❝𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄, 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓?❞
❝𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐍'𝐓.❞
Lies.
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"I love you..." You whispered and leaned close, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It caught him by surprise, but he quickly kissed back. It was supposed to be a sweet...
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▍japan, jaku city 𝐎 𝐒 𝐇 𝐔 𝐍 𝐢. 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐲𝐚 75. ✿↬
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second person
"𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐓 born. They are made by the storms they walk through. Pain shaped a woman into a warrior." One could argue that they are born, and another could argue that they are raised— but what could all be agreed is that the world may have been made by women, but it was not created for women. The alteration from those opposite never took women into consideration.
All the things they worshiped about Gods— the creation of life, the connection to nature, natural strength of a warrior, the mind and instinct of a seer, the emotional intelligence and wisdom of the ancient, the beauty to cause wars, and the guidance and influence to end them— are all what makes women, women. Yet, where's her praise? Live amongst Goddesses, but pray for a God.
"How did this come to be?"
"I can't say. For now, all we can do is wait."
The hospital room was a study in clinical precision, a world defined by stark efficiency. The air was a constant, cool whisper, carrying the faint, antiseptic scent of disinfectant and sterile linens. Overhead, the fluorescent lights cast a diffused, unwavering glow, a harsh, unblinking eye that left no corner untouched. The walls were a pale, almost lively blue, a color meant to soothe but which only served to emphasize the room's sterile, impersonal nature.
A single, adjustable hospital bed stood at the center of this muted space. Its white sheets were pulled taut with military precision, and a thin, geometric-patterned blanket was folded neatly at the foot. Beside it, an IV stand stretched toward the ceiling, its clear tubing snaking downward, a silent lifeline.
On a small, rolling table next to the bed, a cluster of medical equipment hummed softly. Wires and tubes branched out from the machines, connecting to various sensors on the body in the bed. The most prominent were the ECG leads, their delicate wires disappearing beneath the blanket, a silent network of monitors.
The dominant sound, however, was the rhythmic, insistent beep of the heart monitor. It was a constant, unwavering beat, a steady pulse that filled the silence with its methodical rhythm. Each beep was a precise punctuation mark in the quiet, a tangible representation of a life being closely monitored, a silent testament to the presence of someone within the sterile confines of the room. The sound was neither loud nor soft, but it filled the space, a constant, reassuring, yet undeniably present reminder of the human being in the bed.
How did this come to be?
Amidst the smoldering ruins of Jaku City, the battle raged on. Just as Gigantomachia was about to crush the vulnerable heroes, Mirio Togata, the hero with the permeation Quirk, arrived to shield them. He and Nejire Hado, a fellow hero-in-training, worked in tandem to protect Best Jeanist, who was using all his power to restrain the massive villain.
