Hearing my father's words, I felt my heart shrivel up and decay. Tears sprang from the corners of my eyes as my fists tightened white. Those words hung in the air as if suspended by chains. I watched as my father's grip fastened around another can of beer sitting on the counter. Judging by the quantity, he was obviously very drunk.
It suddenly hurled my way, hitting me in the head with a small amount of force. Even if the attack didn't hurt physically, I felt like breaking down upon realizing the man before me was actively attempting to hurt me. My father's gaze didn't change, but the only shift was his eyes to the medical patch on my cheek.
"What the hell happened to you?" He asked, his voice low and menacing, almost to a growling extent.
Hearing his question, I felt my body tense. If I were to tell him that I had gotten into an altercation and lost, he'd most likely see me as a weak individual and continue the degradation and beating. The saliva in my throat seemed to turn to glue as I struggled to swallow it.
My lack of response only seemed to aggravate him more, as he took a step closer, but not close enough to be within my proximity. His black eyes flickered with red-hot malice as they gazed into mine. I could feel the heat radiating off of them as they bored into me.
"I beat someone up..." I replied, my chest feeling a sudden pressure as if someone had been suffocating me.
"Why?" My father's voice raised in pitch a little as he raised an eyebrow in an expectant demeanor.
"They made fun of me, and I didn't like that." I felt my voice tighten in my throat, the words only leaving my mouth through an inhuman amount of pressure. Looking at my father was akin to looking at a demon, maybe even worse.
"You beat someone up because you got your feelings hurt?" His lips curled into a predatory grin as he used a mocking, high pitched voice that resembled a childs.
"Isn't that what you would have wanted of me—to be the best?"
Behind my eyes I could begin to feel the tears rushing down. Why had I lied and told my father I had done an awful thing? If I would have told him I had gotten bullied and knocked out, who knows how the man would have reacted. I was his son, someone who was supposed to be perfect in his eyes.
"Yes, that's true." My father replied coldly.
"You're happy I beat someone up?"
At that moment my father fell silent, after a few moments he chuckled lightly. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He reached onto the counter and gestured towards the scattered items. "Though I'm wondering what this shit is."
I swallowed my spit as my gaze slowly left my fathers expression and over to the counter. "I...got that from the convenience store."
"The convenience store? You know damn well we can't afford stuff like that. If you're stealing money from our pockets I'll beat your ass until walking is just a dream."
"No! I'm kinda...friends with an employee there, and they gave me all this stuff because they knew about our lifestyle."
"Our lifestyle?" I felt the air around me tense, as if it was slowly leaving the room. "Is that a problem?" I choked up, my voice cracking a little.
Before I could react, another beer can was thrown at me with a harder force, hitting me in the head again. This time, it was full. I let out a groan of pain as I felt the slightly sticky, foul-smelling substance running down my head, along with the coppery smell of blood that leaked from the wound of the metal lid cutting my forehead.
"You think I want people around here knowing I live like a dog because I have to take care of my shitty wife and a disgrace like you?" My father stormed over to me, grabbing me by my tie and pulling me so my face was inches from his.
"You better go back to that little store and beat the shit out of that worker, or I'll ensure your back is against a wheelchair." The veins began to bulge, becoming more prominent in his forehead as he spat on me through his gritted teeth.
"I can't, he did nothing wrong!-" I didn't have the time to finish my sentence as my father brought his palm to my face, delivering a sharp slap to my cheek.
"Everyone I know thinks I'm a good, well-off man. Even if one person is aware of my lifestyle, they'll either be dead or be too injured to say anything else."
In the other room I suddenly heard a noise. My mother opened the bedroom door slowly, her eyes widening when she saw my condition.
"Russel! Let go of him!" My mother cried, running over to the man and grabbing me by my collar, yanking me away with surprising strength.
"You're drunk!" She cried out, her eyes wide with terror as she looked towards her, her voice lowering. "Sweetie, go to your room, now!"
...
I slammed my bedroom door, locking it shut as I sat down against it, burying my head in my arms as I broke down completely. My father had never resorted to violence as a form of punishment or scolding. I thought he would have shouted at me instead of doing what he just did.
The blood from the cut on my forehead had now dried a little, leaving an obvious yet small trail of crimson liquid running down the side of my face just above my cheek injury. My left palm, which he had smacked, was slightly red, almost purple.
Why had my father wanted me to hurt Garry simply because he knew of our living conditions? The people wherever he works probably don't know he lives off canned food and a minimum wage. Outside, the sun had begun to set, shrouding my room in darkness.
In the other room, I could hear my parents arguing, except there was no violence unlike earlier, only bickering. After a few minutes the house reverted back to silence, and I could hear my own heartbeat, which was hammering inside my chest.
Behind me, I heard a gentle knock on the door. "You in there, sweetie?"
"Y-yeah..." I tried to hide the sadness in my voice as I replied, hoping not to expose my emotions to my mother.
I slowly got up and unlocked the door, stepping back and sitting on my bed, the mattress underneath me squeaking and straining, much like how my silent whimpers and cries had sounded. After a pregnant pause, the door opened, and my mother entered. Her expression was almost unreadable, but behind her eyes I could tell there was something deeper hidden within.
"Dinners ready if you wanna get it." She said softly, sitting beside me after she had closed the door.
I suddenly felt her hand above the wound on my cheek, it was trembling as she took a shaky breath. "You're bleeding..."
"I know." I grumbled softly, lowering my head into my arms, moisture still forming in the corners of my eyes. At that moment my mother gently wrapped an arm around my shoulder.
"This may be hard to hear but...we feel like it'll be the best choice for us."
I looked up at my mother, my eyes flickering with curiosity mixed with residual sadness. The woman looked down at me, her somewhat young features unwrinkling as she frowned. "Me and your father are getting a divorce."
"What? But how will we live?!" My head shot up, a sudden rush of panic flowing through my body. My father was the one who gained the paycheck, and my mother was the one who kept the family going.
"Well...that'll be a later problem."
My mother reached inside her pocket, before taking out a piece of folded paper, handing it to me. I slowly took the sheet and unfolded it, my eyes widening when I read what was on it.
"Quirkless Program, getting your child a glimpse."
"It's not that we don't love you, but until we get things sorted out it's best we keep you out of the house a little longer."
Hearing her words, I was suddenly overcome by a wave of confusion. Why not anything else? Why not sign me up for a sport or an after-school club? As if hearing my internal dialogue, my mother sighed as she turned away.
"Clubs and stuff like that cost money, but the program is free."
I thought back to what had happened earlier today with the bullying. Nobody even knew what had happened and I'm pretty sure the bullies got away unscathed. Would that mean my time at U.A would be a living hell?
"But what if...I get bullied and hurt." I looked to my mother, letting out a shaky sigh.
The ends of her lips curled into a small smile as she replied. "Don't worry. I've visited the U.A building and was shown their policies and conditions for students attending—quirked or quirkless. I heard some great things, so I'm sure your time there will be an experience you'll never forget."
...
The week had passed somewhat slowly. Going back to school the next day was like having a target on my back. I had hesitantly agreed to the program and signed the form, and the first day of the program started after school today.
I had previously met up with Ayumi, and she said she also signed up for the program. It made me feel slightly more assured knowing that I'd see a familiar face there, and not one that wanted to pummel me into the ground and laugh at my misery.
After the school day had ended I left the building somewhat quickly, looking up directions to the U.A building on my phone. The distance between my middle school and the U.A high school was a bit of a walk, but if I didn't stop for an after school snack or a rest break I assured myself I might be able to get there on time without being late.
From what I had heard, U.A high had a prestigious reputation—being the number one hero school in Japan. It was dedicated to those who had quirks that were considered "best of the best." Even if I knew I would be in a bullying-free environment, I still couldn't help but feel my stomach churn as I turned another corner.
The walk to the building was about twenty minutes from school, and when I looked down at my phone's digital clock it was 3:12 in the afternoon, meaning that I wasn't late, I was actually quite early, since the program started at 3:30.
The U.A building appeared tall and somewhat menacing even with the abundance of cherry blossoms lining either end of the gate and towards the door. The building was divided into three sections, one was lower than the rest and the other two were towering, tower-like structures.
From the information I had previously read about U.A and its history, the half on the left was dedicated to Hero Course students, while the middle was Business Class, and the right General Studies. Studying the anatomy of the building via photos I had downloaded to my phone, I noticed that the building only contained such sections.
Where would the Quirkless Program be?
In the distance I saw a few students. One had green hair, freckles on his face and large, round eyes. Another had spiky blonde hair, fiery red eyes and a seemingly constant scowl. The last one had a gnarly burn on his left eye, and his hair was divided into red and white like a half-moon cookie.
The green-haired boy looked in my direction and gave me a small wave. And just like that, I felt like my body was unable to move. To make things worse, he began to walk over to me with a grin.
"Hello. Are you new here?" The boy's voice was somewhat high and cheery, almost to an annoying extent.
"Yeah...I am." I choked up a reply, a little sweat gathering on my uniform and dripping down my neck.
"Well, what the hell are you doing out here? You have classes, damn it." The blonde haired boy growled.
"Hey, don't talk like that, Kacchan." The green-haired boy with freckles on his face gave his accomplice a serious look, before returning his gaze to me.
"Need some help around?" He asked, extending a hand.
"Y-yeah...uhm..." I felt the words stick to my throat. My hands were sweaty as I grabbed my phone and showed the green-haired boy the information about the Quirkless Program.
"No way! You're in the Quirkless Program?" His eyes widened as I saw that his body had begun to tremble, his lips quivering slightly.
"Yeah...got directions?" I took a step back, the boy appeared like he would explode any minute.
"Ok nerd..." The blonde haired boy extended his right hand and flicked my glasses up the bridge of my nose.
"It's in the basement of the school. Enter the building, down the left hallway, turn left again and you'll see a creepy-ass door. Open it, go downstairs, and you'll see your other quirkless friends...if that's what you'd call them."
"Thanks..." I gave the blonde boy an awkward smile. He looked back at me and nodded his head, akin to a small sign of respect.
"You don't wanna be late, stop staring dumbass!" He suddenly shouted, clenching his fists as small fiery charges ignited from his palm.