There is a dirt training field half a kilometer from my house.
I've been practicing here for nearly a year now.
First after my success at the trial of battle, now after my failure at the provisional license exam.
Talk about everything coming to a full circle.
And yet, so much has changed since then.
Because of the boarding house implementation, I could only come home for the weekends instead of daily. And the weekend just after the exam was when I disclosed my results to my family. Mom was supportive, Fuyumi and Natsuo were encouraging, but Dad was not upset. Of all the people, I expected him to be livid with me. Scold me for my shortcomings, push me to do better, force me to limit my time spent with others. Just do anything that would reveal his disappointment. But when I entered his home office and relayed the news to him, Endeavor tried to implement negative encouragement and told me that we would practice more at our regular spot when I had the time. As if he did not have the will to goad me beyond urging me to do better.
So here I am. Sweating under the hot September sun, panting from blocking tornado after tornado of infernal flames.
"I was told that the curriculum had shifted. You are being taught to create special moves, a skill that is typically standardized in the students' second year. So tell me, Shouto, what have you come up with?" Dad asks after another of my ice walls melts.
Initially, I glare at the patronizing insinuation behind those words. But then I realize that he is being serious. He is genuinely curious about my progression in class, and not just for the sake of carrying on his wishes. It's strange. So strange that I hesitate for a second before I answer. "Lately, I've been trying to use both sides simultaneously. It worked briefly at the license exam, but looking back now, it seemed more like a fluke."
Endeavor stares at something beyond my reach, contemplating what I said. In the meantime, I'm also pondering with my emotions toward him. A year ago, I was full of burning resentment toward my father. I did everything to rebel him, going so far as denying the quirk I inherited from him. But then school started, and the people around me helped me grow. Fire did not become so repulsive to me. Learning something from my father was not such a disgusting thought to me. Yes, I still hated him, but I had created a distinction between Endeavor and Dad along the way. Endeavor: Number Two Hero, savior of Japan, and my abusive predecessor; Dad: a man trying to make amends for his wrongs. Subconsciously, I started to ignore that both personas were the same person. Maybe that's when I lost sight of who I was. My past, my present, my future. All of them involved him, and I forgot that.
The past has plenty to teach. Perhaps the way I went about my hatred was misguided, but the sentiment itself was not. I can't just dismiss years of trauma. That's an insult to myself, my siblings, and Mom. Even a brother of mine died because of him. And despite all that, I do not know how to go about it. Originally, I wanted revenge. Now, I do not know. Should I forgive Endeavor? Do I want to forgive Endeavor? Does he even deserve forgiveness?
For the writing competition that Selene and I enrolled in, there is a new theme every month. This month's theme was about Pro-Heroes. Made sense, given the recent controversies surrounding them. "Superheroes save the world but leave destruction in their wake" was the prompt. Those words, though, struck a nerve. Little did the judges know how accurate of a statement that was. My tumultuous feelings only spiralled into chaos further.
Said subject of riotous thoughts speaks, snapping me out of my reverie. "During the forest retreat, you focused on building up endurance. Alternating between ice and fire, you expanded your limits of each separately. Now you are concentrating on maintaining that endurance with both quirks together. How much of a time interval did you have during alternation?"
"Three seconds max."
"Bring it down to two."
With that, he blasted just left of me. Precisely two seconds later, toward the right. The goal was to prevent the spread of flames coming for me. I switched between blocking his attacks with fire and frost. Dust and smoke billowed in the air, blinding me and him. The molten ice did little to counteract them. Instead, I slipped into the mud, landing hard on my back. At some point, we had to take a break to cough. When the break was over, the dust clouds had finally settled. Dry and wet black soil now coated the beige ground.
All this was training to pass the exam and become a Pro-Hero. But look at the havoc we wreaked. Limiting damage control was out of the question. The place looks like the remnants of a wildfire. Speaking of wildfire, I jogged toward an unfortunate tree caught in the midst of our session and douse it. Again, the prompt echoed in my head.
Suddenly, thunder rumbles. I glance at the sky. The sun is nowhere to be seen, and I had not noticed. Thunder is an omen of lightning and rain. Both elements of nature soon follow. Rain pommels in torrents, much to Dad's dismay. He loathes the rain because water is the mortal enemy of fire. Funny how he makes an exception for ice.
"Let's go back," he says.
I shake my head. "I think I'll stay awhile. My right side should be just fine in this weather."
He stares at me long and hard before acquiescing. Truth is, I'm not going to practice any more today. Rather, I sit just outside the dirt field and watch. Rain seeps through my clothes, my hair. I hardly notice. I'm too fascinated by the droplets hitting the soil, flicking the particles up, dropping them somewhere else. Soon, the fine black layer coalesces with the lighter particles below. Patches appear. Then shades. An ugly grey color materializes.
It's all too reminiscent of my current predicament. A year ago, everything was so much simpler. Pristine as light. But things happened. Things changed. Dark splotches began to emerge, making me question what I knew. And here I am now. I cannot distinguish light from dark, right from wrong, what I should do from what I should not do. Superheroes save the world but leave destruction in their wake. What about when it was me who had saved and destroyed myself? Everything came with a cost. Acceptance of my powers at the price of this inevitable crisis.
At this moment, I seethe internally at the judges who chose this theme. I know I have no right to, but I feel it all the same. It's because of my identity crisis that I now know what to draw in response to the prompt. Another cost.
After showering and changing into new clothes, I open my sketchbook and hover the pencil over the paper. Then I start to create.
Analyzing contours. Basic outlines. Lighting. Shading. Erasing. Adding texture. Repeat. The process is mechanical to me. I've done it so many times, it's become second nature. I don't realize when I start including color. The idea is in my head, and all I can concentrate on is bringing it to life.
When I finish, I scrutinize it for any lacking details.
It tells a story without words.
I take a picture of the drawing and text it to Selene.
Her response arrives immediately: she has an idea.
Despite the good news, morbid thoughts persist in my mind.
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Blossoms of the Dark
RomanceHanada Selene. Todoroki Shouto. Two troubled souls living troubled lives. But they somehow find solace within each other. They first met in a dream, and later again in real life. Both of them were initially wary of each other. But with time, the...
