Full Circle

12) Finished Journal

Dear Bakugo, 

We need your aid on a case. Please contact us, the Hero Commission, immediately after you receive this so you can obtain further details. Delete this email. Thank you. 

–Hibaru 

"And finally, my mind. Like a room that is ever changing from bland to crowded. Nature's winds billow through my room as if telling me that I don't get enough oxygen. The leaves crinkle outside my window as the fall season jumps to an end. The end of a means is a seasonal phrase. 

The feeling of a rooftop under my bare feet makes my toes burn even though it isn't summer heat that is absorbed into he black tiles. I imagine my feet cementing themselves to the edge, only for the skin to rip off when I step forward. 

Like a swimmer, I've articulated my thoughts and efforts and practiced them far longer than is probably comfortable. And yet, even before the starting bell rings, I find nervousness littering inside my soul. The depths of my consciousness are egging me on, waiting to use its hands to push me into the darkness below. 

And yet I've been known for the one thing that gives me anxiety: the dive. 

As I look down off the edge, I hold my breath. And then I am pushed, by the invisible forces working within my brain like clockwork. And I find the soles of my feet ripped from the roof as my innards are scattered on the pavement below…."

"That finishes the book. Questions, comments, confusion?" Bakugo asked, snapping the book closed as he lightly tossed it on his chair. His brain was shutting down, as it always did when he read the book. Afterall, knowing the person behind the writing was different than knowing the events behind the writing. 

A beat passed before Checkers raised her hand. "Did he…you know since the ending--did he…uhm–" 

Bakugo went ahead and cut her off. "No, the author in this book did not kill himself by jumping off a roof. But one of the last times he wrote in this book was when a bully told him to, 'Take a swan dive off the roof of the building.'"

Wings raised his hand, brows drawn together to accentuate his utter confusion. "I don't think I understand the purpose of the book…I dunno…I might not be picking up on some of the symbolisms." 

"Hmm." Bakugo answered, smartly. "There is a better way to approach and answer everyone's questions." He stood up from his seat at his desk, chair rolling away slightly. "Now this is going to get personal, but don't be afraid for that conversation to happen. Growth and understanding is developed by listening to others views and stories and then incorporating your newly found knowledge with theirs. Everyone raise their hand." 

The class did so, albeit hesitantly. 

"Put your hand down if you don't understand the book at all." A couple people put their hands down nervously. "Okay, now put your hand down if you could only pick up on some of the major themes within the passage?" Again, a couple put their hands down. "Put your hands down if you feel like you fully understand the implications of the text." 

The remaining hands went down, except for one. 

Bakugo zeroed his sharp gaze on Bleach Boy before giving a small grin. "Why?" He breathed. This was it, the whole purpose of the class. He could feel the tip of the iceberg before the Titanic crashed. 

Bleach Boy shifted in his seat awkwardly. "Because," he gulped, "Because I was bullied when I was younger." 

"Yeah, and?" He didn't say it rudely, moreso to egg the conversation on. 

"And…" Bleach Boy's lips suddenly felt dry, and so he found himself licking them. "And I understand the writing technique of not writing painful memories word by word, but rather the emotions that go along with said words…" 

Bakugo narrowed his eyes, ever so slightly. "How do you know that technique?" 

The teen stiffened at the question before glancing at his friend, seeking some form of strength to finish this conversation. 

"Hound Dog." He whispered, looking down at his hands. 

"And why did Hound Dog tell you to use such a specific technique?" Bakugo pressed. Come on brat, you're close. So close. 

The air bristled around the room, before Bleach stole courage from his friend and snapped his head up, a newfound fire in his eyes, as he finished the conversation. 

"Because writing helps me get my mind off the discrimination and hate that quirkless people, like me, face. Hound Dog told me to write without writing and so it helps me cope–" No sooner had he finished that explanation, did Bakugo explode, sending the class into a jolt. 

"YES! Yes! Okay, guys? You see?" He grinned ear to ear, picking up the book he had previously thrown on the desk. Bleach took a deep breath in, only to exhale in relief that he was not being interrogated anymore. "This 'book' is not a book! It was never meant to be read, therefore it was never meant to be published! This book was the journal of a teen who eventually grew up to be widely known. And he was born quirkless, treated like utter crap, and his form of therapy was writing. He suffered from mental illness, even as he rose the ranks. And yet he still found ways to donate money to charity." Bakugo was grinning ear to ear, almost all his teeth showing. 

He was shaking the thin book in his hands, emphasizing every word to get his point across. He made frantic eye contact with his class before aggressively pointing to the book. 

"And you'll never guess what happened because--hell, because even I didn't know how he got a quirk! But he did it, he did it somehow! And then he became–" –the symbol of hope, is what he almost said, yet he couldn't force the words from his lips. In his aggravation, his voice slowly became a yell, his heart and soul officially forcing itself out of his body as passion exploded inside him. "BUT NO YOU ALL DON'T EVEN KNOW HIS NAME–BECAUSE NO ONE TEACHES ABOUT DISCRIMINATION! IZUKU WROTE THIS WHEN HE WAS GROWING UP, HIGHLY DESCRIMINATED AND SUICIDE BAITED BY EVERYONE INCLUDING HIS CHILDHOOD FRIEND!!"  By the end of his rant, Bakugo was panting. He had finally done it, finally finished the story. Somewhat. 

He didn't think he would have made it that far. Afterall, it was painful to read, and yet it was also necessary for the class to understand. For the class to become understanding. 

The students sat back in shock, especially Bleach Boy. He had felt like his world was blown to bits. The journal felt uncannily similar to my life? And suddenly Bleach felt a kinship with a teenager he didn't even know. He felt his fingers pick at the skin around his nails.

Suddenly calm, unnaturally calm, Bakugo began to speak levely after clearing his throat. He had found his way to his seat and had begun staring off at nothing in particular, a small, sour smile on his face as he reminisced only something he could see. "The author of that Journal, or book–as some may call it, was Izuku Midoriya. Try as you might, but no Google search will come up with significant data. For the rest of the day, I'll let you work on other classes or think about all that has occurred recently." 

Not quite used to the silent classroom, the students sat idly as they attempted to process everything.