Delinquents | bk.

[54]: Before the Switch

It was finally that time of the month.

I couldn't be more excited.

The time had finally come, that one short day in which my parents both finally left our family home to attend an important meeting, giving me some much needed alone time.

They didn't leave very often. They tried their best to keep an eye on me as much as possible, so that I couldn't endanger myself or them.

Back then, I was only five, but I already knew about and understood the horrid intentions my father had with me.

He was going to use me.

Like a toy.

A very powerful—potentially dangerous in the wrong hands—toy.

He was going to sell my power to anyone who wanted it. My quirk, Night Phoenix. It is a very strong one, that a lot of people would abuse if they got their hands on it.

Use me to perform tasks, participate in villainous activities, blackmail people, hurt people.

I couldn't think of anything worse.

I wanted to be a hero; to use my power for good and bring amends to this heavily unjustified world.

My father just wouldn't have that.

My mother also wanted to be a hero. And again, my father wouldn't allow it. Maybe that was where I got my dreams from? Because I never had TV, I had to hear about the hero world from her stories.

Her perspective.

It was pretty cool—I loved listening to her talk wonders about the beautiful, most equipped and competent pro heroes.

But if father ever caught her telling me those stories, he'd scold her for surfacing things in front of me that he wanted to keep hidden.

He didn't care about my dreams.

In fact, i'd argue that he didn't even care about me. He just needed my power.

All my father was planning to do with me, and what he had in stock for my entire life, was to sell me to the ones who were willing to pay for me.

A lot of people were.

Though, he had to wait until I got stronger. I didn't have enough control of my powerful quirk to sell it with any real consistency.

That's why I wasn't allowed to leave the house.

I wasn't allowed to talk to my siblings.

I wasn't allowed to be a child.

Never.

If I wasn't in the training court basement, I was in my bedroom trying to heal the wounds I bore from the last training my father forced me to participate in.

Looking back, I was always crying.

Either I was crying because of the physical strife my quirk often put me in, or because of the mental and physical abuse my father treated me with.

Always so sad.

Something that brought a huge amount of excitement into my life, was the maid my mother hired when the meetings they had to attend started becoming more consecutive.

They had less opportunities to keep eyes on me. There was more time for me to act up.

Not like I did—I was terrified of my father.