Schrödinger's cat

The cat is inside the box

Notes

This is a translation of my own fanfic, O Gato de Schrödinger.
As warnings there are mentions os peadofilia and sexual abuse, panic attacks, torture and violence, as well as some spoilers from the manga, including the spin-off Illegals.
Also some grammar errors, that I hope you can help me with.

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"Nothing's over yet, the cat is still in there."

- Emily St. John Mandel, The Singer's Gun

His awakening was abrupt, his breath coming out in a great gulp of air, like a man escaping from the depths and finally finding the oxygen he needed.

His awakening was not painless either. His hands were the main source of agony: crooked and bloody, arms so thin it took seconds to realize that they were his own.

The weirdest thing, though, was the weight inside his chest. Something that seemed to inflate like a balloon, taking space and his breath away, devouring him inside out.

He sat reluctantly, more pains present with each movement, his eyes burning terribly with the light between the trees, his ears beeping at the sounds around him. Minutes passed before he could focus, watery, confused eyes peering around, only to lose his breath again.

Rocks and fallen logs floated around him as far as he could see in the forest.

Izuku hugged his crushed hands to his chest, his eyes wide. The pain in his chest getting worse, burning and suffocating him.

His eyes rolled in their sockets and everything was gone again.

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Memory is one of the most complex processes to be performed by the human brain. At all times we are acquiring, storing and retrieving information, aided by our senses, fundamental in the process of assimilation and invocation of what we have learned.

Izuku had always been fascinated by this process, something important when doing his analysis. He knew about the areas of the brain responsible for the storage, the process of building mental palaces and, of course, factors that hinder or block this operation.

And so he immediately understood what the hero was telling him. He had understood at the moment he had woken up in the forest, confused and with objects floating around him.

Between examinations and visits by heroes and detectives aside, he had discovered that he had been missing for two months. A few days ago, someone had reported him roaming a deserted road in another city, and took him to the nearest police station.

His last memory had been of returning from school after Bakugou tossed his notebook out the window, after that he only remembered waking up in the woods, alone, and how he had walked for hours until he had found a road. And now, apparently, he had a quirk. It was something he had always dreamed of having.

He had a quirk, a more powerful version of what his mother had.

Izuku glanced at his hands in his lap, feeling the silent hero's eyes analyzing him from the chair beside the bed. He ignored him, focusing on the wrong angle of his fingers, even healed, and the strangely darkened nails. Scars were covering every inch he could see of the crooked fingers. He had not observed what else was wrong, but it was impossible not to realize that when he could not close his own hands.

"A hidden quirk can be wakened by specific triggers or, in certain cases, extreme trauma."

He swallowed the bile. There was no enthusiasm for this new development. Just something dark, a heaviness in his chest whenever his breath came out of control and some object floated in the room. The mere sight of his quirk made him gag.