The phone's insistent ring cut through the monotony of Y/N's day. She picked up, her voice a practiced blend of boredom and politeness. "Hello?" she intoned, waiting for the caller to reveal their urgency. The voice on the other end was breathless, hurried, as if racing against time. Y/N listened as her colleague spilled out the situation: an emergency, a shift that needed covering. Without hesitation, Y/N agreed, her "yes" a quiet promise to help. "Thanks!" her coworker exclaimed, relief palpable even through the phone. And just like that, Y/N found herself shouldering another work shift, sighing as she prepared for the hours ahead. Sometimes favors owed were the currency of camaraderie, and Y/N wondered when she'd cash in her own chips. But for now, duty called, and she stepped into the familiar rhythm of work, ready to face whatever the night would bring.
-Y/N's POV-
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting elongated shadows across the pavement, your mundane evening took an unexpected turn. The convenience store's fluorescent lights were a distant memory now, replaced by the flickering street lamps that lined my path. The rhythmic shuffle of my slip-on shoes echoed in the quiet streets as I made my way toward the supermarket.
But fate had other plans for me. The air thickened with tension, and the distant murmur of voices grew into a cacophony of panic. My feet halted involuntarily, drawn by the urgency of the situation. Ahead, a crowd had gathered, their collective fear palpable. And at the center of it all stood a grotesque figure—a slime villain.
The villain's form was a nightmarish blend of dripping green slime, its body large and intimidating But what held my attention was the hostage—a young ash-blonde teen trapped within the gelatinous mass. Desperation etched across his face, he struggled for breath, his life hanging by a thread.
Yet hope wasn't lost. Another figure, their hair a striking blend of green and black, fought to free the captive. Their determination radiated like a beacon, contrasting sharply with the villain's malevolence. With every ounce of strength, they grappled with the slime, trying to pry it open and release the teen.
The scene unfolded before me—a battle of wills, courage against malevolence. Would I stand by as a passive observer, or would I step into the fray? The choice was mine, and the fate of the ash-blonde teen hung in the balance. As the crowd's screams reverberated, I found myself at a crossroads, my slip-ons planted firmly on the pavement, heart racing, and adrenaline surging.
In that pivotal moment, the world shifted. The villain, once menacing, now lay in a puddle of goo at my feet. The rain fell, washing away the remnants of his malevolence. I stood there, bored and tired. The two teens I rescued stared at me in awe, their eyes wide with disbelief.
"Who are you?" One of them stammered.
I brushed rain-soaked hair from my face, my skin tingling with residual energy. "Just someone who couldn't stand by and watch evil triumph," I replied, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
The weather had turned, the sky weeping for the fallen villain. My clothes clung to me, ill-suited for the sudden chill. But I didn't mind. Heroes didn't concern themselves with discomfort; they focused on the greater good. As the rain intensified, I glanced at the teens. "You two okay?" They nodded, still wide-eyed.
And so, the rain continued, a cleansing deluge that washed away the darkness. As for me, I stood there, drenched and shivering, but content. Because sometimes, heroes didn't wear capes—they wore determination and a willingness to act when others hesitated.
As I stood there, aloof and unyielding, the two teenagers trembled before me. Their expressions shifted from confusion to astonishment, their breaths ragged. The crowd around us buzzed with a mix of fear and curiosity, their voices rising like a cacophony of startled birds.
Seconds later, I found myself in a whirlwind of scolding heroes, their stern gazes piercing through me. "I don't have a quirk," I protested to the officers, the boys flanking me receiving a mix of reprimands and praise. But my words fell on deaf ears. The crowd of citizens stared, their expressions oscillating between shock and awe. Who was I? A hero? A villain? Perhaps a clandestine vigilante? The answer eluded even me 🤷🏼♀️.
As the night enveloped my surroundings, I stepped into my dimly lit apartment. The familiar creak of the door echoed through the hallway. The groceries, cumbersome, found their place in the kitchen cabinets and fridge. My weary hands reached for the instant ramen packet, its crinkly plastic yielding to my touch. A humble meal, yet comforting in its simplicity. The boiling water danced with anticipation as I stirred in the flavor packet, creating a fragrant broth that whispered promises of warmth and sustenance.
Sitting at the small dining table, I slurped the noodles, their delicate strands clinging to the chopsticks. The sodium-laden broth warmed me from within, chasing away the chill of the night. Each bite felt like a quiet victory—a respite from the chaos of the outside world. The steam curled upward, carrying with it the aroma of nostalgia and late-night solace.
The mundane days stretched out, unremarkable as ever. Yet, the media buzzed incessantly about the events of yesterday—the "mysterious girl in a hoodie" who emerged as an unlikely hero. Their fervor grated on my nerves, like a persistent itch. To me, it was no grand spectacle, merely a fleeting moment. But I remained impassive, my expression a well-practiced mask. Blankness concealed the tempest within, and I continued my silent dance with anonymity.
As I stood there, the weight of the large Manila envelope in my hand piqued my curiosity. The neat handwriting on the top, spelling out my name in all capital letters, added an air of mystery. What could be inside? I unlocked my apartment door and stepped inside, the envelope still clutched tightly in my hand.
As I sat down at the table, the large envelope before me bore the unmistakable symbol of U.A. High School—the premier academy for aspiring heroes in Japan. Why were they writing to me? My eyes lingered on the symbol before I slid the envelope open with my hand. I then took out the white packet of papers inside and read the contents.
Dear Y/N L/N,
"Hello, my name is Nezu. The principal of the famous school for heroes, UA, is located here in Japan. I happened to have noticed your outstanding powers just recently, and so I am here to formally ask you to join our school, using our recommendation course, though you don't have to take the written or practical exam as I have recommended you. I know you are a little older than usual, being an adult already, this will not be a problem. If you accept, we can promise your secret will be kept out of the public eye and we'll help you find your father, you will also get a set amount of monthly income including the enrollment to the school. If you accept, I have left the enrollment packets along with this letter. Please mail the packets to the school as soon as possible. I hope to see you this coming school year".
~Sincerely, Principal Nezu-
I sat there, stunned. Had the school truly extended an invitation to attend without the usual grueling process? Yes, it seemed so. My eyes widened as I read the latter half of the letter. "Hold on," I whispered to myself, "did they mention a monthly income?" The realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. Could this mean I'd no longer be shackled to that wretched store? Would I receive payments for attending school? And not just any school, but UA High School? But wait—I was 18, an adult. Was this even feasible?
My excitement bubbled over, and I couldn't contain myself. "What's the catch?" I blurted out, prompting my neighbor to bang on the wall in annoyance. I took a deep breath, reading the letter repeatedly—four times, to be exact. It wasn't a prank; this was real. The weight of the decision settled on my shoulders.
As I placed the packet of information and the letter on the table, I retreated to my bedroom. Tomorrow, I'd delve into the details and make my choice. Grateful that I didn't have work the next day, I lay down, staring at the ceiling. Sleep came swiftly, dreams filled with possibilities and uncertainties alike. Tomorrow would bring answers, and I hoped I was ready for them.
YOU ARE READING
Miss One Puncher (BNHA x OPM x Quirkless-Powerful Reader)
Fiksi PenggemarLike everyone else, Y/N L/N is quite ordinary in many ways. Her background and lack of a quirk, however, set her apart-yes, she's quirkless. Yet, this didn't deter her from aspiring to be a hero. What does one do to achieve such a goal? Train. And s...
