the night the world burned down, we... || bnha

my songs know what you did in the dark

When Azumi turns five years old and enrols into a kindergarten class, the first thing she notices is the distinctive lack of what the fuck rolling around in her pea brain. Which is great, because she no longer flinches at the sight of weird ass mutant quirks and why the fuck does that kid have prehensile toe nails.

It's great.

It's not so great that she's been reborn as an orphan and in a world of fiction (and a government that's probably going to completely and fantastically fall apart in about twenty-or-so years time), but she's looking at the bright side here. At least she's human again – somewhat. Azumi's certain she failed the religion studies class back in her old senior high school, but the idea of "rebirth" and "reincarnation" always revolved around wondering whether or not she'd get stuck in the body of a sea cucumber or algae or something equally terrifying when she died.

And, well. It's not that bad.

The whole somewhat-human thing messes her up a bit, at least for the first few years, when she's disoriented from the rebirth and her brain and body aren't matched up on the same wavelength yet. It takes a few concerned child psychologists later for Azumi to muster up the strength to accept that yes, I'm dead, and reincarnated into a shitty society with a thin veneer of equality before finally regaining some semblance of normality by the age of ten.

It's uphill from there, really. Sure, having massive fucking angel wings growing out of her back sometimes makes Azumi feel like Angel from the X-men comics, or Maximum Ride from those way too fast paced novels, but overall the idea of quirks and quirk theory makes her feel way too over her head and all she wants to do is to curl up with a good book and pretend she's not in the midst of a corrupt country with authorities trying their damned hardest to distinguish people into groups of only Good and Bad, all whilst pushing one man as the saviour of the entire nation. The whole All Might is All Powerful shtick heats up with near religious fervour in every and all discussion she's ever heard concerning the top hero, and man, does she feel bad for that guy.

(Also, the stupid All Might diapers and onesies you can find at the discount store has scarred Azumi for life. No more All Might merch, please.)

She considers the idea of chasing wild dreams to become a knight in shining armour, a real life superhero, an act to change the world, but no – Azumi's a coward, taking the coward's way out, and would rather bury her head in the sand than risk her second life doing insane shit like saving cats from a burning building. Azumi's not a hero. She's a civilian through and through.

She's not a hero.

She's anything but a hero.

She's a civilian.

So why is it, then, when Azumi's fourteen years old and walking back home from her high school entrance exams, that she's the only one who sees the crying child, covered in blood, crying for help?

No, not crying. The kid's too scared to cry. He's covered in dust, dirt, and various debris particles, staining what used to be a pastel cartoon themed shirt and nicely fitted pants. Now the fabric is stretched thin, thinner than the gaunt look of his face, tearing at the seam from falling down on the ground one too many times. The knees of his pants are busted, scraggly with stray threads, caked in dried grass and flaked bits of blood.

He doesn't scream, plead, or beg. He wanders the streets out in the open, not even daring to tilt his head high enough to look the passing adults in the eye. There's old, brownish-black blood staining his trembling hands, but the kid isn't on the verge of tears. He's cried out his entire soul recently, judging from the way his eyes stare dully into an unknown abyss.

Help me, is what he needs, is what he is trying to say to the world, but no one offers a hand.

Hero society will save everyone, the bystanders think. They won't be heroes because they know someone will come. Someone always comes. Everyone is brainwashed to believe in comic book endings, how the hero always comes in time to save the day from the strictly evil villain, how the hero always comes, how the hero is always just there, there so nobody else needs to be. This society has become so reliant on having someone else take care of all the work that they've stretched the heroes thin, making them become celebrities, gods, deities, otherworldly creatures that are more than human – heroes. And when their gods fail, so does the trust they've onesidedly placed upon fallible mankind.