𝔸 𝔾𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕎𝕒𝕤 𝕆𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕖 💥𝔹𝕒𝕜𝕦𝔻𝕖𝕜𝕦💥

Prologue

The world had always demanded too damn much of us.

Heroes weren't allowed the luxury of breaking down, of slowing their pace, of giving in to the weight of their mistakes. No, we're expected to rise, time and again. No matter what. Climb outta the wreckage, act like we ain't bleeding, like we ain't hurting. Wear the scars like they're something to be proud of. Like they ain't proof that the world chewed us up and spit us out.

But nobody ever warns you what it's like when the wreckage ain't just concrete and steel. When it's pieces of you, shattered beyond recognition. Pieces of the people you swore you'd protect.

No one tells you how heavy it gets. The weight of all that crap they pile on you. The weight of being seen as something more than human, but treated as something less. They call you a hero, but what they really mean is "tool." A means to an end. A solution to their problems.

At first, you think you can handle it. You tell yourself, This is what I wanted. This is what I trained for. And for a while, it works. You push harder, climb higher, blast louder—because as long as you're winning, you're worth something. People scream your name like it means more than it does. Your face is on every screen, your story told like legend.

But legends ain't people. Legends are ideas. And ideas don't bleed.

The cracks start small. Missed shots. Split-second mistakes. Collateral damage. You tell yourself it's nothing. Shake it off, keep moving. But people don't like cracks in their symbols. Cracks make 'em nervous. They start to whisper. Start to see the flaws. Start to whisper. Start looking at you like you're something replaceable. Like you're on borrowed time.

They don't see it, though. The nights you spend tearing yourself apart, replayin' every mistake like a broken record. The hours of chasin' a finish line that just keeps getting further away. All they see is results. You win, you're a hero. You lose? Nah, you're just a reminder that heroes ain't untouchable.

And nobody wants to be reminded of that.

Katsuki Bakugo learned that lesson too late. He thought if he just fought hard enough, loud enough, angry enough, he'd never be the one left behind. He'd never have to see the people he cared about get forgotten.

But that's the thing about cracks— you don't see 'em 'til it's too late. You can punch through walls, blast through steel, but you can't hit something that's already broken. You swing, and it just crumbles under your hands.

And sometimes, it ain't you that breaks.

He sat in that hospital room for hours, watching it all play out in slow motion. The lights were too bright. The walls were too white. It felt more like a stage than a room meant for recovery. He could hear them outside, voices blending together in that fake, professional calm that only doctors and reporters seem to master. "Stabilized for now," they said. "Ongoing observation," they said. Their words were soft, but their eyes were sharp. Calculating. Waiting.

None of 'em were looking at him, though.

They weren't lookin' at him anymore.

Katsuki had done his part, he had done his part. they'd burned as bright as they could. But now that the glow was fading, Katsuki could see it in their eyes. Their attention was already shifting to the next spotlight. The next fire.

That's all heroes are to them. Flames to light up the dark. Bright until we burn out. Useful until we're not.

They don't care about the ashes.

We used to think we were different. We used to think we were strong enough to stay burning forever. But flames don't last.

And ghosts?

Ghosts are just what's left behind.