RESURGENCE - MHA x FReader

Chapter X: Quirks and Questions?

"So, Katsuki got his quirk?"

Your mom asks, her fingers gliding over the sewing machine. The rhythmic hum fills the room, blending with the faint scent of fabric softener and the faint scratch of scissors on a nearby table.

"Yeah," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"It's pretty flashy-like fireworks."

Fireworks.

The word lingers, glowing faintly in your mind like an ember. It sparks something deep in your chest, a tangle of excitement and unease.

Fireworks are loud, brilliant, impossible to ignore.

Would your quirk be like that?

Or would it be something dimmer, quieter-if it even existed at all?

"That's awesome," your mom says, glancing over her shoulder with a smile that's a little too bright, a little too quick.

"I'll have to congratulate Mitsuki when I see her."

Then her gaze softens as it settles on you.

"Sweetie, would you like to go to the doctor? You know, to see what kind of quirk you might get. Or... if you don't have one, that's okay too. Really, it is."

Before you can even process her words, your dad chimes in from his spot by the door, arms crossed and that usual confident tone in his voice.

"Quirks-they're fascinating, aren't they? You never know what someone's limits might be. I bet you're excited, Y/n-chan?"

Your chest tightens, your stomach twisting at their words.

Are you excited?

You can't even tell anymore. There's too much-too many questions, too many possibilities, too much pressure. Your hands clench into fists, not out of anger but because you need to feel grounded.

"Uh... yeah, I'm looking forward to it"

You manage to say, your voice lighter than you'd like. It almost wavers, like a thread about to snap.

"Great." Your mom turns back to her sewing, the hum of the machine rising again, filling the silence like it's trying to drown out the weight of the conversation.

"Your dad's colleague is a specialist. He's really good. We'll go this Saturday."

Saturday.

It feels both too soon and impossibly far away. The word echoes in your head, heavy and sharp, as though it's marking the day your life might change-or the day it might not.

You glance at your parents.

Your mom is focused on her stitching, her face calm, but you catch the way her shoulders tense, just barely.

Your dad looks relaxed, but his fingers tap lightly against the doorframe, like he's thinking about something he won't say out loud.

You exhale, but it doesn't feel like enough. The air still feels heavy in your lungs. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak again.

Saturday. It's just a day. Just a visit.

---

Quirks. Your quirk.

The thought settles like a stone in your chest as you sit there, staring at the floor.

Will you even have one?

The room feels too quiet now. You glance at your hands, unclenching them to stare at your palms.

Will they ever hold power?