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SHINSOU HITOSHI HAD NURTURED WITHIN HIM WRATH. A subtle-bred contempt for the students of Class 1-A, who carried their heads too highly for his satisfaction, who held the stars in their eyes and pushed his own limbs further into the waters of trepidation. There was only one thing he was destined to be, and that was a sinful child begging to be seen as heroic all the while being condemned for something he could not control.
Hitoshi learned that no one would love him if he wasn't built from the heavens, plucked of his raven feathers and plunged into cleansing balm in order to be replenished by the hands of the saviors of humanity (purity, they chanted, unaware and uncaring that their own skin was brittle and burned). Forevermore would the name Shinsou Hitoshi be uttered as something dirty, squashed between the shoes of his own peers, ridiculed for wishing to be something more than the scum he was born to be molded into.
A villain child who puppeteers human emotion to his own whims, who sacrifices innocent blood for his own tumultuous victory. Once again, he must conform to the stereotype of 'evil' to simply grasp onto the clothes of the higher class. Like a beggar asking for scraps of bread, Hitoshi was forced to allow people to talk, to permeate his thin exterior and jab their poison-coated words into his back. He could silence them, but only then would the world sink its fangs into his skin and rip him apart.
When the next activity was announced, he knew that once more he would have to utter those simple words, upturned by the corners, eyes glancing around, if he wanted to erupt from the shadows and into the limelight. Shinsou was no villain, he knew that.
The only other person who seemed to agree voluntarily was a lanky teenage girl with pale purple hair, choppy bangs hiding cold, almost harsh eyes. Her name was Minami Chizue, and she was a flourish of beating bat wings and gloomy joy, built from canine teeth bared forth in half-snarl-half-grin, dipped in broken stained glass and shining like a silvery statue.
"Be in my group." She close to begged, staring up at him with those electrifying eyes. From the shadows was her emergence, and Shinsou didn't spit her figure until after it was too late, and he was locked between her jagged claws.
"Don't you have your own friends to team up with?" Came his bitter reply as he looked at her unimpressed, rubbing away the beginnings of his shoulder pains away.
The teenage girl scoured the large stadium floor and smiled sheepishly when she turned her attention back to the taller boy. They didn't linger long on the crowds — there wasn't much to look for.
"I do, but..."
"They've all made their own teams?" He finished for her. She nodded almost shamefully. Good, Shinsou thought. She should be ashamed. He didn't need to know a girl who proclaimed she was better than him.
