He really needed to turn things around.

Kacchan was getting worse, the teasing and taunting didn't seem to be slowing down. They were meant to be best friends, but the words feel bitter in his mouth, they stick to the back of his throat and taste like cardboard. Because they aren't true anymore, Kacchan isn't the nice one anymore, there are no nice ones.

Not to people like him.

Not to useless quirkless freaks like him. An anomaly, that's what he is. What he will always be. He can't be a hero, everyone made sure he knew. They mocked him for his dream, called him a creep for his hero analysis notebook, and his awkward mutterings.

He kept his gaze on the ground, there was no point in looking forward, he just wanted to be small and go unnoticed. That's all he needs.

A quiet day. With no snide comments, or pushes and shoves.

He hates how that's become so foreign to him. How whenever he meets someone knew, he almost doesn't expect kindness anymore. Almost. He just doesn't get his hopes up that someone will be 'different' anymore.

He can hear snickers as he passes, he can't tell if they're directed at him or not. Maybe if he was born with a quirk, even if it were a weak one, people would like him more.