy moving slowly away, someone claimed he turned into an alley. A feeling of guilt engulfed her.

She should have helped him, not abandoned him.

Takeshi trudged through the streets, barely discerning the road ahead. He walked somewhere forward, where there were fewer people, where he wouldn't have to meet their gazes — full of disdain, fear, or indifference. He was tired; there was no strength left to walk. He would have to go home empty-handed; maybe tomorrow would be better? He questioned himself, a question he couldn't answer. The illness drained all the strength he had, and his body tried to give Takeshi its last resources, but weakness was stronger than ever before. Doubting his existence, he didn't even consider the market; he just walked home with nothing, but someone's voice shouted at him, grabbing him by the collar and preventing him from going any further.

— So, so, who do we have here? A thief stealing my newspapers? — a gruff male voice called out, with a thick mustache glaring at Takeshi. The child was caught and prepared for the worst in his life.

—I'm… sorry… please, — he could only utter this, lowering his head. His head throbbed, and only luck was on his side when everyone who could have helped him turned away. The newspaper seller, seeing him, felt a bit of pity for him, but remembering the damage he had caused, he didn't bother to be gentle.

The newspaper seller pressed his lips together, studying the boy before him. He looked as if he would be blown away by the wind — a pale face, skinny arms, trembling from the cold. His eyes were dull, like extinguished coals, devoid of hope, devoid of fire. Although he didn't show his regret, he felt sorry for the child; now he understood why he stole newspapers from him.

— You say it's a pity? — the old man spat these words mockingly, but there was no malice in his voice like there had been at first.

— Do you think your "pity" makes it any easier for me? — Takeshi remained silent. He had long understood that adults didn't like empty excuses. No one would understand him, no one would support him. The newspaper seller took another look at him, then sighed loudly, trying to express his anger, but it turned out to be nothing more than desperate sounds of regret.

— Damn you… — he unclenched his fingers, releasing the boy, and roughly shoved him forward. Takeshi felt the seller's shove throughout his body, as if he had been hit. He felt his bones and tendons crack from the old man's actions.

— Get out of here! — Takeshi didn't argue. He stumbled but quickly regained his balance and took a few unsteady steps away.

— Hey! — suddenly the old man's voice came. Takeshi froze, not turning around. The seller was silent for a couple of seconds, as if hesitating, and then, with a sigh, threw at him a small but heartfelt gift.

— Here, take it! — Takeshi cautiously turned his head. In the old man's hand lay a newspaper. He stared doubtfully at it, then at the man.

— I… — he managed to mumble as he began to read the headline of the newspaper.

"New feat of Silent Phantom: The hero who saved heteromorphs from slavery. Is he a hero or a braggart?"

— Take it before I change my mind, — grunted the seller, not looking at him. Takeshi extended his hand and carefully took the newspaper. The paper rustled under his fingers, and for some reason, it seemed to be the warmest sound he had heard all day. He squeezed the newspaper in his hands and, not knowing what to say, simply nodded. Then he turned and stepped forward again, slowly, with effort, but no longer empty-handed. The old man watched him go, shaking his head.

— Damn kid… — he grumbled, but his voice was softer than before. The old man followed him with a sympathetic gaze but didn't dare to ask him what had happened to him. He had enough of his own problems and didn't want to take on someone else's.

Takeshi's illness progressed more severely than he thought; his weakened immune system and malnutrition left him incapable of fighting the disease that had appeared since he ended up on the streets alone. But that day, the illness tormented him more than ever before, entering its terminal stage. Not being able to withstand the pain in his lungs, he coughed up blood onto his palm, a cough accompanied by a sharp pain in his throat and heaviness in his lungs.

— What… is happening to me? — he managed to whisper as he made his way to his refuge — home. The evening surrounded the boy with dull colors and night gloom; only the sounds of small bugs and little creatures drew his attention, but not strongly; he had no strength to pay attention to them, and even the attempt to catch them was thwarted by the will of reason, which told him to go home and rest from this disappointing day.

At home, he was met with an equally oppressive atmosphere of hopelessness, accompanied by graffiti and moldy walls that he had to breathe in every day, feeling the disgusting smell of rotting walls and plants.

Unable to endure it all, Takeshi collapsed onto his mattress, releasing his last, barely alive but sincere emotions that he had hidden from all the people he had encountered in his life. The last tears flowed from his eyes, warming his cold cheek as he looked at the broken window of his room, which led toward relief from worldly troubles.

Takeshi lay on his thin, long-worn mattress, staring out the broken window. The moon, dim and distant, illuminated his face as if mocking his suffering. He felt his body let him down more and more each day, but what hurt even more was something else — a soul seeking peace in someone's warm embrace. His heart ached from the weight of loneliness. He couldn't remember the last time he felt warmth, when someone hugged him or simply looked at him without disdain. His life was filled with nothing but solitude, coldness, and emptiness. He remembered how he lived before going to the doctor, how he lived in warmth and basked in the light of his parents' love when they promised him a better future, when they called him a sunny boy who could run all day without getting tired.

— Why?.. — he whispered, clenching his bloodied fingers.

— Why was I born? What was the meaning of my birth? — Somewhere in the distance, laughter rang out. People were having fun, talking, living their full lives. He was just their pale shadow, a being that everyone considered unnecessary. Like a discarded item, like trash that everyone trips over but no one wants to pick up. He remembered the faces of those who walked past him today. People who simply looked away, not wanting to see him. The man who sold newspapers, and his rough but still human gesture of kindness. Was it pity? Or just regret for having to deal with someone like him?

Something inside him boiled, something he couldn't name. Was it anger? Jealousy? He didn't know. He just felt his chest compressing from pain, not only physical but also that which burned his soul from the inside.

He remembered the headline of the newspaper with the idol he received from the newspaper seller. Silent Phantom.

Hero or braggart.

Takeshi bitterly smiled. Even someone called a hero is subject to judgment. Even someone who risks their life cannot gain recognition from everyone. How could he, a simple boy doomed to slow extinction, hope for anything good?

— If even heroes are unnecessary to anyone… what can be said about me? — his voice broke into a croak, and a new coughing fit shook his body. Blood filled his palm again. Warm. Red. A reminder that time is running out.

With his last hope, he managed to rise and open his notebook when it hurt so much. All thoughts of how he wanted to be a hero and yearned to become Silent Phantom's partner and assistant, but each second cost him his life. On the last page of his notebook, taking a pen that had enough ink for just a few words, he wrote his final sentence consisting of eight words: "What I am doing, I can't give up."

He closed his eyes, tossing the notebook away, finally surrendering his body to the cold embrace of the earth. He had a last thought in his mind.

"Will anyone cry if I disappear?"

This question lodged itself in his consciousness. He knew the answer. He had known it from the very beginning.

No.

No one.

Absolutely no one.

He was all alone.

Finally, his eyes slowly closed to the beating of his heart, which diminished with every second until they were entirely shut, giving his soul to the heavens in the embrace of an unearthly being named "God."

****

Continuing to fly over the city, Izuku neutralized several criminals who intended to rob an elderly woman at her pastry shop.

— Thank you, young man. May God be with you on your path and may He guide you to the light, and I hope He prepares a paradise for your soul, — the woman prayed, crossing her hands and looking up to the heavens. Izuku rolled his eyes upon hearing yet another appeal to God. He couldn't judge elderly people who had lived their lives but continued to believe in a non-existent deity.

— Alright, ma'am, I need to go, — Izuku was already preparing to jump when the elderly woman stopped him.

— Wait, young man — the warm but persistent voice of the old woman made Izuku freeze. He was about to leave, but something in her tone made him turn around. The grandmother, with a kind smile, handed him a small paper bag from which a delightful aroma wafted.

— Take this, it's my signature meat pies. You need to eat something; you've been saving people all day, and you won't get far on an empty stomach, right? — Izuku looked at the treat in confusion. He wasn't used to receiving gratitude in such a form. Usually, people just walked away silently or threw him scornful glances. But this elderly woman not only wasn't afraid of him but wanted to help.

— I… — he hesitated, but the warm smell of spices and freshly baked dough ignited a hunger in him that he had long forgotten. Venom approvingly agreed with her words, drooling in the paper bag through Izuku's mind.

— Don't be afraid, it's from a pure heart, — the grandmother smiled gently. Izuku silently took the bag and, without thinking, pulled out one of the pies. Hot, with a crispy crust, it smelled like it had just come out of the oven. He removed the symbiotic mask over his mouth and carefully took a bite, and his eyes involuntarily widened.

— Is it good?.. — the old woman asked with a sly smile. Izuku didn't answer but continued to eat, and the grandmother just nodded in satisfaction.

— That's good. Heroes need to take care of themselves too, boy. Remember that. — He nodded, continuing to chew, and then, after swallowing, quietly said:

— Thank you... — The grandmother only smiled, watching as the shadow flickered in the air and dissolved among the rooftops.

— Finally, a spoonful of honey in a barrel of tar, — Venom remarked, delighting in the food they were given for free. The smell was magnificent, and the crunchy dough tempted him to eat more.

— Should we take a break? We've been flying around the city for quite a while, and no one has thanked us except that old lady, — Venom remarked, intoxicated by the scent of fresh pastries.

— Alright, let's take a break, rest a little, and then continue, — Izuku replied, choosing the tallest building nearby. Picking the water tower, he climbed up, surveying the city filled with a multitude of neon colors.

Izuku settled on the edge of the water tower, dangling one leg down and pulling the other to his chest. The city shone with thousands of lights, neon advertisements with heroes shimmering in the rhythm of nightlife, cars sped down the streets, and people hurried about their business, unaware that someone they despised was sitting above them. He took out another pie from the bag, brought it to his face, and inhaled the aroma. Venom inside him happily purred, anticipating another bite of food.

— You're greedy, — Izuku muttered with a smirk, biting into the pie, in which there was meat in one place.

— I'm hungry! — Venom retorted with mild indignation.

— When will we get something so tasty again? People just spit in our direction, and that old lady… She's kind. — Izuku pondered. He wasn't used to kindness. He recalled yesterday when he helped the children find their parents, Gemen and Anko, who were grateful to him. He didn't even know how to react to that. Usually, he only saw fear, disgust, or disdain. But this woman simply gave him food — without conditions, without requests, without hidden motives.

— Yeah… — he murmured, looking at the city.

— That was nice. — He finished the pie, shook off the crumbs from his palms, and leaned back, gazing at the night sky. The flashes of advertisements reflected in his eyes, but he looked through that light, thinking of something of his own.

— Do you think her pies are better than the hot dogs from that diner? — Venom unexpectedly asked. Izuku smirked.

— Definitely better.

He closed his eyes, enjoying a brief moment of tranquility. Ahead lay a new patrol, new skirmishes, and new hatred from society. But right now, he allowed himself to just be. Just sit, relax, and enjoy the taste of the pies that reminded him for the first time in a long time that he was human too.

He didn't have to rest for long, as the roar of an engine pulled his attention away from his moment of respite.

— New adventures? — Venom asked, to which Izuku smiled, jumping onto the street, clinging with a tendril to the edge of the building. It was still a troubled district with frequent thefts.

— Hey, he stole my car! — a man shouted loudly on the street. Without a second thought, Izuku dashed in pursuit. He raced across rooftops, each movement precise and calculated; training with the symbiote in his body allowed him to move faster than ordinary heroes. The car sped down the streets, squeezing every ounce of power from the engine, weaving through narrow alleys, but it couldn't help the driver escape.

— He's heading toward the industrial zone, — Venom noted, analyzing the route. Izuku pursued the car, and he had the chance to stop it quickly, but then he wouldn't learn about the place where stolen cars and items were sold. For him, it was better to uproot the weed than to simply pluck a flower.

— You think they're gangsters? — Venom asked, anticipating a new dose of adrenaline.

— Possibly. Or just scum looking to profit from someone else's belongings. The car turned into a side alley and sped towards old factory buildings. The area was abandoned: broken windows, rusty metal constructions, piled containers. Once, work thrived here, but now this place had become a refuge for the homeless.

— Time to end this chase, — Izuku said, accelerating. With one powerful leap, he jumped down, shooting a tendril that latched onto a lamppost. Turning in mid-air, he shot a second tendril, which with a loud squelching sound stuck to the car's roof.

— Time to stop, jerk! — Venom roared, and Izuku yanked the tendril sharply. The car screeched to a halt, skidded sideways, and crashed into a pile of trash with a loud crash. The engine stalled, and steam billowed from under the hood. The driver, realizing he was caught, frantically tried to escape. Izuku stood at a distance from the car, watching the robber. Seeing his pursuer, the robber fled in fear into the nearest abandoned building, which reeked of mold upon entering. The robber ran, trying to hide from him in this deserted building, knowing that if his speed matched that of a car, he would outrun a person like they were standing still. Climbing to the second floor, he was hit by a sharp smell of mold that scratched his nose and stung his lungs with the horrible stench.

Quickly entering the building, Izuku scanned it for any signs of life until he heard footsteps echoing from the upper floors. The steps reverberated down to the lower levels, and realizing where he was, Izuku hurriedly ran up the stairs after the source of the sound. The robber tried to hide even further up on the upper floors, but the fourth floor was the maximum for him since the access to the upper floors was blocked by debris. Hearing quick steps approaching him, he tried to hide in other rooms on the fourth floor, and choosing the farthest room in the building, he quietly concealed himself under the rubble. But in the corridor of the building, the heavy footsteps of his pursuer were heard, frightening the whole place with their sound.

The steps suddenly stopped, and the robber thought he had left; waiting, he breathed out, thinking he was escaping his mini-shelter when suddenly a black tendril grabbed his throat, squeezing it with monstrous strength.

— Now tell me, why did you need someone else's car? — Izuku said coldly, pulling him closer; the white lenses met the robber's frightened eyes, and the robber, stammering, eventually revealed his theft's intent.

— I… I just wanted some cash! I swear, I didn't know you'd be around! — he trembled, glancing around as if searching for a way to escape, but there was nowhere to run; the prey had cornered itself into the hunter's grasp.

— Didn't know? Theft doesn't end well, — Izuku's voice was steady, but there was a threat in it. Without indulging the robber, Izuku twisted his wrist, binding it with the nearest white cloth on the ground, which showed burgundy blood, covering his mouth to prevent him from screaming in that already quiet and deserted area.

— Shh, you don't want to wake the neighbors, do you? — He cried out in pain, trying to suppress his agony, and released him. Izuku threatened him mercilessly.

— If I see you stealing again, you won't escape from me even at the ends of the earth. — The robber desperately nodded, trying not to argue, and pitifully lay on the cold ground, clutching his dislocated wrist.

— I think he'll be fine, — Venom said nonchalantly. Izuku didn't bother to pay attention to him until the sharp scent of blood in this area tensed him as much as the robber lying on the floor.

Guided by the scent, Izuku walked through several rooms but found nothing. However, when he entered the last room on the floor, his attention was drawn to a lonely boy peacefully sleeping amidst the chaos. He noticed a wall with blurry angles, but his focus shifted to the boy lying on an old, worn-out mattress, covered by a tattered blanket, with a pale, thin face and dried blood. The sight was horrifying, and as he pulled the blanket off the boy, Izuku was horrified to see that he didn't even react.

Trying to suppress the panic from this dreadful scene, he knelt down and checked the boy's pulse and temperature.

— His skin is cold as steel, and... he's barely breathing, — Izuku stated, his hands trembling since he had never saved anyone in such conditions. This boy was dying before his eyes, and something had to be done. Upon closer inspection of the boy's pale face, he noticed dried crimson streaks at the corners of his lips, and his breathing was rare and fleeting; he did not react to his presence.

— He's dying, — Venom coldly commented. Izuku noticed a small book near the boy's mattress and picked it up. He clenched his fists. He could have left. He could have said it was none of his business. That life is like this. That a society that rejected him didn't deserve his help. But before him was just a child — abandoned, alone, dying.

He couldn't just walk away.

Carefully but quickly, Izuku picked up the boy. His body was too light, as if filled with air. The boy's head hung limply on his shoulder, but his breath, though weak, was still there.

— We need to get to the nearest hospital urgently, — he said, holding the child tighter. He took off his jacket and draped it over the boy to somehow warm his pale, cold body in this fog of despair and disgust.

— Are you really going to carry him to the hospital? — Venom questioned disapprovingly as Izuku ran out of the building and gently soared into the air, releasing his tendrils. The wind hit his chest, but he didn't care about himself; he wanted to save the dying boy. Although there was a slim chance, he would use it to save him.

— Yes, — he replied shortly, speeding up. Venom was unhappy with his host's choice. Why devote time and energy to a dying person who wouldn't be alive in the near future? It's all about living on the pity of others.

— You're taking a risk! — Venom growled in his low tone inside his head.

— There are cameras, there's security, there are heroes! If they spot you, the hunt will begin again! We'll be easy prey, — Venom argued, but there was no time for rational decisions when the boy's life depended solely on him.

— I don't care about others, — Izuku cut him off, confidently heading to the nearest hospital. Venom hissed inside.

— This child is already half-dead! You're putting yourself at risk for someone who may already be gone! — The boy's body remained as pale as milk, and the unnatural color of his skin frightened Izuku, as it meant he was dead, but perhaps there was a thread of hope for him.

— He's still alive! — Izuku snapped. The night wind hit his face, but he didn't slow down. The tendrils clung to rooftops, gently and accurately propelling them forward.

— If you're so smart, tell me where else I should take him? — Venom fell silent, unable to find words to counter.

— Then keep quiet, — Izuku hissed in panic, trying to drown out his thoughts that the child was long dead.

— If there's even a slight chance to save him, I'll take it. — He felt the boy's body growing colder in his arms.

— Hold on, buddy… — he whispered, holding him tighter. Finally, the hospital came into view, glowing with light inside, and as he entered, Izuku rushed in, shouting at the top of his lungs.

— SOMEONE, PLEASE HELP!! — The hospital's emergency department instantly came to life. Several nurses and doctors at the desk turned sharply at the cry. Their eyes widened when they saw him, Silent Phantom, and the young boy in a leather jacket, holding the lifeless body of the child.

— Oh my God… — one of the nurses whispered, rushing towards the boy. She took him in her arms, trying to check his pulse, and feeling the coldness of his body, the nurse was shocked to see the pale, emaciated face of the boy, his body more skeleton than flesh.

— He's barely breathing! — Izuku announced loudly, handing the child to a doctor who immediately began checking the pulse and breathing.

— Get a stretcher urgently! — the doctor shouted, already bending over the boy, examining his bluish lips and cold skin.

— He's exhausted… hypothermia… Quickly to the ICU! — Two nurses immediately dashed off for the stretcher, while the other staff nervously watched Izuku. They didn't know who he was, but something in his appearance, in his voice, in his desperate determination made them momentarily forget their fear. Venom inside was furious.

— We need to leave. Right now, before the heroes arrive, before questions arise!

— I won't leave until I see he's okay, — Izuku firmly replied, clenching his fists. Meanwhile, the stretcher was brought in, and the boy was carefully laid on it and immediately wheeled away deeper into the hospital. One of the nurses cast a doubtful and worried glance at Izuku.

— Who are you? Are you a relative? Where did you find him? — she asked, approaching closer. Izuku clenched his jaw, grabbing her medical gown, narrowing his white lenses almost threateningly.

— Just save him, — he whispered, almost losing control. He stepped back, intending to leave, but at that moment, two security guards entered the building. Their eyes narrowed as they saw him.

— Put your hands up and surrender, — they ordered, but Izuku didn't obey their words; he tightened his hands and glared at them angrily.

— I won't go anywhere until I see him alive, — the response didn't convince the officers; in fact, it spurred them to action.

— Well then, catch him, guys! — The security attempted to grab him and restrain him, but standing his ground, Izuku delivered a jab to the first opponent's jaw and followed up with a double strike to his head. The second opponent tried to slash at him with claws, but Izuku, using his tendrils, grabbed him by the head, slamming him to the ground. The third guard charged at him with a baton, but Izuku quickly incapacitated him using [Symbiote:Punch]. All three guards were stunned, and as he approached the frightened receptionist, he asked where they had taken the boy.

— Where is he? — The woman at the desk pressed herself against the wall in fright; her hands trembled, and her eyes darted around the corridor for help. She had seen this masked man easily deal with the security, and she understood he was dangerous. But in his voice, there was no malice, only despair and determination.

— G-God… He's in the intensive care unit… D-down the corridor, to the left… — she mumbled, fearing that any wrong word would lead to even greater aggression.

— Thank you, — Izuku replied shortly and immediately turned to head in the indicated direction.

— You're getting too bold, — Venom growled inside him.

— We could have just left, but now, thanks to you, the security knows we're here!

— I won't leave until I'm sure he's alive, — Izuku said through clenched teeth as he passed through the sterile white corridors. With his head down, he walked toward the room for his sake. If it hadn't been too late, he could have saved him earlier. If only he had known.

Standing before the room door, Izuku tried to look in at the doctors saving him, but even for him, it was too frightening to watch as they rushed around, retrieving various tools. They had taken off all his clothes, revealing only his legs — pale, thin, devoid of flesh. It was terrifying for him to see Takeshi in such a state; ironically, wasn't it?

He fought enemies who could kill him, fought almost on the brink of death, but Izuku wasn't afraid of them. Even when they looked at him with disdain, he accepted it calmly, but when he held the dying body of a child who admired him, it filled him with fear. The notebook taken from this building should reveal some information about him, assuming he could write.

Izuku sat in the corridor, his head bowed. The dim light of the hospital lamps cast pale shadows on the floor. In his hands, he held Takeshi's old notebook. The cover, made of cheap cardboard, was smeared with dirt, the corners frayed. The pages emitted a faint smell of dampness. He took a deep breath and slowly opened it with trembling hands.

"My name is Takeshi. I'm 7 years old. I don't know my last name. I don't know when my birthday is. Maybe I don't even have one. I know the name my parents gave me before going to the doctor. I remember living in abundance and love, but the day I went to the doctor changed everything. I want to return to those times, to be like I was when I was 3 years old and never grow up again."

"I lived in an orphanage. But it was bad there. I was beaten. I was kicked. They laughed at me because I have no quirk. They all say that a being called 'God' made me this way. But why? Why did he create me so... pathetic compared to the other children? I want to go home to my parents. I don't want to be here."

On this same page, Izuku saw how wet the paper was, causing some pages to stick together. Was he crying?

On the next page, the handwriting was uneven, as if written by a trembling hand. A couple of tears rolled down Izuku's cheek; it reminded him of himself, but back then he had the support of his mother and Nejire, while Takeshi had no one — completely alone. Due to his lack of a quirk, he had survived in harsh conditions since childhood, recalling the building where he lived. But the boy concealed the truth about his parents; he either ran away from home or his parents died. Some details didn't add up in his past; perhaps Izuku would learn more about this later.

"When a new caretaker came to the orphanage, he asked us what our quirks were. Everyone showed what they could do. One boy ignited little flames at his fingertips. A girl could float in the air like a feather."

"When it was my turn, I said I had no quirk. I was scared; few children knew I was quirkless, but after that, now everyone knows I'm quirkless in this orphanage. But the caretaker patted my head and…"

"He laughed."

"And then he said: 'Well, then you're just a defective boy of mine.' Everyone laughed at me. I don't want to be here; I want to…"

The next entry was shorter.

"After that, the children started doing the same. They spat in my food. They left me broken toys. Sometimes they just told me that I should die. Maybe they're right? What do they need me for?"

The ink had smudged a little, as if tears had dripped onto the paper. Izuku's heart raced faster than before; he had a much tougher past than his, but he desperately tried to survive despite everything.

"I tried to tell the adults, but they just shook their heads. 'Takeshi, just be stronger.' I don't have a quirk; how can I be strong? How can pathetic Takeshi be strong?"

Izuku clenched his fingers on the edges of the notebook. Rage rose in his chest. He turned the page.

"One night I woke up because someone was standing next to my bed. It was Kiyoshi. He has a quirk that makes his hands as hard as stone. He said he wanted to check how 'fragile' I was."

"He broke my rib."

The next lines were written hurriedly, the letters danced. He was in a rush, and Izuku's eyes misted with tears as he glanced toward the room where Takeshi was.

"I ran away. I escaped through the window. It was cold. I didn't know where to go."

"I thought I would die on the street. But then I realized that might even be good. Then everyone would be happy if I just disappeared. No one would even notice."

Further were short entries scattered across the pages.

"I'm very hungry. I don't remember what it's like to be full."

"I tried to eat the bread I found in the trash. It was hard. But still better than nothing."

"Every morning I wake up and feel my head spinning. Sometimes I think I just won't wake up."

"I'm coughing up blood. That's probably bad. But I don't care."

Izuku felt his throat tighten. He turned another page. There was only one sentence.

"Maybe I just have to disappear."

The notebook trembled in his hands. He slowly closed it and ran a hand over his face. Izuku took a deep breath and opened the next page. The handwriting changed: the letters grew larger, as if the boy was writing them with special eagerness.

"I saw him on TV and read about him in the newspapers. He's called Silent Phantom. And he's really cool. I haven't seen him with my own eyes, but I want to see him and shake his hand."

"I was hiding in the shadows when he appeared. People were shouting, and he was fighting. I saw him save a girl who could have been crushed by debris. I saw him pull a bomb from a car and throw it into the sky. It was really cool, and his detective suit with the coat and black hat looked really awesome."

"He doesn't look like the heroes I've seen on TV. They smile when they save people. He doesn't smile. He doesn't have time for smiles."

Izuku turned the page. He admired him, just as he once admired ALLMIGHT. His heart ached at the realization that he could have been his younger brother in misfortune.

"I thought I was needed by no one. I thought no one cared about me. But Silent Phantom saves everyone."

"Even people like me."

"I heard someone say: 'He saved a quirkless guy on the street from a villain.' He doesn't look at us like trash. He doesn't turn away. He doesn't choose who to save and who not to; that's why I want to be like him."

"Maybe… Maybe I can be like him too?"

The lines became more and more emotional, as if the boy was writing in a fit of despair and hope simultaneously. The handwriting looked smudged, as if it were a bright spot in his dark-filled life.

"I know I'm weak. I know I have no quirk. But if I could be even a little like him…"

"I would help him. I would stand beside him. I would be his partner."

The page was slightly crumpled, as if Takeshi had held the notebook in tense fingers. The end of the page was torn, as if he had rushed or ripped the page.

"Silent Phantom… If you ever read this…"

"I want to be like you."

"I won't give up."

Izuku felt something tighten in his chest. He squeezed the notebook, trying to hold back his emotions, but tears were already rolling down his face. On the last page was written a solitary but firm question:

What am I doing? I can't give up.

Izuku couldn't hold back. He closed the notebook, covered his face with his hand, and let the tears flow.

— Forgive me. I'm so sorry I didn't meet you sooner, — Venom said nothing. Even he understood that silence was needed in such a difficult situation. Izuku looked back at the room.

— You will survive, Takeshi, — he whispered.

— I won't let you close your eyes forever. — Izuku sat there, head down, clutching the notebook, which now felt heavier than anything in his life. Time stretched unbearably slowly. He waited. He hoped. He believed that the doctors could save him from death, for in such a society, miracles were not impossible.

The door to the room creaked open.

A doctor stepped out. He was a middle-aged man with a weary, haggard face. He removed his gloves, crumpled them in his hands, and took a deep breath without looking at Izuku. Izuku jumped up.

— How is he? — he asked, his voice hoarse. The doctor didn't answer. He only ran a hand over his face, as if trying to shake off an invisible weight. The doctor stood there with tired eyes, not even looking toward Phantom, but there was a regret in his eyes that was unmistakable. Seeing this look, Izuku hoped that Takeshi would be in a coma, but...

— Doctor, — Izuku's voice grew firmer, more insistent.

— How is he? — In response, there was only silence. Izuku felt something inside him tighten, twisting into a painful knot. He stepped closer, hovering over the doctor. His silence irritated him, and Izuku grabbed him by the gown, shaking him, but the doctor continued to look at the floor.

— Is he alive? — The doctor closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped under the weight of the three words he would have to utter.

— We're very sorry… — his voice was dull, almost foreign. The world around them grew quieter. Izuku blinked.

— What…?! — The doctor finally looked at him. There was neither fear nor regret in his gaze. Only weariness.

— We did everything we could. But his lungs were completely destroyed. Terminal stage of tuberculosis… He… — He didn't finish his sentence. The notebook in Izuku's hands trembled. His fingers clenched so hard that the paper crunched. Izuku was in turmoil from emotions; he wanted to tear the doctor apart with his hands, but he understood that it would change nothing. Izuku pressed him harder against the wall; the doctor was shocked by his action but couldn't do anything against his strength.

— You're lying, — he whispered. The doctor sighed but didn't reply. Izuku knew how they treated the quirkless; had he been in Takeshi's place, his relatives would have been told the same thing.

— You simply didn't try! You… you didn't even fight for him! — Izuku's voice broke. The veins in his neck tensed, and his eyes burned with feverish light.

— He was a child! He… — He couldn't speak. His throat tightened. The doctor merely lowered his head.

— He passed peacefully. He didn't suffer, — he said quietly. The words seemed to pass by. Izuku shook his head. He released the doctor and glared at him contemptuously before entering the room.

— No. No… — He turned around and, without looking at the doctor anymore, stepped into the room. The boy's body lay on the bed, covered with a white sheet. His face was calm. Too calm. As if he were just sleeping. Izuku slowly approached. His heart beat so loudly that it drowned out everything else. His fingers trembled as he cautiously touched the cold hand of the child.

— Takeshi… — his voice was barely audible.

— I'm here — But there was no response. Izuku knelt beside the bed. His eyes stung.

— I promised you would survive… — His lips trembled. Now he slept peacefully, serenely, as if unaware of worldly troubles. Izuku took his cold hand and squeezed it, but at that moment remembered Venom's words about how he could merge with the quirkless. If this was a chance, he would undoubtedly take it.

— Andy, can you merge with him? Can you save him? — Izuku said with hope in his voice. Venom, who had been silent all this time, slowly slid off Izuku; with black tendrils, he touched Takeshi's hand, and all Venom could say was:

— I'm… sorry… but I can give him the last two minutes of life. He still has some life energy, albeit weak; after that, he will close his eyes forever. — Izuku froze when he heard Venom's words. His breath caught, and his heart ached painfully.

Two minutes was all they had.

He looked at Takeshi's face — pale, lifeless — and at the thin fingers still lying in his palm.

— Do it, — he whispered. Venom slowly reached out to the boy. The black threads carefully wrapped around his hand, chest, neck, and then smoothly slid upward, merging with his skin. For a moment, nothing happened.

But then…

Takeshi's lips trembled. His chest took a weak breath. His eyelids slowly fluttered before opening. He saw his idol in a black mask and the very jacket he had seen in the newspaper and report. He was happy. The gray, dull eyes, in which a faint spark of life sparkled, met Izuku's gaze.

— Mmm… — a weak, barely audible sound escaped his parched lips. He tried to inhale, but immediately began to cough. Izuku leaned closer, squeezing his hand tighter.

— I always… believed… you would… find me — he whispered. His voice trembled but was soft and warm. Takeshi blinked. It was hard for him to keep his eyes open, but he looked at him… weakly, but consciously.

— I'm here, Takeshi. — Izuku swallowed, clenching his jaw to keep the tears from flowing.

— You are not alone. You have never been alone. I'm with you — The boy's lips slightly parted. He wanted to say something, but there were no words; he was too weak even for a normal conversation. He was glad to see his idol, but he wasn't glad that he had to see him like this.

— You… you wanted to be like me, right? — Izuku continued, trying to keep his voice steady. Takeshi weakly nodded. His trembling, weak fingers barely tightened in response to Izuku's touch. For the first time in many years, Takeshi smiled warmly with tired eyes.

— You are already strong, — Izuku smiled through his tears. Takeshi's eyes misted again. He blinked weakly, and a solitary tear rolled down his cheek.

— I… saw… you — his voice was weak, almost inaudible. A solitary tear rolled down Takeshi's cheek; for the first time, he saw his idol in person and gained his first friend in many years.

— Yes, I'm here — Izuku squeezed his hand tighter. Takeshi blinked; his breathing grew quieter. He tried to speak again, but his voice was already fading.

— Do you… think… I can be a hero? — slipped from his lips. Izuku couldn't hold back.

He remembered how he had answered the same question posed to ALLMIGHT on the rooftop.

****

— I'm sorry, young man, but you cannot become a hero without a quirk. — The words echoed in Izuku's mind, and he sank to his knees, staring at the floor, contemplating his idol's words. He didn't believe it; no, his idol was bluffing, this couldn't be reality, Izuku told himself.

— But… but you said anyone can be a hero, — Izuku stammered, raising his gaze to All Might. Tears shimmered in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. — I've always dreamed of saving people with a smile on my face… I want to help people, and…

****

The memory cut off at that moment. Takeshi looked at him with hope in his eyes, just as he once looked at ALLMIGHT, but Izuku didn't want to be a hypocrite. He couldn't shatter this boy's hope into dust when he was about to die. A storm of thoughts raged in his head until he reached the conclusion that the truth could destroy that hope. He believed he could become a great hero, but not now; it was too late…

****

— Can I be a hero too, Mom? — Inko rushed to him, dropping the plate of dango on the ground that she had brought for Izuku after his visit to the doctor.

With tears in her eyes, she hugged her son, who grabbed her hand, wiping away the newly formed tears and starting to cry even harder, rubbing his eyes against his mother's sweater.

— I'm sorry, Izuku, I'm so sorry—

****

Memories came one after another; time around him stopped for a moment, and even at that moment, Izuku continued to shed tears. He remembered that word, which was well-known in his life, that had haunted him since that day.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

With a heavy heart, he lied to him.

— Yes, you can be a hero, — Izuku said, looking into Takeshi's eyes. He saw a flicker of hope flash in them. Takeshi's lips trembled, but a weak, barely noticeable smile appeared on them. His eyes misted over, but he still looked at Izuku — looking with admiration, faith, and gratitude.

— This... is amazing... — his voice was quiet, almost inaudible, but he still tried to speak.

— I'm glad I met you, teacher, — Izuku clenched his teeth, gripping his hand tighter, feeling the faint, barely perceptible life slipping through his fingers.

— I… I don't want… to go… — whispered Takeshi, his breathing growing even weaker. Life was leaving him, and even Venom couldn't do anything; he simply watched them.

— I… want… to live… — These words pierced Izuku like shards of glass. He closed his eyes, tears slowly streaming down his face, squeezing the boy's hand as if he could keep him in this world.

— I'm sorry… — he whispered, knowing no words could change the inevitable. Takeshi's trembling hand weakly reached for his face.

— Don't… cry… — Takeshi exhaled, his lips trembling again, as if he wanted to smile.

— I'm… glad… I'm so… happy to have met you, — Izuku looked at him, forcing himself to remember every detail: the fading gaze, the weak smile, the warmth of his hand that was slowly fading.

— Thank you… — barely escaped Takeshi's lips, followed by a pale smile and...

His last breath.

The eyes that had been looking at him just a moment ago no longer blinked. The hand in his palm became still. Izuku froze. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, and then… silence.

Takeshi was gone forever.

His hand remained in Izuku's palm—cold, lifeless. Something deep inside shattered. Izuku lowered his head, closing his eyes. His shoulders shook, but no sound came out.

Venom was silent.

The entire world seemed to freeze in that moment. Izuku clenched his fingers, feeling icy despair slowly enveloping his heart.

All he could do was hold his hand a little longer. Just a little longer… Seeing his still-open eyes and smile, a tear escaped his eye without him even realizing it. His hand reached out and gently closed Takeshi's eyes.

— He died with a smile on his lips, — he whispered as the symbiote returned to its host.

Izuku sat in silence for a while, holding his hand. Everything inside him felt empty, as if a part of his soul had been torn out. Takeshi no longer breathed, his body was already growing cold, but his face still bore a faint, fading smile.

"He died with a smile..."

Those words echoed in his head. His fingers gently brushed over the boy's closed eyelids, tenderly sealing them. The last spark of life had faded, and now he simply… rested. Venom stirred quietly but said nothing. He felt the pain too. Izuku took a deep breath, raised his head, and without looking back, walked toward the exit of the room. He stopped in the doorway, casting one last glance at the boy's body, then clenched his teeth and left. In the hallway, the same doctor stood, pale and confused. Seeing Izuku emerge from the room, he wanted to say something but froze when their eyes met.

— Tell me… — Izuku's voice was quiet, but there was steel in it. — Did he have parents? Relatives?

The doctor nervously swallowed, averting his gaze.

— He has biological parents at this address: XXX-XXXXXXX-XXXXX. — Silence. Izuku closed his eyes. Anger boiled within him but quickly subsided, replaced by cold determination. He stepped closer, and the doctor instinctively tensed.

— Then give me a sheet. I'll take him with me, — Izuku said firmly, but the doctor's tone immediately displeased him and angered him even more.

— W-what? — the doctor frowned.

— Listen, I understand your state, but… — Izuku, with his ominous tone, cut him off, grabbing him by the throat, lifting him off the floor, and setting him back down as he coughed. Izuku spoke for the first and last time:

— Give me a sheet, — Izuku repeated, his voice now devoid of patience. The doctor hesitated, glancing at the room, but then nodded to the nurse, who had been watching them anxiously. The girl quickly disappeared into the storage room and returned moments later, handing Izuku a white sheet. He took it without another word and returned to the room. Takeshi's body still lay on the bed. Izuku slowly, carefully unfolded the sheet, as if afraid to disturb the boy, then gently covered him with it, leaving only his face exposed. He gazed at him for a long time before bending down and carefully lifting him into his arms.

Light. Too light…

Izuku held him tighter, as if shielding him from the world, and stepped toward the exit.

The doctor opened his mouth to say something but, meeting Izuku's gaze, remained silent.

— He deserves to be buried as a human, — Izuku said quietly.

— Not as forgotten. Not as unwanted. — With those words, he turned away and walked forward, carrying the boy away from the hospital. With a tendril, he held Takeshi in flight as he flew to the address to deliver his body to his biological parents. Izuku hadn't expected to witness the death of a boy who had shared the same fate as him. It disappointed him; he watched as he died, taking his last breath, but he was able to leave this world happy.

****

Izuku stood before the massive door of a small mansion. The address the doctor had given led him to this neighborhood. The house looked well-kept, wealthy, but cold, like the people who lived in it. In his arms, wrapped in a white sheet, lay Takeshi. He was light… too light. Venom was silent.

Izuku took a deep breath and knocked on the door. A few seconds passed before it opened. A woman in her forties stood before him. Expensive clothes, well-groomed hands, a haughty gaze. She frowned, examining the guest, and narrowed her eyes in displeasure.

— Who are you? — she asked coldly. Izuku said nothing, simply slowly unfolded the sheet, revealing the boy's face. The woman froze. Her eyes widened, but not from grief or shock—they reflected only irritation.

— What is this madness? — she snapped, stepping back. Izuku was shocked; she didn't mourn him. He looked at this as a misunderstanding, as a natural mistake, while Takeshi's face retained a happy smile. Izuku restrained himself from attacking them and tearing them apart.

A moment later, a man appeared in the doorway, her husband. He also glanced at the body, frowned, and then his lips twisted into a grimace of disgust. He, like her, looked at it with revulsion. Takeshi lay peacefully in the arms of his idol, while he resolved the issues for him.

— We don't know him, — the man declared coldly. Izuku tensed. He had hoped for humanity from these parents, but that was a mistake.

— Takeshi, he's your son, — his voice was low and quiet, but there was an ominous note in it. The man snorted disdainfully, as if he had just been offered to take home garbage.

— You're mistaken. We have no son, — he said with a hint of cynicism, casting a contemptuous glance at both of them. Venom inside couldn't stand such treatment and wanted to squeeze their eyeballs out with tendrils, but his morals were restrained by Izuku's will, which stopped him from such actions.

— Did you abandon him at the orphanage? — Izuku's voice was emotionless, but his fists clenched. The woman crossed her arms over her chest, her lips curling, and her expensive appearance emphasized it.

— That was a long time ago. We got rid of him because he was… defective and quirkless. We hoped he would inherit our quirks, but imagine our surprise when he inherited his grandfather's quirklessness. — Silence. Venom inside Izuku growled; he wanted to open his mouth and gut them, but Izuku continued to restrain him from such an act.

— Defective? — he repeated quietly. Inside Izuku, a storm raged; he wanted, no less than Venom, to kill them, but the voice of reason prevailed over emotions, and, struggling with himself, he remained silent before them, while they had no idea that one careless word could destroy them.

— Quirkless people are useless, — she said irritably, as if talking about some annoying mistake, not a child. Takeshi still smiled, and, not wanting him to continue to be compared to a mistake, he covered him with the sheet, leaving his serene expression.

— Did you really think we'd want to take his body? — the patriarch of the family sneered. He expressed no less contempt than his wife, until Izuku's low voice interrupted him.

— Bury him, — Izuku's voice was low, restrained anger. The man smirked contemptuously, watching the masked avenger, and spat in his direction, not hiding his intentions.

— Why? He's not our son. Do whatever you want with him. We don't care, — Izuku froze. Those words echoed in his head with hollow emptiness: "We don't care."

He slowly raised his head; his eyes, hidden behind the mask, shot icy lightning. At that moment, so many emotions raged within him that even Venom, who usually didn't hesitate to show his rage, was tensely silent.

— Don't care? — Izuku's voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but there was something dangerous, something cold in it. The woman took a step back, and her husband frowned but tried to maintain his haughty demeanor.

— Are you deaf? We said—do whatever you want with him. This… this defect is of no use to us, — the man waved his hand as if shooing away a pesky insect. He stopped resisting his desires and simply allowed Venom to do what he had wanted from the very beginning. This time, even Izuku's restraint couldn't hold Venom back. Black tendrils burst from his back, like whipping lashes, wrapping around the man's throat and lifting him into the air. The woman screamed, retreating further into the house; her face twisted in fear.

— Oh right, I forgot… — Izuku's voice remained low and threatening. He continued to stand as the man struggled to breathe. Izuku's desire demanded more, more suffering, but this was enough.

— Quirkless people are useless, — his fingers slowly clenched, and with them, the tendrils tightened around the man's neck. He gasped, twitching, his face turning red. The woman rushed forward, pounding her fists against Izuku's arm.

— Let him go! You… you're insane?! — Izuku remained silent. He only slowly leaned closer to her face, his breath brushing her skin. He felt nothing but her mosquito-like blows, which didn't even register.

— You don't care, right? — The woman trembled. The man was almost unconscious, his movements sluggish. Venom inside him demanded blood. He whispered in Izuku's mind, painting pictures of revenge. These people didn't deserve mercy. They had abandoned their child. They had looked at his body with contempt. They had refused to even bury him.

"Tear them apart."

"They're not even worth your anger."

"Avenge him."

"Break them."

"Unworthy."

"Monsters."

Izuku's fingers twitched, he took a deep breath. Slowly, very slowly, he unclenched his hand, and the tendrils loosened their grip. The man collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. Izuku watched with contempt as he struggled to breathe, but he spared him, though he didn't deserve it.

— Y-you… — the woman hugged her husband, her body trembling.

— You're not human, — Izuku said calmly. Nothing held him here anymore, and, looking down at them, he whispered.

— A shovel. — He whispered, but their further words only irritated him more.

— What? — they asked in unison, and in a sinister voice, Izuku now shouted at them.

— WHERE!!! — The house was filled with the echo of his scream, as if the darkness itself had thickened in the air. Venom stirred within his body, tendrils writhing, merging with the shadows like something alive.

— W-where what? — The woman frantically clung to her husband, trying to hide behind him; her eyes darted between him and the avenger holding Takeshi. Izuku stepped forward, his ominous silhouette looming over them, casting a shadow.

— Where. Is the shovel, — he hissed through his teeth. The man coughed, still clutching his throat, his face pale but his eyes burning with irritation.

— You… you're threatening us, you bastard? We can call the police! — Izuku tilted his head; his mask reflected the lamp's light, his white eyes widening, expressing all his negativity. It disgusted him to even communicate with them, to be in this house was a desecration of Takeshi's memory.

— Call them, what are you waiting for? — His voice was icy, resembling more of an animalistic roar.

— Call them and tell them you abandoned your son. That you called him defective. That you didn't even want to bury him. Go ahead, — he took another step, and the woman looked away in fear.

— Tell them you're trash who threw away a child like a broken toy. — The man choked on his anger but didn't dare respond to his argument.

— The shovel, — Izuku repeated again, this time quieter, but his voice became even more terrifying. The woman, with trembling hands, pointed to the backyard.

— I-in the shed… by the wall. — Izuku didn't take his eyes off them for a few more long seconds, then turned and silently walked out. Kicking the door open, Izuku searched the shed until he spotted the shovel hanging on the wall. With a mental command, a tendril grabbed it, and he left the cursed house behind, forgetting it like a bad dream.

Izuku found a place where he would bury him as a worthy person. He descended from the sky, approaching a tree as young as Takeshi, whose fate had also been unjustly cut short by the will of the Almighty. He laid Takeshi's body on the ground, plunging the shovel into the earth. Izuku dug, driving the shovel deeper with each swing, venting his rage on the ground. Finally, he dug a place for him and slowly, carefully, laid Takeshi's body in the earth.

Izuku stood over the fresh grave, his hands, wrapped in Venom's black substance, gripping the shovel so tightly that the wooden handle creaked under the pressure. The air around was heavy, as if nature itself mourned with him. The night enveloped everything, only the faint light of the moon breaking through the branches of the young tree under which Takeshi now rested forever.

He knelt, his fingers clutching a handful of earth. It was cold, damp, as if the earth itself didn't want to accept what was being offered. But Izuku knew it was necessary. Takeshi deserved peace. He deserved to be remembered not as "defective," not as a "mistake," but as a human. As someone who had been denied a chance at life but not a dignified farewell.

— I'm sorry, — Izuku whispered, his voice barely audible, but it carried all the pain he held within.

— I'm sorry I couldn't save you sooner. I'm sorry the world was so cruel to you. — He slowly let the handful of earth fall onto Takeshi's body. Each particle of soil, as it fell, seemed like a tear Izuku couldn't shed. His heart ached, but he continued. The shovel plunged into the earth again, and he began to fill the grave. Each swing of the shovel felt like a blow to his own soul, but he didn't stop. He had to finish this. He had to give Takeshi what he had been denied in life—respect and peace.

When the last clump of earth fell onto the grave, Izuku dropped the shovel and knelt again. His hands trembled, and fire burned in his eyes, a fire that couldn't be extinguished. He looked at the fresh mound, now marked by a small stone serving as a modest memorial.

— You weren't a mistake, — Izuku said, his voice firmer. — You were a person. And I won't let you be forgotten.

He rose to his feet; his silhouette, shrouded in Venom's darkness, seemed even more ominous in the moonlight. But there was no malice in his eyes. Only determination. Determination to ensure that no one else would suffer as Takeshi had. That no one else would be abandoned, forgotten, betrayed.

Kneeling before Takeshi's grave, he placed his notebook atop the mound. Tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered the boy's farewell smile, the boy who had been rejected by everyone but whose idol-teacher had given him the best funeral, not allowing him to die alone. Izuku had been his first and last true friend, and, bowing to him, nature itself mourned him, shedding leaves onto his grave as the wind blew, playing a sad melody, seeing the boy off on his final journey.

You will never return.

You will never see the light again.

But I will not betray you,

I will never renounce you.

Fear no more the heat of the sun,

Nor the winter's stormy rage.

You have done your earthly duty,

Gone home, having received your wages.

— Goodbye, — Izuku whispered, rising from the ground, disappearing into the shadows, surrendering himself to the horrors of the night.

To be continued.