Villainous [Hitoshi Shinso X Reader]

[Chapter 7]: Instinct

     After weeks of vigorous training, the Sports Festival was approaching fast. By this time tomorrow, we'd all be crowding around the entrance to the arena.
     At least everyone aside from me, of course.
     I understood the reasoning behind my exclusion from the annual festivities, they were logical enough—someone could be watching and recognize my power. People from U.A. could link me back to the devastation from four years ago. There were just too many variables to allow me to compete.
     However, it didn't frustrate me any less.
     Another thing that had been continuously plaguing my mind these past few weeks was none other than Shinsou, himself. He was infuriating.
     Every time we passed each other in the halls, I would try to wave, offer a friendly, awkward grin, only for him to stalk off to wherever he was going without a word. I hadn't talked to him at all. Not once. It was as if he saw right through me.
     I couldn't fathom why it bothered me so much. It was just about as inconceivable to me as the reason he was not-so-subtly avoiding me in the first place. Sure, I probably wounded his pride a bit in the hallway, but he had brushed it off so carelessly...
     There were too many things I had to worry about right now, I decided. I didn't have the time to needlessly rack my brain for answers that I would probably never get.
     With a sigh, I heaved myself from my desk at the back of the class and hurriedly clamoured to get to the door before any of my classmates could approach me and begin their daily onslaught of questions. Everyday it was the same: 'Why aren't you participating in the Sports Festival, again?' 'Doesn't it bother you?' 'So why are you training like you're preparing for the competition then?'
     My answers were always just as vague as the first time I had to say it: 'Overbearing parents.' 'No, not really.' 'Just because I'm not able to participate doesn't mean that I don't want to be the best that I can be.'
     Blank stares were the only reply I ever received.
     "(Y/N/N)! WAIT!" Ochaco squealed.
     I winced, but turned to face her anyways. "Hey Ochaco! What's up?"
     She stared up at me with wide, innocent eyes. "I'm really sorry that you're not able to participate tomorrow—"
     I opened my mouth to protest.
     "And don't tell me you aren't upset because I can see it in the way you smile whenever someone asks you about it!"
     Instantly, my mouth snapped shut.
     "Anyways, I do hope that you'll still be there to cheer us on! I'm gonna work extra hard to make up for the talent we're gonna be missing out on without you!" Ochaco chirped.
     A small smile curved my lips at her sentiment. "Thank you. That means a lot." I mussed up her hair in a friendly manner. "I'll definitely be there to watch, I wouldn't dream of missing it. And just between us," I leaned in conspiratorially. "I'll be rooting for you."
     Ochaco's grin radiated enough light to put the stars to shame. I winked, sending her a final farewell before taking my leave and exiting the class.
     Once I was finally free, I released a heavy breath that I hadn't even realized I was holding. It was becoming tedious to pretend like everything was alright when it was very clearly far from it. On top of everything else that I had to deal with, just the other day there had been a villain attack at the USJ. It wasn't just any villain attack, either—it was the League of Villains.
     My father's prized possession.
     Of course, I had been ushered out immediately since Aizawa and the other Pros deemed me a 'reliability' if I were to be captured. I tried not to take it too personally.
     Following those events, Aizawa had been in with Recovery Girl for an uncomfortable amount of time. Enough to make me fear for his health—he had been nearly disintegrated after all—and I had waited outside the door the entire time much to the confusion of my fellow classmates.
     That was the day that I vowed to end the League of Villains.
     Rage roiling in the pit of my stomach like a black, writhing monster, I propelled myself to the training room with a newfound purpose. I had been doing so every night for weeks since the incident. I refused to allow anyone I cared about to get hurt under my watch again.
     By the time I had walked through the door and slammed my stuff to the ground, I was already stripped down to just my training clothes and in the midst of tying my (y/h/l) hair back. The thought of wrapping up my knuckles crossed my mind, but as I had been doing for weeks, I chose not to do so. I welcomed the pain if it meant toughening up and polishing my technique.
     I was sure that I looked disheveled: messy hair that I hadn't had the time to brush, prominent bags beneath my eyes due to neglected late-night studying, bruised and bloodied knuckles from scabs that I had torn open again and again... My friends were beginning to worry about me.
     But I pushed those thoughts aside, instead channeling my pain and turmoiled thoughts into productivity: training. The adrenaline rush my body received every time I worked until I dropped was becoming alarming, addicting even. It was worth it if it meant I would never have to retreat from something like the USJ attack again.
     Flashes of the night from four years ago, so crudely deemed 'The Devil's Massacre' by the public, pushed to the front of my mind. I punched the bag harder. Maybe if I beat it savagely enough, I could fight the memories back like the bag was a personified version of my sins.
     It proved futile as always.
     Next always came the ruthless torture my body and mind had been subjected to as a child. That was always the beginning of blue and purple bruises blooming across my (y/s/c) knuckles.
      The agonized cries of Aizawa bounced around the darkest corners of my mind, so I shoved my earbuds in and turned the music up full blast, desperately trying to drown out the noise in my head until I couldn't concentrate on anything else but the pain I was invoking on my eardrums. I kicked the bag with such force that I could feel the blood vessels pop.
     I grit my teeth and pushed myself harder.
     At this point, sweat was shining on my body and blood was smearing the bag and my hands.  There was still one thing left, though, that I had to release before I could clean up and go home.
     My sister's death.
     Sayaka had always been a bubbly girl, the starlight to my darkest nights. There was absolutely nothing that her large eyes and naive smile couldn't heal. She was the cure to mend a broken heart, just as her quirk had entailed: the ability to bring happiness to others.
It was a subtle quirk, not flashy and overall useless in any battle situation. She could simply bring joy to others, no matter how dire the circumstances or black the heart. A truly pure ability to possess, as taintless as her soul evidently became. My father didn't need her.
It was this power that lead to her death.
Without a true purpose or skill that could be lent to my father's cause, there was no reason to keep Saya and it quickly became apparent that he had no sway over her morals. In fact, she was so precious to me that I had begun to rebel too in order to protect her—so he disposed of her. As easily as if she were nothing more than a wilted flower that had lost its allure.
I remembered waking up in the middle of the night to her screams. Saya had been calling my name, begging for me to help. She was nowhere to be found, no matter how many rooms I searched. There was nothing but the fading echoes of her shrieks that would go on to haunt me for the rest of my life. It wasn't until I had circled back around to our shared room that I found her.
My father was a tactical man, he knew that I would eventually come back to our room in hopes of finding her—exactly as he had wanted. He wanted me to find her.
"Saya, baby, what was with all that screaming? You nearly gave me a heart attack." I spoke. "Did you have a nightmare?"
She never answered.
"Saya?" There was an acute feeling of dread collecting in my throat until I was so choked that speaking became a struggle. "Sayaka, answer me please."
Despite every fibre of my being screaming at me not to, I approached her tiny body and placed my hands on her shoulders. I shook her. No response.
"Come on, baby, this isn't funny." I chuckled brokenly through the tears spilling from my eyes. "Wake up."
Finally, my shaking had managed to roll her cold body onto her back. There she was. My baby sister, my light, my world, staring up at me with empty sockets where her brilliant green eyes should have been. Her brown hair was fanned out around her sickly pale skin like a twisted porcelain doll. She was pristine, completely untouched, not an ounce of blood on her face as if the holes in her eyes were nothing more than an illusion.
But the front of her frilly white nightgown was revealed to be soaked in blood after I had daintily removed her teddy bear from her tight grasp where she had been clutching it to her chest like a lifeline. Lacerations, tiny and precise, were carved into her fragile skin with the words 'This is what will become of those you love' boldly stroked in her own blood.
My wailing was the last thing I could remember.
A loud, feral shriek ripped from my throat in such a way that I could hear my vocal chords scraping themselves raw. I punched the bag with all that I had. It tore from its hooks and flew across the room, bouncing off the wall with a loud, resounding boom.
I was left heaving, shoulders shaking and fists trembling with a raw ache gnawing away at my chest. Suddenly, I was crying. Tears began streaming down my face as I allowed myself to sink to my knees and clutch at the fabric of my shirt.
     It felt like hours, but really it had only been minutes when a fluffy towel was thrown over my head. I hiccuped, carefully pulling the cloth down to cover my face.
     "Rough day?"
     My breath hitched. I peaked over my shoulder to verify what I already knew.
     "Something like that," I agreed, quickly turning away from Shinsou. "Stalking me now?"
     He was dressed up in basketball shorts and a black wife beater, knuckles wrapped up in bandages. Ready to train.
     "Hardly." He sighed. "Y'know, you've been hogging the training room for weeks now. I thought you'd have enough common courtesy to be gone by this hour and give someone else a chance."
     I laughed haughtily. "You could have just came in to train with me. It's a big room and there's more than just one punching bag."
     He didn't answer.
     I scoffed. "Didn't really think so."
Shinsou rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes cast downwards and to the side. Avoiding my gaze. "Look—"
"It's fine," I stood up abruptly. "I was just leaving anyways."
My head tilted forward to disguise my puffy eyes as I tossed the towel he had bestowed upon me harshly back into his face. The gratifying slew of muffled curses was enough to bring the ghost of a smirk to my lips.
I had just reached the doors to leave when a hand slammed into it directly above my head, sealing it shut. Quirking my brow, I turned to face the culprit.
"(Y/N), wait. I wasn't done yet."
My eyes rolled of their own volition. "No kidding."
He grit his teeth. There was a war behind those eyes like he couldn't quite decide what was wrong and what was right. "I haven't been meaning to—"
"Ignore me? Blow me off? Be blatantly rude?" I supplied helpfully.
Shinsou pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was going to say seem unwelcoming."
"So you're not unwelcoming?"
"Fuck, you're stubborn." Shinsou groaned.
I shrugged, scrunching my nose. "You're hard to follow. I thought you had wanted to be my friend, but clearly I was wrong."
"It's not like that—"
"Then why have you been avoiding me?" I demanded.
He scrubbed his hands roughly down his face. "It's complicated!"
"Complicated?" I sneered. "You know what's not complicated? Me leaving."
Before I could even reach the handle, Shinsou slammed the door shut again and began to fumble for another excuse.
Finally, he blurted, "Instinct."
My eyes hardened at the implication, remembering my own words from not too long ago. I already knew where this was going to go.
"Instinct."