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Shinso woke up feeling…off.
Groggy, numbed, and floaty.
His body felt…smothered as if all senses had been turned off, leaving him in a haze of bone-melting fuzz. His eyelids felt heavy as if they were glued shut, but he forced them open because something was wrong—it was too quiet, too still, too…foreign. The way his body failed to respond, how it ached seemingly from the inside out, sluggish and frustratingly muted to his surroundings, was wrong; it had all the tells of something sinister at work.
He needed to know what was going on, where he ended up this time. But most importantly, why was he here? But the moment he cracked an eye open, his world spun, and things blurred, tunneling and blackening at the edges.
“No…don’t…” He told himself, attempting to take a few deep breaths, but coming out as shaky fragments. He was not going to pass out. Not here.
The tunneling sensation faded, but the moment of reprieve simply led way to an array of unnecessary symptoms. His head throbbed, pulsing behind his eyes, and his stomach churned, reacting to the phantom spinning his head was concocting. And everything was muffled, out of reach, like he had put on the world's strongest sound-dampening headphones known to man. The sounds, the lights, and even his thoughts—they were too distant; unreachable.
He tried to look, see where he was. But his head kept lolling to the side, barely under his control, and the slight movement made the scene shift, refusing to stay still. But through the few moments of stagnancy, he squinted through the haze, making sense of where he was, but this place…nothing made sense—bricked walls? Shadows? A ceiling? And the dimmed lights? All these structures—shapes, just drifted in and out of focus, warped and slow.
His panic rose, chest tightening as the anxiety simmered under his skin. He was so confused, and it scared him. He needed a way out.
But when he tried to move again—lift his arm, something stopped him. Shinso looked down, head threatening to fall like a sack of sand, but keeping it as coordinated as it could be. His wrists were strapped onto the armrests of some rickety, wooden chair, and when he attempted to kick, nothing moved; it was the same resistance. He could feel, through the numbness, that they were also restrained.
“Dam…” Shinso breathed out.
He was stuck. Trapped. Drugged. He didn’t know where he was or who had brought him here. He didn’t even know how he got here. It was all a blur in his muddled mind. But he knew one thing: he had to get out. So, he pulled—again and again. It was all he could do. But the odious weight in his brick-heavy limbs made the effort feel futile; he might as well have been squirming instead of pulling.
Soon, the door opened, and light flooded in. The rays stabbed through his retinas with nauseating consequences. They attacked like knives, causing his head to pound with ferocity, the sensation simply making the vertigo worse.
Shinso willed to keep his eyes straight—open, eager to see. Someone walked in; his kidnapper was here.
“Ah. You're awake.” A male voice announced. His tone was balanced, right between youthful sharpness and matured pitch. He could tell whoever took him was young. But through the blur and the light shining behind him, casting a deep shadow on him, he could not discern his features. The only thing he could make out was the wavy hair that seemed messy and unkept.
“You were out for quite some time…I thought I killed you there for a second.” The man informed, stepping in and flipping a light switch. Immediately, the place was plunged in brightness as the fluorescent lights from above sprang to life.
Shinso immediately screwed his eyes shut, the white, hot glare sending daggers through his vision.
“I’ll be careful next time.”
He heard something scratching the floor, metal against concrete. Curious, barring the pain from the brightness, he pried his eyes open to gaze at the source of the sound.
He recoiled in shock. There, sitting right in front of him, was him—his kidnapper. His hair was a striking shade of platinum white, glowing in the harsh light, and his eyes—cold and piercing—were a steely gray that seemed to cut through the air. He was dressed entirely in black: a fitted turtleneck, tailored slacks, and sleek satin gloves that clung to his fingers. A black face mask obscured the lower half of his face, adding an eerie, unreadable quality to his presence.
He crossed one leg over the other, letting his ankle rest on his opposite knee. One hand rested on the propped leg while the other held his chin in a pensive manner. He looked at Shinso, speculative, as if something about him would unlock some unsolved mystery that he had been searching for.
“I’m glad we were able to find you. But it sure wasn’t easy. Although I am not sure why you fought us…we were trying to protect you from those heroes. You should know that they will hurt you. After all, we are villains in their eyes.” The guy explained.
Shinso’s eyes bulged in shock, dumbfounded by what he just said. His thoughts were still jumbly from whatever drugs he had given him, but those words—they screamed loudly in his hazy mind.
“W-We?” He whispered, forcing a snarl through the slurs. “V-Villains…no…I’m not—”
The guy sighed, “You poor soul.” He leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms, “Your quirk, it’s dangerous. It’s not something meant for a hero, and yet, here you are, playing hero, hoping that they will accept you somehow.”
Shinso listened, heart pounding.
“I tried that…we all tried that. We had the hope that they would accept us, but they never did, so now here we are. They see us as villains, through and through, so that is exactly what we will be. We have saved many like you from that heartbreak. Because no matter what good you do, they will never accept you.” He explained.
Shinso’s hands trembled, clammy with sweat from his growing anxiety mixed with his overwhelming anger. This guy was spilling absolute nonsense.
Saving him? From the heroes? What kind of bullshit was that?!
He had always wanted to be a hero. Yes, climbing through the stigma was hard at first. Everyone told him his quirk would be perfect for a villain, not worthy for heroism. But he worked to prove them wrong, and his efforts earned him a place in the hero course. His quirk can be used for heroism, and he will never, ever, use his power for something so devious.
“You’re—crazy.” Shinso barked. “I never said I needed—saving! I choose to use my—quirk for good—for heroism. Every—every quirk can be used for—bad, not only the so-called—villainous.” Shinso explained as best as he could through the headache, nausea, and the cotton that filled his mouth. “You didn’t—save me, you—kidnapped me. I will never—join you, so let me—go!”
“Man.” Again, he sighed. “They really did brainwash you…pretty ironic.” He chuckled. “No worries. Guess you will just have to see for yourself what they really think of you. Maybe then you will see who you really are.”
“What?” Shinso mumbled.
“Hmmm.” The man thought. “A demonstration, maybe? Of your powers.”
His heart was pounding, but he remained firm, strong. He was not going to go along with whatever this guy was planning. “Like hell! I will not—do a single thing you—say?!”
The man chuckled. “Who said you’ll do it willingly?”
Shinso’s breathing hitched.
“We are quite similar, Shinso. You and me. Mind control quirks…they aren’t common, but when people like us manifest them, they see us as monsters. Villains in the making. And I know you. Just like me, you are quite resistant to basic mind control powers. But my power…it’s quite unique in the sense that I can attack thoughts directly, stop them, erase them, and even change them. That’s why they are so scared of me. I can easily disrupt their reality or put them in a vegetative state. And all it takes is touch…any skin-to-skin contact.” He removed his glove and inched closer. Shinso instinctively backed away, but the chair pressed against his back. A barrier—keeping him trapped with no escape.
“No…get the hell—away!” Shinso shouted.
“You are not a hero. You are a villain, like us, and they will see it—you will see it.”
Shinso watched, mortified, as the villain reached for his hand—his exposed skin. He tried to wiggle, escape his approaching touch. But he couldn’t move; these bindings, the drugs, they kept him locked with nowhere to go.
“We’ll talk again once you've had your—awakening.”
Then, his fingers touched his hand, and immediately, his thoughts quieted—muted—until there was nothing. No spark. No fear. No confusion. Not even silence just—nothing.
“Follow me.”
He followed, standing up, not even noticing his bindings that no longer strapped him in. Eyes were open but hollow, blinking without purpose. He could breathe; he could move, but only through strings, on the hands of the puppeteer.
He was there—but not truly. No will. No “I am.” Nothing urging him to run, to fight, to feel. His body moved, but it wasn’t his.
He was codeless. Empty. Purposeless. Emotionless.
And the worst part?
He didn’t even feel afraid of what was coming.
He couldn’t.
The sounds—they were muffled as if he were swimming in the depths of the deepest oceans. But they weren’t just any sounds; they sounded scared, panicked. Horrified.
But why?
He blinked—once, twice, allowing the light to flood back into his eyes.
“S’OP—”
“’ELP!”
There was screaming, words that were half-formed in his befuddled head. But he couldn’t make sense of them, and the shapes blurring together as if the aperture in a camera was lowered, created a confusing mass, making everything exceptionally disorienting.
He brought his hands to his face to rub his eyes, hoping to wipe the haze and make sense of what was happening, why everything was so confusing—too much. But he stopped midway, his hands raised to his eyes, after noticing the horrifying scene etched into his skin.
Blood.
His hands—there was blood, dripping and everywhere.
Shinso stared, his gaze snapping wide, frozen in horror.
“No…”
And in that instant, his sense cleared, immediately and suddenly. He could hear everything—see everything. Things were moving fast, too fast for him to process. But it was horrific, Shinso had no idea what to do, what to say other than remain there, frozen, stunned with petrifying fear. And watch the chaotic scene taking place.
He could tell he was standing in the middle of a road—a busy street. He knew this place, it’s a popular tourist area in the city where various stores, restaurants, and entertainment centers are open to cater to both locals and out-of-town visitors. It’s a place of excitement, of memories. But now…there’s fear, people running away from…
Him.
From…others?
There were people—citizens fighting others in a blind rage, using their quirks in whatever means possible to inflict harm, while others were doing everything they could to cause as much destruction as possible. So much was happening, and Shinso watched, helpless as his surroundings cascaded into chaos.
“No! Yuki! It’s me! Don’t do this!” Shinso twisted around to see a woman on the ground as a man, his face blank and expressionless, approached her, wielding a knife—the blade glinting menacingly in the dim light of the setting sun.
“No—”
“I will not run.”
He moved, but a thought ran through his mind, and suddenly, he couldn’t run. His feet stayed planted, glued to the ground.
“But I need to—”
“I will not help them.”
And he was stuck because he was compelled. A part of him knew he should help, but couldn’t, because why should he? He didn’t want to help him. But at the same time, he did, he wanted to move, but that thought settled like truth in his bones. So, he let them be and watched, horrified yet intrigued, as the woman screamed in panic.
“He did this to you! He-He!” She pointed at Shinso, anger and fury clear in her glistening eyes, filled with pain and—betrayal. “His quirk—a villain!”
“I’m—”
“I won’t say anything. I can’t help them.”
His mouth zipped, and he didn’t know why, but it didn’t feel forced; it felt…right. Natural. Like it’s what he should do.
But it’s not, he thought, but it left. Too late.
“He’s a villain!!!”
And that snapped him back. The word hit him like a slap. Something in him lurched. That was wrong. No. Villain? That wasn’t him. That wasn’t who he was. But he didn’t have time to react—the man drove the knife down, plunging it into the woman’s abdomen, right between her ribs. She screamed, then coughed—wet, gurgling—blood spilling fast. And then...silence. Only a few feeble breaths escaped before her body went still, her eyes glassing over before becoming blank. Lifeless.
The worst part…the guy woke up.
He blinked, and then he saw the horrific scene before him and the blade—the blood smothering his hands.
“No…” He whispered. Shinso watched, listening as fear tightened around the man's voice. “Aoi…no…no!!! Someone help—help me!!”
He cradled the lifeless woman in his arms, and Shinso, in the back of his mind, wanted to help, but he couldn’t…
The guy saw him, frozen in place, and snarled.
“Get the hell away!! You did this! You’re sick!! What kind of hero does this?! You’re no hero! You’re nothing but a—villain!!”
Shinso’s throat tightened
You’re a villain.
Dread dawned at his insides as the words echoed in his skull—sharp, too familiar. They fit, and that terrified him.
I did this…but how? I don’t…remember—I don’t…how?
“No, I—” He began, but another thought yelled louder.
“I’m going to walk away and leave him because I am a villain. I am responsible for this.”
And deep down, he believed it, but he shouldn’t, but he did.
So, he left, leaving the man as he cried and wailed on the woman’s body, and Shinso didn’t cry. He wanted to—his chest ached to respond—but couldn’t, the tears wouldn’t come. Instead, one slipped free, trailing down his cheeks like it belonged to someone else. Deep inside, he knew this was wrong…but it felt right. Because a villain does this, and he was one.
He walked, aimlessly, and people watched him. Some were yelling, telling him to stop this.
Maybe I should.
Too late.
“I won’t stop this.”
And so, he didn’t.
He let the chaos continue.
“My head…hurts,” Shinso whispered, walking as his path twisted without reason. He used his quirk too much; he knew that. People were still under—too many of them. They were tugging at his mind, and it hurt.
I’m just gonna let some go—
“I am going to keep the control, and I will not let go no matter what.”
“Right…” Shinso agreed and didn’t let the control go—for any of them. His head pounded with excruciating power, but he did not stop.
“I’m a villain. Villains do this.” Shinso murmured. “And I should—I should be…happy.” He gulped.
He should feel powerful. Shouldn’t he?
No, he shouldn’t.
But he should because this was…right.
“Stop him!!”
“If we stop him, this ends!!”
“Lock him up!!”
There were shouts. Shinso stopped and looked at them, his gaze vacant but conflicted.
Were they here to stop this…him? Should he let them stop him? Was that…right?
Was something wrong?
There is something wrong—
Late—again.
“I will use my quirk and have them kill each other. I will also fight them and kill those spared.”
His mind—his thoughts screamed again, seemingly natural and normal. He wasn’t sure if this was right or if this was wrong. But he’s a villain. That’s what everyone is saying and what his thoughts are telling him, and what he believes to be true. But still—there’s this…conflict. Like, this wasn’t okay.
But…
He moved.
I should.
The conflict in his head quieted down.
His hand moved to grasp his capture weapon, keeping the rough fabric wrapped between his fingers, ready to attack. He zeroed in on the chaos, urging him, almost tantalizing him.
“I am a villain. I will use my quirk and have them kill each other. I will also fight them and kill those spared.”
His mind repeated.
It’s what I should do.
Civilians saw him and began to run, but some weren’t so lucky. They were injured, clearly unable to escape from a trained hero. Helplessly, they watched, their faces ashen as he approached.
“G-Get away!”
“Are you scared?” Shinso asked.
“Stop—”
He grabbed him. One down.
I have to.
“Stand up,” Shinso ordered, and the guy followed, unseeing eyes staring nowhere. “Use your quirk and anything at your disposal and kill them.” He commanded, pointing at the crowd.
The man did not hesitate. He turned heel and charged at the group, still trying to flee from the teenager. The man activated his quirk, wind swirling around him. Shinso recognized it as wind-based, which was perfect.
“I am having fun.”
Shinso chuckled. He locked eyes with a woman, trying to scramble away from him. “Isn’t this fun?”
“What—”
Another one grasped in his fingers.
“Use your quirk and anything at your disposal and kill them.”
Just like the guy, she followed. She took off in a sprint, golden energy pulsing from her feet like crackling flame, scorching the ground with every step before she flew off. And in an instant, she was obeying his command—unable to resist, completely at his mercy.
And Shinso smiled.
He smiled as his pawn followed his requests, wilding their quirks to bring the end of these civilians. Shinso didn’t stop it because this was okay. It was just.
“I will go and kill those who are left.”
“Yeah…” He suspired. He charged himself into the madness. Into the fight that he…created.
But this was needed.
He was a villain. That’s what villains do.
He saw a guy. He looked young, trying to hide behind a rumble. But Shinso saw him and immediately he hurdled himself into the air, doing a front flip over where the man was hiding and quickly wrapping him in his bindings. He forcefully pulled him and dislodged him from his little safety nook. He let him roll onto the middle of the street before stopping, coughing as the cloth constricted tightly over his lungs.
“No…” The guy whispered, petrified.
Shinso dragged his feet forward, gaze fixed and unblinking as he kept the capture weapon locked between his fingers. And the man, horrified, eyes wild with terror. But Shinso didn’t care. He prowled closer, savoring the fear.
“Get—away!” He hissed.
“I will kill him.”
With unsettling calm, Shinso slipped the knife from his belt, fingers curling tight around the handle, certainty anchoring every movement.
Once he was inches away, gazing at those horror-stricken, hazel eyes, he kneeled and lifted the knife, ready to be plunged.
“Please…” The guy’s voice wavered, pleading.
I have to.
I need to.
This is okay.
“Don’t…do this.” He spoke.
“I will kill him.”
“I have to,” Shinso replied. “Because—because I’m a—” He grasped the knife. “A villain!”
He let gravity take hold, but suddenly—
“STOP!!!”
Someone shouted.
Then something shifted, something rattled within his thoughts. This strange haze he had suddenly lifted, and his mind screamed, panicked and firm.
“This is wrong!”
“This is wrong!”
“Stop! STOP!!”
Shinso yelped. He followed; he stopped. His hands halted, mid-air, inches away from meeting skin. His breath caught because he remembered.
He remembered.
He immediately stood up and staggered backward, eyes wide with sudden and overpowering fear. He dropped the knife, clattering to the ground with a jarring clink, then skittered away in a series of harsh scrapes. He dropped his hold on the scarf, letting the tension subside and allowing the man to move. And he did. He escaped the bindings and, without hesitation, stumbled to his feet before running away.
And Shinso…he didn’t bother to say, “I am sorry.” Because how could he? He was seconds away from killing him and—
Shinso’s breathing caught in his throat, his heart stammering.
The others.
He hadn’t released his control. Without a moment to waste, he willed his mind to break the connection—but nothing happened. The strings—so many of them—remained taut, unyielding. His head throbbed from the effort, the pressure building as he fought to stop his quirk from fueling this madness.
His chest heaved as panic rose. Air wouldn’t come fast, immediately sucked away with each shallow breath he took.
This—all of this was his fault, and he couldn’t stop it.
And he remembered.
Everything he did.
How happy he was.
How natural it felt.
He fell to his knees, bile rising in his throat. Hands pressed to the sides of his head as if he squeezed hard enough, he could force the memory out. But the attempt was futile.
“I didn’t mean to—It wasn’t me—”
But it was.
It was him.
The blood—his hands—he did this.
“Shinso!!!”
It’s all his fault.
“Kid!”
His fault.
“Hey!”
A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled, turning him over and forcing him to meet eye-to-eye with someone, red, bright eyes beaming at him.
He knew him.
“Mr. A-Aizawa?”
He was breathing, heavily, like he had just run a marathon. And his eyes—he didn’t blink. They remained bright, pupils emanating a hue of crimson red.
“What—”
“It worked…I managed to erase the effects, but for now.” Aizawa commented. “The quirk is still active, which means that the villain is still around.” He concluded.
Villain…
“Oh my god, Shinso!” He heard another voice. Then, someone appeared next to Aizawa. Midoriya. “I’m so glad you are okay!”
“Midoriya. We need to get him out of here. He is still under the quirk’s effect, and it isn’t just affecting his thinking but his ability to use his quirk. We need to isolate him and—restrain him.”
Shinso couldn’t help but jolt after hearing those words.
Restrain him.
That only meant one thing.
He was dangerous. He caused this. Of course, they were going to restrain him—that's what heroes do before sending someone far away. They are locking him up, throwing him in a place where he belongs, where villains are meant to go.
He let his eyes drift to his hands, eyes wobbly with tears. He gazed at the crimson liquid staining his hands, cloaking his skin in a thick layer of red, making them feel heavier than they should. And the smell. Thick. Pungent. Metallic. It hit his nose, mixing with the dust, grime, and gore of the scene—iron and salt and something unmistakably human.
“I’m a—villain.” Shinso whispered, his hands trembling. “I caused this—I hurt them, and I don’t remember—what I did and how but—the blood.”
“Don’t worry about that. This isn’t—your fault.” Shinso heard him, noticing how his teacher’s voice faltered. “We will deal with this…but this isn’t your fault. None of this is.”
From the screaming and chaos circling his mind, he could hear shouts. They sounded familiar. He peeked over his teacher's and classmate’s shoulders and noticed movement, known colors. And quickly, he recognized who they were. His class. 2-A. They were here, attempting to stop the mess that he produced.
They worked diligently to restrain the civilians before knocking them out, all in an effort to stop their mindless rampage.
An outcome he caused.
He couldn’t hold it; his tears fell like rivulets.
His quirk. It’s a curse. He let this happen, and now here he was, pinged as a villain. Aizawa and Midoriya said otherwise, but the damage was done. The world saw what a quirk like his, left uncontrolled, can do.
He couldn’t stay here. He had to go. He had to run away. He was dangerous. He could snap at any moment and do something to them. To the people he cares about.
He could…kill them like he did to that woman.
He couldn’t let that happen—he couldn’t!
He pushed to stand, but Aizawa kept his hold firm, “Wow, it’s okay, Shinso. We are just—”
Shinso’s insistence exploded, “No! I’m dangerous! I need to go—leave me alone!”
With anger, fear, and anxiety brewing at dangerous levels, he pulled his arm back and hit Aizawa straight in the face, causing the villain to fall back and forcing him to close his eyes.
And instantly, a switch flipped.
“I will kill them.”
“Aizawa!” Midoriya screamed, tending to his teacher.
“I’m okay! But Shinso—I broke eye contact!”
Shinso knew what he had to do. He stood up and gazed at Midoriya, emerald eyes locked on lavender. He grabbed his captured weapon and squeezed, knowing what he had to do.
“Crap!” Midoriya shouted.
“I will kill them.”
“Use it, Midoriya!”
There was a flash of green, but Shinso reacted. He knew how he fought.
“I will kill him.”
He will do it. It’s what he had to do.
He flung his capture weapon, ready to ensnare his classmate, but the cloth met air. Shinso looked at the empty space, perplexed.
“I will kill!”
He had to find him.
“I will kill!!”
Now!
“Shinso…”
There he was.
“I’m sorry.”
Then he felt something—a sharp prick. Shinso yelped.
He stopped and brought a hand to his neck. “What…”
But before he could do anything, his world twisted, fuzzing and blurring as his limbs began to feel distant. His thoughts lagged a few blinks behind the rest, sleep hanging on him like a wet cloak as his mind struggled to pull free.
Soon, his knees faltered, weighted by rubber. He fell, but someone caught him.
“Gotcha.”
Green hair and bright, green light wrapped around him, creating a neon film over his surroundings. It’s him again. Midoriya.
“It’s okay…things will be okay just—rest.”
And that’s what he did. With no strength left to resist, he let the darkness creep in, its quiet pull dragging him into a deep and heavy sleep.
Awareness came to him gradually. He felt groggy, sluggish, and slow. His muscles were lead-weight, impossible to move.
His consciousness kept wavering, up and down, pulling him back to the tantalizing, quiet hum of sleep yet urging him back to the thunderous and seemingly frantic scenery of the wakeful world.
And it was loud but…muffled. A soft beeping echoed and bounced off the walls of whatever place he was in, steady and melodic. It was kind of relaxing, lulling even. The rhythmic pulse seemed to soothe senses that should’ve been bursting with anxiety, but everything felt dulled, muted by something he couldn’t quite place.
Then there was the smell.
Sharp and clinical.
Like a…like a…
Hospital.
Then he knew. He was somewhere else, some place different. A place where he shouldn’t be.
Ignoring his body’s pleas, he opened his lead-heavy eyes and sat up in a panicked haze. The loudness—the beeping from what he assumed was the heart monitor turned frantic, matching the fear mixing inside him before exploding outward. It was loud, too loud. But he was here, in a hospital. In a place of healing.
He shouldn’t be here.
Even through the fog, he knew what he did. He remembered.
Why was he here?
He shouldn’t be here. Not after what he did.
“Shinso!”
His breathing hitched. He turned to look at the source of the sound, his eyes locking on the owner of the shout.
“Mr. A-Aizawa?” He whispered, noticing the ragged man seated beside him, a hand on his lap which held him down yet remained gentle.
“Yeah…it’s me. Glad to see you're awake, kid.” Aizawa informed.
Shinso looked at him, his thoughts lagging a few seconds behind, but understanding who was seated there—knowing why. And upon realizing that, he averted his gaze. He looked down at his sheet as his fingers tensed, grabbing onto the thin, white fabric like it was the only thing grounding him, keeping him from falling into a spiral of despair that was too heavy for him to carry.
“Why am I—here?” Shinso asked, voice shaking.
Aizawa seemed to jolt as if surprised by that question.
“What do you mean—I mean, you are here because you had quite a few injuries as well as a bad case of quirk exhaustion. They are keeping you here to—”
“No! That’s not what I meant.” Shinso blurted out, quickly dialing back after feeling a sharp pang on his head, behind his eyes. “I mean—after what I did, my quirk, why am I here? I could—I could hurt—people.” He gazed at his wrists, lips wobbly. “I should be locked up or at least restrained. I’m dangerous…my quirk’s dangerous. They all saw what can happen when I lose control of it…”
“Kid…what happened out there was not your fault…” Aizawa said, gazing at the distraught teenager.
“No! It is! I hurt them…I—I killed people. What kind of hero am I? I kept thinking these thoughts as I looked at the chaos, and I don’t remember what the hell happened! But I—I had blood in my hands, and when I think I woke up—I saw the destruction!” Shinso paused. His voice caught, strangled by the pressure in his throat. “I lost control, and now here I am. I have no idea how, but I-I did, and because of that I shouldn’t be here…I’m a v-villain. I always have been.”
Aizawa’s eyes shot wide with shock. “Shinso…do you—remember what happened? Like how you got to that street in the first place?”
“How I—” Shinso stopped, thinking hard, but oddly, his mind was blank. That was strange. How did he not remember how he ended up on the street? How he had just “woken up”? “No…I—don’t.” He replied, horrified. “What—what happened?”
“Crap…I thought we removed all of the effects from the quirk, but either there were side effects or there are still some remnants.” Aizawa began, getting a confused head tilt from Shinso. “Well, short story short, you were kidnapped. The ones responsible were this group of villains who believed in reformation. They did this by grabbing kids or teenagers with supposed “villain quirks” and making them into villains through coercion and manipulation. You were grabbed on your way back to UA. The head of this group has a quirk known as “thought manipulation”. It’s essentially a mind control quirk that targets the individual’s thoughts directly.
“When activated through touch, he can play with someone’s thoughts in whichever way he wants. He can completely stop thinking, delete thoughts, and even add them. He can hide himself as one's own and make the person feel like their thinking is theirs when it is not.”
Shinso listened, terror evident in his pupils as his stomach dropped. “Wait, so I was—mind controlled?”
Aizawa nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. The reason you don’t remember part of the incident was because he stopped your thinking while you were in the scenario. And when he added thoughts for you to—act, he just deleted them afterward. But when you 'woke up’, he didn’t delete your thoughts, that’s why you remembered. And since you don’t remember your capture, it seems like he did the same for the time you were captured…we don’t know if those memories are just suppressed and will return once unblocked, or if they were deleted entirely. I’ll have to talk to your doctor about that.”
As he listened, he couldn’t help but wince. The headache continued to spread, travelling to the back of his head. “So, the reason I don’t remember was because of him. And what happened—everything—was because of him.” Shinso lay back down, his back pressing onto the propped pillows. The ground felt unsteady, like his reality had shifted a few inches off center. Good thing he was lying down, or he wouldn’t have the strength to stay standing due to the sheer trembling his body was experiencing.
“Yeah…this isn’t your fault. Nobody thinks it’s your fault. The villain was apprehended, and his crimes have been made public. So, they should know you were not in your right mind when you acted.” Aizawa assured. “Of course, I’m sure it’s easier said than done.”
Shinso agreed. It was reassuring to know that he didn’t do this of his own accord, that the actions he committed were as a result of a quirk. But still, there was blood on his hands, quirk or no quirk. He made someone—many—kill each other. His words…his own quirk caused so much harm and destruction, and the guilt of it was just too suffocating and heavy.
What he saw—he couldn’t get it out of his head. He still remembered seeing the absolute agony of the man who killed the woman. And how he snapped at him, calling him a villain—that moment replayed in his head, looping like a broken film reel. He wrapped his cold and clammy hands around his stomach, twisting and churning as nausea curled up his throat.
“It might not be my fault, but my hands are still stained. My quirk is dangerous, and I saw—everyone saw—what happens if I lose control of it. How the hell am I going to gain the public’s trust again? Their reliance is kind of the only way I can continue being a hero.” Shinso asked, mind swirling at a hundred miles per second.
“You show them,” Aizawa stated.
Shinso’s breathing skipped. “Huh?”
“You have to show them, Shinso. Prove to them that you are a hero, use your quirk for good, and let that outshine the bad.” Aizawa voiced. “The public knows this wasn’t your fault. All you need to do is reassure them that you can use your quirk for good. Yes, mind control quirks like yours can and have been seen as a threat. But remember, any quirk can be made to be seen as villainous if perceptions change or be wielded for villainy.”
Shinso let a weak smile form at the corner of his lips, taking in his teacher’s words. “T-Thanks for that, and I—I will. I mean—I have been doing that my whole life; I just have to keep—at it.”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, those with quirks that have been afflicted by stereotypes need to work harder to be accepted, but you have been doing an amazing job at breaking it. I’m sure you can get through this barrier. Also, make sure to rely on your classmates, especially now that you’re in the hero course. You’ve been doing a better job at it, but you still have a tendency to shut yourself off.” Aizawa scolded.
Shinso couldn’t help but blush mildly from embarrassment after being called out by his teacher. “I’m—well, I have—been getting help! Midoriya has been helping me understand how my quirk can be used for heroics, including rescue—I didn’t ask him to help, but he insisted, and now he won’t leave me alone.”
Aizawa chuckled. “Yeah. That is something Midoriya would do.”
“But he has been a huge help, truly. I’m grateful. For him and everyone in my class.” Shinso concluded.
“Talking about those problem children, they are eager to see you. You were supposed to get discharged today, but after your little amnesia discovery, I’m not sure about that.” Aizawa stood up. “Well, regardless, you’ll see them eventually.”
Shinso smiled as a quiet laugh slipped out. “Well, at least I can get some peace and quiet before the chaos of class 2-A.”
“I guess so. Well, I have to go. I will warn your doctor on my way out. We will see what he says.” Aizawa informed.
“Sounds good.” Shinso agreed. “Thanks, Mr. Aizawa, and tell Midoriya I said thanks for helping me out back there.”
Aizawa nodded as he headed out the door, grasping the handle. “Will do. Make sure you get some rest. I’ll see you later.” And with that, he opened the door and stepped out, gently closing the door behind him.
Shinso let his head rest on the pillow and, with a deep exhale his let his eyes droop closed. A wave of tiredness suddenly hit him—probably from the quirk exhaustion. He creaked his eyes open and gazed at the window, seeing the fiery colors of the setting sun. Warm hues melted into each other—tangerine bleeding into magenta, then violet swallowing them whole before turning into blue.
He knew things wouldn’t be the same. He won’t be the same. But as the end came to a close—as the sun sank, the sky burned with promise. Things will be okay.
He worked so hard to get here. He was not going to let one villain ruin that for him.
He is a hero.
His quirk is heroic.
He let his eyes close and welcomed the lull of sleep with a calm heart and the faintest trace of a smile.