Can We Be Heroes?

Chapter 31• Shadows In the Daylight II

Shinso ran.

He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t care if the path beneath his feet made sense. The world around him was a blur— buildings, people, noise—it all melted into a mess of motion and sound. His breath hitched in his throat, sharp and erratic, but he kept running.

Running from the fight.
Running from Monoma.
Running from Midoriya’s kindness.
Running from himself.

His legs burned. His lungs screamed. But it didn’t matter because right now his mind was the loudest thing.

“You’re a freak.”
“Your eyes creep me out.”
“Villain quirk.”
“Stay away from us.”

The voices echoed like thunder in his skull, over and over, a relentless chorus of every insult, every laugh, every time someone looked at him like he didn’t belong.

He remembered the teachers who turned away.
The classmates who joined in. The nights he came home and lied, told his parents everything was “fine.” Because truth be told, they did not give a dame about what he went through.

“Stop…” he whispered between gasps. “Please stop…”

But the memories only grew louder.

He turned a corner too fast, stumbled, and crashed into the cold pavement. He pushed himself up, dragging his feet toward the nearest wall, and slumped against it.

And then the tears came.

No mask. No scarf. No witty comeback or cold indifference. Just a broken boy with too much pain in his heart.

He slid down the wall until he was curled on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around himself, shaking. His sobs were sharp, raw, the kind that had been buried for years clawed their way out all at once.

“Please stop…” he whimpered, voice cracking. “Please… just stop showing me this…”

But there was no one to hear him. No voice in the dark to comfort him. So he stayed there, crying alone beneath the quiet hum of the streetlights—unseen, unheard, and so desperately tired of being strong.

All he wanted… was for it all to stop. He sobbed harder, getting drunk in despair and loneliness

Until  scream rang out. Sharp. Female.

He blinked, lifting his head slowly. Down the alley just a few feet away, shadows danced on the brick walls. Then he saw movement.

A woman, mid-twenties maybe, was being dragged into the far corner of the alley by three men, all larger than her, their movements quick and practiced. “Get your hands off me!” she hissed, trying to yank her arm free.

One of them grabbed her jaw. “Feisty. That’ll make it fun.”

The other chuckled, flipping a knife casually in his hand. “No one’s gonna hear you here, sweetheart.”

She kicked out, catching one of them in the shin. He cursed, then slapped her across the face, hard.

Shinso flinched. The action triggerig a memory from the numerous times his father had beaten him. The sound of the slap echoed down the alley, sharp and cruel. He sat frozen, hands still gripping his arms. His thoughts were tangled, jumbled. He couldn’t breathe again. He wanted to disappear. He was still shaking. Still hurting.

But then—

“Help…! Someone!” The woman’s voice cracked, desperate and scared. She was in trouble,she needed help.

And just like that, Shinso felt something inside him shift. A part of him that was used to the dark. That knew how fear felt. That knew exactly what it meant to scream and not be heard.

Shadow.

He didn’t have the mask. He didn’t have the scarf. He didn’t even have a plan. But none of that mattered.

He stood up slowly, his eyes no longer trembling with tears but glowing with something else—rage. “You picked the wrong alley,” Shinso muttered under his breath. His voice was low, gritty, and ice-cold.

One of the men turned. “The hell—? Who’s that?”

They didn’t get the chance to find out. Because even without his costume, Shinso Hitoshi was still Shadow. And he didn’t need a mask to protect someone in need.

The three men froze when they saw him step out from the shadows, his hood half-fallen, his eyes shadowed and face still streaked with tear lines. He looked anything but threatening—slim, disheveled, and clearly younger than any of them.

They stared at him for a second—then burst into laughter.

“The hell is this?” the one with the knife cackled. “Kid, you lost or somethin’? This ain’t your playground.”

“You really wanna die tonight?” sneered the one holding the woman’s wrist. “Back off before you piss yourself.”

Shinso didn’t flinch. His fists trembled with suppressed emotions. The fire in his blood, the old instinct crawling up his spine as he spoke—calmly, coldly.

“Drop the knife.” The man with the blade blinked—then his body moved on its own. The knife clattered to the concrete with a sharp clang.

“What the—?!” the others snapped, turning toward their friend. “Why’d you do that?”

Shinso stepped forward, his voice just above a whisper. “Let. Her. Go.”

The second man hesitated, but before he could react, the one who had dropped the knife lunged at Shinso, rage overtaking confusion. “You little freak!”

Too slow.

Shinso dodged to the side, grabbing the man’s wrist and flipping him over with one smooth, practiced move— a maneuver he had repeated during endless, bitter nights of solo training.

The man hit the ground with a thud and a sharp groan.

The other two charged, but Shinso ducked low, kicking one in the shin and jabbing the other in the ribs. It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t clean. But it was desperate and furious.

One grabbed him by the collar and tried to slam him into the wall. Shinso grunted, twisted, and hissed, “Freeze.”

The man stopped mid-movement, eyes wide. His muscles locked in place. His breathing grew rapid—he couldn’t move.

The last thug, now panicked, tried to grab the woman again, but she swung her bag into his face. “I said, don't touch me.”

Shinso didn’t hesitate. He surged forward and punched the man square in the face, knocking him to the ground.

Breathless and trembling, Shinso stood tall, the woman behind him, the three thugs either unconscious or moaning in pain on the floor.

He wasn’t in costume but none of that mattered because he protected someone. Not as his vigilante persona but as himself.

The woman looked up at him, stunned. “You… You saved me.”

Shinso nodded stiffly, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Yeah. Guess I did.”

She stepped toward him. “Are you… Are you a hero?”

He paused. Then said, softly—

“No. But I’m getting there.”

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Word Count [1105]