A Grey Thin Line

1

The final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Everyone started packing their things, eager to leave and go home. A young teen remained in his seat, curly green hair blocking his face from view as he furiously scribbled in a journal. If you asked anyone in his class, they'd say that Midoriya Izuku was a freak, a kid with delusions of heroism, and somebody that you shouldn't talk to out of fear of what the resident class bully would do to you if he thought that a "Deku" like Midoriya actually had friends.

Midoriya was so enveloped in his writing that he never noticed the door to the classroom opening, or the three figures stepping in. He'd just finished touching up his notes on Mt. Lady when a hand slammed heavily onto his desk, making him startle and drop his pencil. The sound of the piece of wood clattering to the floor was blocked out by the guffaws of the two lackeys behind a rather terrifying blond boy, whose teeth were bared in a smirk

"So, Deku," the blond drawled menacingly, looking down on him, "heard that you wanna apply to UA, eh?"

Midoriya started to fiddle with his hands nervously, trying to avoid eye contact. "y-yes, I was, Kacchan." He managed to squeak out.

Lackey 1 nudges lackey 2, "Hear that, man?" He says, "the little nerd still calls Bakugou Kacchan."

As the lackeys laughed, Midoriya leaned down to grab his pencil, making certain that he didn't make eye contact with the volatile blond. He flinched when Bakugou's sneaker smashed his pencil to splinters, falling out of his chair in surprise.

"Listen here you quirkless trash!" Bakugou hissed, grinding the remains of the pencil under his foot as he took a step forward. "UA's the place where the best of the best are made, so, naturally, I'm the first one from this shitty school that's gonna get in! And I don't need a fucking Deku like you getting in my way and fucking that up!" He whipped his head around to the lackeys, glaring holes into both of them. "And you two can shut the hell up!"

Midoriya scrambled backwards, desperate to avoid the other male's advancing form, not entirely sure that Bakugou wouldn't just step on him if he was underfoot. "I-I'm not trying to get in your way, Kacchan." His back was now against the wall, he could feel sweat slide down the back of his neck. "I just thought that there wouldn't be any harm in trying, right?"

"No harm?" Bakugou asked, his teeth bared in a snarl. Midoriya shrunk in on himself as a foot slammed right next to his head. "No harm?! You probably haven't got this shit thought your fucking head, dumbass, but you're fucking QUIRKLESS. You know what that means, right?" He didn't even wait for Midoriya to respond. "It means you're trash! Lower than trash! The only thing you'd ever be useful for is as a punching bag you fucking shit stain!" Bakugou removed his foot from the wall and walked over to Midoriya's desk. "And just what the fuck is this?" He spat mockingly, holding up the hero journal, still on Mt. Lady's page.

Midoriya leaped up, saying "That's mine, Kacchan! Please, give it back!" He reached for the notebook, only to recoil his hand from the heat of a small explosion. He watched in horror as Bakugou carelessly dropped the notebook, charred pages falling apart on impact with the floor, scattering amongst the pencil splinters.

"A journal on quirks? What would you use that for?" The blond snorted, turning and starting to walk away. He looked over his shoulder, "here's some advice; you want a quirk? Leap off the roof, and pray you'll have one in your next life!" He let out a cruel laugh, his two henchmen joining in before leaving the class, the door slamming shut with a tone of finality.

Midoriya stood in the exact same spot, looking at the remains of his journal. When he finally moved to pick up whatever was left, the paper crumbled to ash underneath his feather-like touch. He didn't know exactly what he was feeling as he stared at the ashes of a journal he had worked so hard on, it was like pain, yet not. His chest felt like it was hollow, was that normal? He didn't even know, or care. He took a deep breath, then sighed, scooping up the remains of his journal (didn't want to upset the janitors). The broken shards of his pencil were picked up as well, both are thrown into the trash bin as he walked by on his way out the door. Walking down the familiar tunnel that led home, he hoped that the day wouldn't end on a worse note.