╰┈➤ 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐍𝐎 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 ━━ ❝All these worries about villains and heroes... about quirks and the quirkless... when they should be worried about something far worse... me.❞
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you, the once powerful and feared Control Devil, find your...
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━ ⭒─⭑━
Your life was a carefully constructed bubble, meticulously crafted by your ever-anxious mother, Mei. Unlike other children your age, you didn't attend daycare or school.
The outside world, with its potential dangers and lurking germs, was deemed too much for your mother's fragile peace of mind.
Instead, your days revolved around a routine as predictable as the sunrise.
Mornings began with a meticulously planned breakfast, followed by lessons conducted by Mei herself. As a former high school teacher, she poured all her energy into your homeschooling, bombarding you with colorful flashcards and meticulously constructed schedules.
While other children learned through messy playdates and scraped knees, your world was confined to the walls of your apartment, safe but undeniably stifling.
Wino remained a distant figure in all this, keeping his interactions with you brief and impersonal. Sometimes, you'd catch him stealing a glance your way—a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze before he quickly retreated behind a curtain of newspaper.
Despite, or perhaps because of, your sheltered life, a fierce independence bloomed within you. You devoured the lessons Mei presented, your mind a sponge soaking up knowledge.
You craved understanding, a way to make sense of the world beyond the four walls of your home.
One afternoon, as you were diligently building a tower with colorful blocks, the sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow on your focused face.
The air was thick with the aroma of baking cookies, courtesy of Mei, who was humming cheerfully in the kitchen.
Suddenly, the gentle hum was replaced by the familiar blaring voice of a cartoon announcer on the television.
You glanced up, the frown furrowing your brow mirroring the one now etched on the face of the overly enthusiastic cartoon hero plastered across the television screen.
The hero, clad in a flamboyant costume that seemed more of a hindrance than a help, was pummeling a villain whose entire power seemed to be an unfortunate case of bad hair.
"And that, my friends," the announcer boomed, his voice dripping with condescension, "is how a proper hero uses their Quirk! Now, let's talk about those unfortunate souls who weren't blessed with such amazing abilities."
A familiar heat pooled in your chest, a simmering resentment fueled by the announcer's patronizing tone.
You weren't 'unfortunate'—you were ____.
And you wouldn't be belittled like some charity case.
The announcer, completely oblivious to your internal dilemma, continued his spiel. "Being Quirkless doesn't mean you can't contribute to society," he chirped, his voice laced with a saccharine sweetness that made your teeth itch.
