A Collector

Shoto Todoroki : His Prospective

    On the first day, no one batted an eyelash. He was one person. One idiotic, useless, unmentionable person. He was someone with no worth or outward value; his only purpose on this planet was to be used as a punching bag to let off steam. People knew he had run off, but no one cared if he lived or died then.

    They didn't care if he lived or died then.

    On the third day, the tender-conscienced kids left him yellow chrysanthemums on his desk – unquestionably to save face or act as if they cared when in reality, we all knew they didn't. Even some of our classmates left him flowers and cards, but they did it with hatred and ill-will deep down.

    An inside joke they thought would be funny when he came back.

    But after the first week had sped by, and after all of the chrysanthemums had shriveled and died where they were left, we all knew he was really gone. The flowers were like a metaphor to Izumi: upon their wilting and burned-paper-like appearance, people began to see what was real. He wasn't skipping class; he wasn't proving a point; he was really gone.

    To the school, he was dead, just like the flowers.

    It was almost an instant change of heart for the majority of the school – of course, there were a few of the upperclassmen who really couldn't care less. The chrysanthemums pilled up, the home visits and cards never stopped, and the tears of people who once would shove him in the halls would flood the school constantly, but it only made Izumi sick.

    None of them extraordinarily cared – if they did, they would have cared when he was here. We all knew immediately as he returned, the commonwealth would go counter-clockwise to hating him as we all did not so long ago, continuing retrospectively because that was the way he was envisioned to live his life: superficially devoid of sincerity from all those around him.

    It was a two-penny-halfpenny existence.

    Although, seeing him in that light almost made Izumi happy he was gone.

     He was free from her...

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Shoto Todoroki's P.O.V

"He doesn't hate me, though, we're still friends!"

As I ran after Izuku from my place on the school's rooftop, I saw swarms of our peers gathered around something — someone. I knew what must have been happening. I wasn't an idiot, everyone knew of Izuku's social situation; however, even knowing, there wasn't much I could do for him.

Pushing my way through to the front, my eyes darted around the scenery and landed on Izuku. There he was, his feet lifted from the ground by the collar of his shirt and his face scratched and battered.

"Doesn't he?" Izumi spoke in a voice laced with malice and resentment from the front of the circle of students.

Pushing my way through to the front, my eyes darted around the scenery and landed on Izuku. There he was, his feet lifted from the ground by the collar of his shirt and his face scratched and battered.

Laughter erupted from my sides as I felt eyes on me; although, they weren't just anyone's eyes. I didn't mind what others thought of me — I had much more to worry about than an opinion of someone I didn't know. Besides, there was rarely anyone who would attempt to harass me, and everyone knew why.

I had an amazing quirk and my father in blood relation was the number two hero. 

There were two things that mattered to others. One being your social status and the other your quirk. Hardly anyone cared if you were nice or hateful, all that ever mattered to anyone was where you stood in politics and how good of a quirk you had, and no matter what anyone could do to attempt to fix our broken world, this was the way it would always be. It was just unfortunate Izuku couldn't have been born with a quirk. If he had been born with a quirk, he wouldn't have to suffer.