Heroes Don't Exist.| BNHA|

Prologue [1]

(Her father)
9 years old
||

"Again."

I pant heavily whilst leaning against the hilt of my katana, the other laying a few feet behind him. This was a usual routine between my father and me. I would spend countless hours trying to lay a finger on my father who was cloaked in his first stage of his quirk whilst I would be cloaked in mine.

"Again." My father demands harshly making me grit my teeth in frustration. Digging my feet into the ground, i appear in front of my father. Dust inflamed my nostrils as i slash toward the large man in a precise arc. Once again, he parried my katana as if it were butterknife. Before I could counter act, I inhale sharply from his knee colliding with my abdomen. I could see the spots of my blood levitating in front of my face in slow motion as I crumble to the ground clutching my stomach in pain.

Not even given enough time to recollect myself, I collapse and roll away from the leather boot smashing into the spot I rolled way from. The impact from his foot resulted in a smoke screen of sorts and it gave me enough time to scramble for my blade and grab the other. Not wasting any time I swivel around on the pads of my foot and slice clean through the silhouette of what I thought was him. The smoke around us dispersed from my attack but I narrow my eyes at the thin air. Eyes narrowing on alert I flip the hilt of my left blade in a stabbing motion and stab behind me. Of course, he parried the sword once again and I tried to swing my right katana to at least clip his cheek. I gasp as my left katana is snatched easily from me and he uses it knock the right katana out of my hand.

I become frozen as I am disarmed and before I know it, I am slammed into the ground, the wind knocking right out of me again. Looking into his cold stern eyes I grit my teeth at the usual look of disappointment as I struggle underneath his choking grip.

"You are weak. That is why you will always lose."

I hold back the tears that threatened to form and stare emptily at the large man. Knowing what's to come for my failure to lay not even a finger on the man, I brace my self. Letting myself go slack in his choke hold, my right palm drops limply onto the ground. My fathers hold on my neck loosens as he flips my katana he had stolen and held the tip above my open palm in a stabbing pose.

I shut my eyes in pain inhaling sharply as I cry out at the sharp piercing jolt of pain that ran through my hand. My free hand immediately shoots to my mouth to the muffle the sob that threatened to slip past my lips as my father walked away from my battered form back into the shrine that we lived in. After a few moments I turn on my side examining the katana that was plunged into my palm with watery eyes. Placing a shaky hand around the metal, I grit my my teeth at the throbbing sensation.

Having a mental countdown, I yank the katana from my hand and toss it aside; clutching my bleeding hand in agony as i heaved heavily.
"You're ok." I muttered over and over as I summoned a small Medkit. The small plastic container poofed into my uninjured hand as I quickly snatched the small bottle of alcohol. Pressing my lips together tightly, I pour some of the liquid on the wound having to keep myself from collapsing face first into the dirt in utter agony. After that, I bandaged my hand up tightly and hauled myself back to the shrine where we lived.

Settling myself into the bath, I release a sigh as the hot water soothed my aching muscles; making sure to be delicate with my bandaged hand. Yep, this was the routine.

I guess this is the point where I should probably introduce myself. My names Izanami Shi. How ironic of us to live in one of the many Shinto shrines and being named after the goddess of death. When I'm not getting KO'd by my father I usually tend to my shrine duties or train on my own as I'm homeschooled by my father. He's not very good at it.