Age: 11
In my previous life, humanity always found creative excuses to hate each other. Discrimination was a catalog of absurd prejudices: they hated you for the level of melanin in your skin, for the numbers in your bank account, for the god you prayed to, or for the side of an imaginary line you were born on. It was an intolerance built on social and economic constructs, and invisible borders that we ourselves had invented.
Reincarnating into this world full of superpowers, I knew perfectly well that things wouldn't be any different. Knowing the original story made it crystal clear that racism didn't disappear when Quirks appeared; it simply mutated. It became a genetic and aesthetic elitism brutally ingrained in the collective psyche.
The hierarchy of this society is cruel, superficial, and decided at four years old.
At the top are the flashy emitter and transformation Quirks. Destructive, brilliant, or lethal powers that look good on magazine covers. The original Katsuki Bakugo was the perfect example of this privilege: an aggressive and arrogant child whose atrocities were forgiven by teachers and adults simply because his explosive power was considered inherently "heroic." You are venerated for your capacity for destruction, as long as it comes with neon lights.
In the middle of the pyramid are the utilitarian or invisible Quirks. You are a functional citizen, just another cog in the machine.
But at the bottom of the food chain are the outcasts. And there are two types of outcasts in this world. First, those whose Quirks are psychological or disturbing, like brainwashing; kids who society looks at sideways on the train, secretly labeling them as "potential villains" just because of how their genetics work.
And then there are the mutants. Those whose Quirks permanently alter their bodies. If you're lucky, your mutation gives you hawk wings or adorable feline features, and society considers you "exotic." But if the genetic roulette gives you gigantic proportions, scales, insect mandibles, or a face that doesn't fit conventional beauty standards, society stops seeing you as a citizen. They look at you with disgust, cross the street to avoid you, and, slowly, they turn you into a monster.
We were behind the school gym, in that area of cracked asphalt where teachers rarely patrolled. Izuku and I had stayed after class to use the pull-up bars.
That's when we heard them. Cruel laughter and the sound of a backpack hitting the ground.
About ten meters away from us, three sixth-grade boys—a year older than us—had a girl cornered against the brick wall. I recognized her by sight. She was from Class B. Her mutant Quirk was obvious: her skin was covered in fine, grayish-green scales, and her piercing yellow eyes had vertical pupils. She wasn't grotesque, but she was undeniably different. Reptilian.
"Come on, lizard, do that weird trick with your tongue again," mocked one of the boys, the leader, whose Quirk seemed to be the ability to stretch his neck like rubber.
"I heard her family has to buy heat lamps because they're cold-blooded," another added, laughing loudly. "Is it true you eat flies?"
The girl was hunched over, clutching the straps of her empty backpack. She wasn't crying, but her yellow eyes were wide, fixed on the ground, enduring the humiliation with that silent resignation that felt so disgustingly familiar to me.
I felt a sting of hot anger in my chest, the nitroglycerin in my blood reacting to the stimulus. It was the exact same dynamic, the same look of stupid superiority those kids in the sandbox directed at Izuku years ago for being Quirkless. The weak love finding someone even more vulnerable to feel powerful. A person without a Quirk or a person with a monster's face; to cowardly bullies, they were both the same punching bag.
I was about to step forward to crush their morale, but a gust of wind brushed past me.
Izuku was no longer beside me.
His backpack lay abandoned on the asphalt. He didn't even think about it. His body moved on pure instinct, crossing the distance in seconds to step directly between the three older boys and the scaled girl.
"Leave her alone!" Izuku shouted, throwing his arms out to his sides, forming a human barrier.
The sixth graders stopped, blinking in surprise at the intrusion. Then, the leader smirked with disdain.
"What do we have here? If it isn't useless Midoriya. The Quirkless kid playing knight in shining armor for the monster. What a pathetic pair."
"Don't call her a monster," Izuku retorted. His voice trembled slightly from the adrenaline, but he didn't back down a single millimeter. His feet were firmly planted.
"Or what, Deku? Are you going to hit us with your lack of powers?" The leader took a step forward, raising a fist with the clear intention of violently shoving Izuku aside.
"No. But I will blow your teeth out if you don't get lost this damn second."
My voice sounded low, rough, and devoid of any adolescent emotion.
I walked toward them with my hands in my pockets, my relaxed posture projecting a much greater threat than if I were in a fighting stance. I stopped next to Izuku. I raised my right hand and let a couple of thick, orange sparks crackle menacingly in my palm, the sound snapping in the tense silence.
The three boys froze. They knew me. Everyone in school knew who Katsuki Bakugo was and, more importantly, they knew my tolerance for stupidity was zero.
"Bakugo... we were just joking around with her," the leader tried to justify, his mocking tone evaporating instantly.
"The joke stopped being funny," I said, locking my red eyes onto his with an icy intensity. "Pick up your things and disappear before I decide your faces need a thermal redesign."
I didn't need to repeat the order. The three of them muttered hasty excuses, turned around, and practically ran toward the main entrance.
I let out a controlled sigh, extinguishing the sparks in my hand to calm my endocrine system. Cowards.
I turned to look at the girl. She was tense, eyeing us with distrust. Society had taught her that when bullies leave, it's often because someone worse has arrived. She expected us to mock her scales too.
But then, Izuku did something that I, with all my years of adult life, would never have known how to do so well.
He turned to her, completely ignoring the tension, and his eyes lit up with pure, genuine fascination.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly. Before she could cautiously reply, Izuku pointed at her arm. "Hey... your scales are amazing. They have a hexagonal overlapping pattern."
The girl blinked, bewildered, taking a step back.
"What...?"
"Yeah!" Izuku was already frantically searching his pockets for his notebook, forgetting he had left it in his backpack. "Hexagonal scales offer superior impact distribution compared to circular ones. Do you have passive thermoregulation? Does your skin harden when you're hit, or is it a constant layer of insulation?"
The girl was left speechless. Her yellow eyes darted from Izuku to me, looking for the hidden joke, the mockery. But in Izuku, she only found the bright gaze of a scientist faced with a wonderful discovery.
"It's... it's constant," she muttered, her voice barely a raspy whisper. "And I'm resistant to temperature changes... and shallow cuts."
"That's fantastic!" Izuku exclaimed, with a wide, radiant smile. "You have natural biological armor. Most close-combat heroes have to spend fortunes on Kevlar suits that limit their mobility, but you come equipped. With the right martial arts training, you'd be a light tank in urban combat."
The girl's defensive posture slowly crumbled. The fear on her face was replaced by a slight blush that peeked out from beneath her green scales. No one, in her entire life, had analyzed her appearance from the perspective of heroic utility; everyone only saw a "freak."
"Do you... do you think my Quirk is good enough to be a hero?" she asked, hesitating.
"Of course I do! You have an incredible tactical advantage," Izuku assured her, nodding vigorously.
I watched the scene, leaning against the brick wall. A soft, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
I could scare away bullies with a fiery glare. I could protect Izuku's body and teach him how to fight. But Izuku had the power to heal wounds that didn't bleed. With just a few sincere words of validation, he had just rebuilt the self-esteem of a girl the system had classified as a monster.
Take a good look, I thought, crossing my arms under the afternoon sun. He doesn't need my fire. He already has his own light.
Izuku picked up his backpack and looked at me, still smiling.
"Let's go, Katsuki. Sensei Ogawa said he'd teach us joint locks today."
"Let's go, nerd," I replied, turning around. Before walking away, I glanced back at the scaled girl. "Your natural armor is useless if you don't learn to hit back. If they bother you again, headbutt them. With those scales, you'll break their noses before you feel a thing."
The girl watched us walk away. When I turned around one last time, she was no longer hunched over. She was standing tall, straight, touching the scales on her arm with a new, silent reverence.
Author's note: The second chapter might be released much later today; I accidentally deleted the draft I had already written.