Ghost of Himself

Chapter Ten

Point of View: Ochaco Uraraka 

   Ever since I was young, I have wanted to be a hero. My mom and dad owned a construction company that discharges funds ad nauseam, all because we couldn't get a quirk license, which requires twenty-two million yen, money we didn't have. But I was never spiteful, I was never vengeful, I was never greedy, and I was happy with having the family I had. They never made me work to pay the bills, I never went hungry, and I had a roof over my head. I had two people that loved me unconditionally; I was lucky. I loved them to the fullest that they loved me; I didn't need much to be happy with them. I want to repay them for everything; they deserve it for everything they went through.

   I was walking through town, junior high had finished about a month ago, and now I had time to train my quirk to prepare for my life later. The way I found that was the best for quirk training was Takoba beach; I've been able to find bits and pieces of trash, making them all float to build up a resistance to nausea caused.
   I got my quirk as a child, an experience I will never forget. I was four, yet it felt like yesterday. My mom was sitting at our small dining room table, my dad was taking a call from a former employee, and I was next to one of my mom's legs playing with some worn construction blocks. I had picked up one of the blocks with my small hands, clutching it tightly with all five fingers. I pretended it was an airplane flying over a small city I had made up of blocks. I had set the "plane" down for a second, then felt a wave of exhaustion hit me like a truck. I shrugged it off and quickly looked for the 'plane,' only unable to find it; I remember the small yet piercing shriek my mother had made. It made me jump slightly from the pure suddenness, but she was delighted when I locked eyes with her. 

"Ocha, you've got your quirk!" my mother squealed delightfully. I, at the time, was beyond confused by what my mom was saying. Had she seen something I hadn't, she had quickly fled the room to call the hospital for a check-up -which I needed anyways- and she rushed back in with the appointment set for that Friday. 

   I kept holding a refrigerator in the air, keeping it a foot off the ground for three minutes. The light-blue machine had seen better days; its door was hanging on by a thread, the side paneling covered in rust, and the freezer was barely hanging onto the actual lower half. My abdomen began twisting and contorting as I headed past the three-minute mark. The contents in my gut had decided that they'd be going on a rollercoaster ride when I decided to train, but I needed to push past the five-minute mark to show any improvement. Otherwise, I'd have no chance of getting into UA.

...

   Pain all I felt was pain after an hour of intense quirk workouts. The workout ranged from lifting objects a few feet in the air to slowly decreasing my weight until I almost blew chunks. All this pain has a price I'm more than willing to pay. The pain will be temporary, and the results will speak for themselves in a few months. Everything has a purpose, though—things I need to become a semi-recognizable hero—the more notoriety, the higher the pay. As backward as it is, I have to follow this to give my parents a chance at a free life.

   I walk away from the dump, keeping my head down in case anyone realizes the legality of what I've been doing for the hour. I navigate the busy streets, dodging and weaving past slow pedestrians. Now, I feel like most people would look at me and give me a thumbs up, but there is a nagging feeling I'd be shunned by people later in my career. No matter how noble an idea is, people will tear you down at your roots; and I won't go down that easy.
   About a half hour later, I make my way down the poverty-stricken neighborhood of houses. People up and down this street know my family and me; we do small jobs for them at a discount—anything from fixing a doorframe to ripping out a piece of moldy drywall- we helped them because they needed it the most. People sat on their porches, giving me a small wave as I passed. Most people would be terrified to be in this type of neighborhood, but I relish in it; this is where I grew up, made most of my friends, my dad met my mom, and where their love first bloomed.
   I walked another ten minutes until I met my house's mailbox, plain rusted silver with a three-digit code running down the side. I remember the day we set this up; it was a sunny day with mom tending her flowerbed up front, dad asked Mr. Nakatsukasa to help him pour the cement, and I played with Tsubaki, Mr. Nakatsukasa's daughter. She was a nice girl, pretty cute, and had a sweet tooth. She grew up just down the road from me, she was a few years younger than me, but I didn't care. The funny thing was her brother, Masamune, had been my first crush when I was younger. He was about a year older than me and had long black hair -much like everyone else in the family- that I'd often play with to annoy him.
   That was seven years ago now. I somberly remember that because it was the last day I saw Tsubaki and Masamune together. Masamune had run away from home about a week after that, saying he couldn't take it anymore. I still don't know what he implied to this day; I still wonder about it now and then. I have a gut feeling he didn't commit suicide, but I still don't know for sure, yet I hold onto that to set my mind at ease. Tsubaki and her dad left not long after that; I know they went looking for him, but I also think it was too painful to be reminded of your only son/brother leaving without notice.