─── Chapter Two. ❛ SCHRÖDINGER'S CAT: YOUNG BLOOD ❜
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MINAMI CHIZUE EXISTED SIMULTANEOUSLY AMONG THE RUINS OF HELL, feasted upon the flesh of her familiar not-so-family relatives, spit into the porcelain cups and faces of her heritage, and bore her ill-breasted hatred like a sword till it shattered the brims of their wine tinted teeth and tongues.
She knew anger like a second-hand book, worn and inexplicable as it wormed its way through her bones and destroyed the erosion of any semblance of hope in her heart, still a thirteen-year-old thing that begged to rebel in the hopes that it would save her family from the man turned monster she bore blood from.
So she lived with the heavy burden of a sagging legacy and the Minami name, one she wished to scrub off her skin till it was raw and bleeding. Discarded into her pockets, handed to the child with kaleidoscopic blues and purples blooming on her small face, fragile glass eyes held by her fingers, seeping and digging into her palms just to keep her together. Minami Chizue knew blood, metallic on her tongue and thinly acidic in the pit of her stomach, splashed around mouths and splattered on pristine laminated floors, but she didn't care, she closed her eyes to its vibrant erosion of all childhood innocence and violently vomited its mussed putrid stench to the back of her mind.
A girl with a future as broad as hers didn't have to live in the nightmarish past of her father's limp and heavy hand, scarred and larger than life every time she opened her eyes to a void of dark ceilings and out of the comfort of her bedsheets.
The subsidiary anger of her counterpart's bitter soul disappeared beneath the glare of the one and only; Aizawa Shota, man shrouded in mysteries as much as heavy eyebags and the strong scent of coffee. Morning turned to the tide of rushing students bustling into their classes at the sound of the loud school bell, a sound of shiny brass and tinkering childish noise, and Minami Chizue and Bakugo Katsuki were dragged back to Class 1-A by the scruffs of their uniform jackets.
Voice like gravel, man of few words other than those he used to bark regulations and rules to his most misbehaved of students — that is, all of them — discarded his class' sun and moon at the door, praying to any and all of the gods that shroud the shrines of Japan's streets with more clarity than any other wish he made, to keep his students from being absolute nuisances on his good day.
Chizue, keen on the uptake of appearances, whose eyes seldom steered away from the expressions of those she watched through ocean-rimmed eyes filled with raindrops of blue orchid, smiled at the exuberance of her teacher's complexion beneath the removal of his bandages.
"Aizawa-sensei!" She greeted the man cheerfully, the downturn of her eyes drooping a millennium of thinly sun-spotted freckles to ripple through the bridge of her nose and inner eye corners. "Did you finally get your bandages off?"
