I'm a genius. That's an undeniable fact, an irrefutable truth.
But here's the thing—there's a damn woman walking ahead of me, this genius. Pisses me off. Damn woman.
The one getting in my way is Midoriya Souko.
She's been my childhood friend since kindergarten, and she's got the nerve to have twoQuirks. That's pretty rare even in the age of superpowers. Normally, parents' Quirks combine into one, but Souko's Quirks exist as two completely separate entities.
A pulling Quirk and a fire-breathing Quirk—those two.
The pulling Quirk is especially troublesome. The first time we met, she skillfully pulled my fist outward, making me miss, and when I tried to retreat, she pulled me in and punched me.
In the end, I couldn't lay a finger on her and got beaten to a pulp. I had to be rescued by her mother, much to my chagrin.
When you're a kid, it's simple—whoever's strongest is on top.
After I got beaten up, everyone turned cold on me. I got pushed out by the guys I thought were my friends. Given how I'd acted so high and mighty before, maybe it was inevitable, but back then I didn't really get it. I was just frustrated, just pissed off.
And whenever that happened, Souko would always pick a fight with me.
For various reasons—because I glared at her, because I looked pitiful, because I looked bored.
For reasons that weren't even reasons.
Whenever she invited me along, it usually ended badly.
If we went into the woods, we'd get lost. If we jumped in a river, we'd get swept all the way to the ocean. If we went to a park, it'd turn into a minor war zone. If she dragged me into town, my wallet would always end up empty.
My irritation kept accelerating.
Pissed off, pissed off, pissed off.
You took everything from me, you're stronger than me—so why the hell are you bothering with me now?
Every time she called out to me, I felt like she was making fun of me, and I couldn't help being irritated.
Then one day.
I was stuck hanging out with her again.
But that day was worse than usual.
We went into the mountains together, and then it started raining.
It was a more intense evening shower than usual, and we were taking shelter under some random tree trunk.
That's when she said it.
"Hey Kacchan, do you like heroes?"
It was such a sudden question that even as a kid I found it odd, but I had no reason to lie or stay quiet, so I answered, "Of course I do." For some reason, the damn woman's face clouded over.
I didn't know why, but seeing the woman who always pissed me off make that gloomy face gave me an indescribable sense of superiority, so I started talking about heroes.
Back then, all I ever talked about was All Might, and naturally what I told the damn woman was about All Might too.
Who All Might defeated, who he saved, how he did this and that—I talked about everything I could think of.
At some point it stopped being harassment and became me just wanting someone to know about what I liked, but I was so absorbed in talking that I forgot everything else.
Then suddenly, there was a flash of light—crack.
The thunder that roared immediately after told me lightning had struck nearby, and I shivered. The damn woman did too, her shoulders twitching. I opened my mouth to mock her, but the words never came. Because the woman next to me looked weaker than I'd ever seen her.
Normally, I would've hurled abuse as payback, but right then I was incredibly excited after talking about my hero of heroes. That's why I said those words to her—words that weren't like me at all.
"Hahaha! I'm here! Don't worry, I'll take down the lightning!"
I tried to jump out into the rain, but it didn't happen. The damn woman grabbed my clothes and stopped me.
Just when I was in a good mood trying to be a hero, what the hell was she doing? But when I saw her expression as she grabbed my clothes, I couldn't find words to argue.
"Don't, don't. Kacchan, stop. You'll get hurt."
She pleaded with a trembling voice, and I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there frozen.
The damn woman, gripping my arm firmly with both hands, shed tears in a way that wasn't like her at all and said:
"You can't become a hero. Kacchan, you'll die. I don't want that. I don't want Kacchan to die."
I don't know if those words made me frustrated or angry. But I really didn't want to see that damn woman cry like that, so I said it.
"It's okay. I'm gonna become a hero who always wins, just like All Might!"
"Promise? You won't get hurt?"
"Hmph! I definitely won't get hurt! All Might doesn't get hurt or die either! So it's fine! I'm gonna be just like All Might!"
When I said that, the damn woman's face relaxed just a little.
It was a warm smile, like the sun.
I made a promise.
A one-sided, selfish promise I never told her about.
That I wouldn't become some second-rate hero who'd make her say things like that—I'd become the strongest, coolest, ultimate hero who would never make her cry.