'What the fuck?' I thought, staring at the spot where Emiko Sakamoto had just vanished. 'Ugh, that was Ryuga's mother… But why did she act like that? So quiet, like she didn't want to be noticed… like I wasn't supposed to see her.'
I pressed my palms into the mattress and shook my head. 'Calm down. Think. Slowly. Piece by piece. First step… remember. Everything. All the memories I got from Ryuga.'
I laid back, closing my eyes, letting the memories trickle through me. Some hit fast, jagged, and sharp; others crawled in slow and soft like smoke through cracks in a wall.
The Sakamoto family. Once a happy family of four. Laughter in the house, warmth in the kitchen, and small victories celebrated like they were monumental. Ryuga's father alive, smiling, guiding, joking. Hana, always smiling and supportive. Emiko kept everyone together with that quiet patience only mothers had.
Then came the truth: Ryuga was quirkless. His dream of becoming a hero shattered. But somehow, life held; it didn't fall apart immediately. Life continued, fragile but still good. Parents who cared, a sister who smiled, a home that seemed safe.
Until Ryuga's father died. His name… fuck, I can't remember. But the moment left a crack that nothing could repair. Hana changed first, her anger and bitterness growing sharp, slicing into the home. Emiko pulled back, becoming distant in quiet ways.
'If I think logically,' I thought, leaning my forehead against my knees, 'Emiko, being quirkless herself, probably feels responsible for Ryuga not having a quirk. Hana… she has a quirk, so she feels she has to shoulder everything. Protect the family, make the money, and do what Ryuga can't. She's sacrificing herself. Her dreams, her passions… all for stability. And Ryuga… he curled inwards, let it break him. Depressed. Shut-in. Loser.'
I shook my head. ' It's funny, isn't it? The family's real problems weren't really problems. Just guilt, misdirected and festering. Hana sacrificing her dream of singing to attend a hero school, chasing money and duty rather than passion. Emiko is retreating because of fear and self-blame. And Ryuga… he hated himself too much to act, too much to fight.
The memories swirled, unrelenting. Ryuga wanted to be a hero… but he did not... He failed himself before he even tried. Every mistake, every missed chance, and every humiliation stacked up until it formed a wall he didn't think he could scale.
"So Ryuga just… gave up."
I rolled onto my side, letting out a bitter laugh. 'And that's pathetic. All of it. I hate this self-pitying, whining mindset. "I'm bad at it, so why even try?" No. You do it to improve. You do it to have fun. Life is too short to sit in a corner and cry like a baby all day.'
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and dropped to the floor. My palms scraped against the wood as I pushed myself up. One. Two. Three push-ups. My arms trembled violently. My shoulders burned.
"Ugh… fucking noodle arms," I muttered through gritted teeth, my voice raw. My muscles were weak. My body was weak. I was weak. But it didn't matter.
I rolled onto my back, but I didn't stop. Sit-ups next. Slow, deliberate. Each movement was a little battle with gravity, with the body I now inhabited, and with the vestiges of Ryuga's pathetic life. My determination flared, white-hot, cutting through the haze of self-loathing.
'Sure, Ryuga might have been a loser…' I thought, feeling the strain, the burn, and the sweat soaking my hair. 'But I am not him. I am not this weak, useless boy. I will not be a loser. I refuse it.'
Twenty minutes later, I collapsed, panting, my chest rising and falling like a storm inside my ribs. Sweat dripped down my face. Every fiber of me ached.
"Ha… goddamn," I muttered, staring at the ceiling. "This body… so unfit… I'll have to work out every day. No excuses."
I sat up slowly, hugging my knees. Doubt crept in again. 'No, why even bother? It's not my body. Not my life. Why should I waste energy fixing it?'
And then, a flash. A memory. Quick, almost cruel in its brevity, a flicker of Ryuga's old habits, his old posture, and the way he always sat curling in on himself.
'Wait… huh? Why am I sitting like this? Like him? Who even am I to judge Ryuga? I don't even remember my own name. I'm just… looking at the shadow of a life I didn't live. A life that was beaten down before it even started.'
I leaned my head back against the wall, closing my eyes. The weight of it all pressed down, heavy and suffocating. The memories of bullying, of failure, of a girl who broke him… all of it lingered.
But then, clarity. A spark. A quiet, subtle fire in the corner of my mind.
'This is me,' I thought, voice steady now. 'Whatever is left, it's me. I don't need to dwell on what was or what might have been. I have something here. A golden opportunity. Knowledge. Time. Awareness. I know the world, I know the mistakes, I know the weaknesses of everyone around me… and most of all, I have the chance to shape it.'
A slow smile touched my lips, faint but real.
'I can't waste this. There's no excuse to do nothing. There is so much I can do. So much I will do. This life… even if I never asked for it… even if it's not mine… is mine to live... I won't throw it away.'
I stood slowly, chest heavy with sweat, but eyes bright. A new weight of purpose, heavy but invigorating, settled on my shoulders.
I breathed in deep. The light of hope—small, fragile, but there—sparked in my eyes. And I knew, even if this body, even if this world, tried to hold me down… I would rise. I would move. I would take everything I had and make it mine.
Even though I never asked for this life, I couldn't stop it...
But can't give up now...