Ultra Responsibility (My Hero Academia X Spider-Man Reader)

Issue 97 - The Faceless Part 1

The pit was deep enough that sunlight only reached it in thin, fractured lines.

They came through the cracks far above like broken spears of gold, never enough to warm the dirt below, only enough to make the shadows look sharper. The walls of the hole were steep, packed with mud and stone, scarred by old handholds and boot marks. It was less a training ground and more a grave waiting to decide if it wanted to close.

Two boys moved inside it with spears in hand and murder in their eyes.

They wore only torn shorts, skin slick with sweat and streaked with dirt. Both were bruised. Both were breathing hard. Neither gave an inch.

The larger of the two drove forward with brutal precision, his bare feet digging into the earth as he blocked one strike, twisted his spear to deflect another, then stepped inside the other's guard with ruthless speed. He swept the smaller boy's legs from under him and brought the spear down in one clean motion.

The sharpened tip stopped just at the hollow of the boy's throat.

For a moment, nothing moved.

The larger boy stood over him, chest rising and falling, eyes narrowed with all the harsh focus of a man in a child's body. Then, after a beat, his expression broke just enough for a smirk.

"You're dead, Dmitri."

Dmitri said nothing.

He only stared up from the dirt, breathing through his nose, one hand still clutching his spear even though it was useless now.

The other boy lowered his weapon and offered a hand.

Dmitri took it, pulling himself back to his feet with stiffness and shame.

"No excuses this time?" the larger boy asked. "No 'the sun was in my eyes'? No 'I slipped in the mud'? No 'Sergei, you are simply too strong for mortal men'?"

Dmitri's jaw tightened.

"I have no excuse for my mistakes," he barked, almost as if reciting it. "That is what Father would say."

Sergei twirled the spear once in his hand, the movement quick and practiced, before resting the shaft lightly against Dmitri's throat again. Not enough to hurt. Enough to remind.

"It doesn't matter what Father says," Sergei replied. "During a hunt, in a life or death situation, a man's words are irrelevant. Only if you are willing to do what must be done or hide behind a mask."

Dmitri's eyes flicked to the spear, then back to his brother.

Sergei let the point fall away and turned toward the wall.

"Come on," he said. "It's a long climb back up."

He slung the spear over his shoulder and began ascending the pit, fingers and toes finding the holds in the wall with easy familiarity. Every few moments the light from above would catch his skin and wash him out, turning him into nothing but a dark shape climbing into gold.

Dmitri remained below.

He watched his brother rise toward the opening, toward the light, toward the world above, and for some reason could not make himself follow.

Something prickled at his face.

He lifted a hand to scratch at it.

That was not unusual.

He did it often. Every moment no one was looking, every stretch of silence, every half-second stolen from their father's gaze. The itch never truly left him. It lived beneath the skin, a faint maddening whisper that no amount of scratching ever reached.