"Don't let me go."
"Don't worry, I won't ever let you go. I promise."
Ikari's scar is the first thing that people notice. And it drives them away, since it is the symbol of her father, one of the most feared villains of all time... before he died.
...
"I'd gladly cut them to pieces if I get the chance."— Ikari Hebinoya
WRATH OF THE SERPENT
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*warning: slight violence, slight language
POV—Hebinoya Ikari
Villain Attack
Don't let me go.
I'm not made for rescue training.
My Quirk isn't ideal for heroism, more for villainy.
Father never trained me to rescue people.
I was taught to kill.
I wonder how this will turn out.
Don't let me go.
"For today's hero basic training, it's turned into a class with three instructors: All Might, me, and another person."
Turned into?
His wording is strange.
"Sir, what will we be doing?"
"Disasters, shipwrecks, and everything in between. It's rescue training."
The class mutters amongst themselves. I thought I'd be more excited for this exercise, but the truth is that... I'm not. I know that I am not made for rescue training— I have a lethal Quirk, and it is not suited to save others. When I am in battle, I get fired up, and I want to use my Quirk without any constraints. Rescuing something does not require a lethal Quirk, but it is essential to becoming a hero.
"—I'm not done yet. You can decide if you want to wear your costume or not this time, because they may limit your abilities." The compartments behind Aizawa slides out, revealing our uniforms. "The training will take place off-campus, so we're taking a bus. That is all. Start getting ready."
Don't let me go.
"Class 1-A! Gather round!" Iida blows a shrill whistle, his glasses flashing with distinct authority. He instructs the rest of the class, using his usual eloquence. "Form two lines by your student numbers in order to make boarding the bus go smoothly!"
I sigh, silently reminding myself that he is the class representative. Technically, we are supposed to listen to him, but I still want to slap the whistle out of his mouth.
We're not first graders, you know.
When we finally board the bus after Iida's rigid instructions, I need to hold back a laugh to find that the bus' seats are situated in such a way that many of the students will sit facing each other. Iida's face turns from determined to disappointed as his mouth hangs open. At least he's not completely wrong— the back of the bus still have a few rows of twos.
