After loosing his quirk and his parents Hiro kamade has been bullied and maltreated by society later on he went to union academy wanting to be a hero and change his fate but he was still bullied and treated harshly after near death when he fought hi...
On this quiet Saturday, with my heroic duties momentarily at bay, I found solace in the art of creation. In my humble abode, surrounded by the echoes of adventures past, I embarked on a journey of expression. As the strokes of imagination danced upon the canvas, my mind traversed realms beyond the celestial and cosmic, exploring the intricacies of a hero's soul. The colors blended like the harmonies of worlds colliding, each hue telling a tale of valor and camaraderie. In this moment of artistic transcendence, I realized that the canvas, like the universe, was vast and filled with endless possibilities.
In the solitude of my creative sanctuary, I wove a tapestry of melancholy. The strokes on the canvas mirrored the subtle nuances of sorrow, capturing the essence of a hero's heart weighed down by the burdens of a tumultuous world. The colors, once vibrant, now embraced a muted symphony of grief, each shade a reflection of the trials and tribulations endured in the pursuit of justice.
As I delved into the depths of my emotions, memories resurfaced like fragments of a shattered mirror. Faces of comrades lost in battles against cosmic forces haunted my thoughts. Their echoes lingered in the silent chambers of my mind, an ethereal chorus of farewell. The celestial tapestry of the universe seemed to dim, as if even the stars mourned the sacrifices made in the name of heroism.
In the strokes of the brush, I traced the contours of a hero's resilience, etching the scars that adorned the soul. Shadows cast by the weight of responsibility danced alongside the strokes, a poignant reminder of the toll exacted by a destiny intertwined with cosmic struggles. The art became a silent elegy, a visual hymn to the unsung heroes who had traversed the celestial expanse and left an indelible mark on the cosmic canvas of existence.
As the final brushstroke fell, I stepped back to behold the somber masterpiece. The room, once filled with the vibrant energy of creativity, now held a palpable stillness. In this moment of introspection, I understood that art could be a cathartic journey, a bridge between the celestial heights of heroism and the cosmic depths of sorrow. And so, on this Saturday of solitude, the canvas bore witness to the silent dialogue between a hero's heart and the echoes of a world in need of healing.
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Why do I feel like this
In the gentle stillness of my creative haven, a tiny girl isitor entered – Kanna, my beloved adopted daughter . Her eyes, like orbs reflecting innocence and curiosity, gleamed with wonder as they absorbed the canvas that bore the emotional imprints of my artistic endeavor.
With the lightness of a dragonfly's wings, Kanna approached, her presence bringing warmth to the room. She delicately climbed my body, landing in my arms, a comforting embrace that spoke of familial bonds transcending realms. Her inquisitive gaze met mine, and with a childlike innocence, she asked,
Kanna:Why does your heart look sad, papa?
A tender smile graced my lips as I cradled her in my arms.
Hiro:It's a reflection of my soul, little one
I replied, my voice a gentle melody that resonated in the quietude of the room.
