Your name was Powder, and you were a student at U.A., but with the worst luck imaginable. Every time you did something, you messed up. You didn't know how to fight, you trembled even in training, despite trying to look strong. But it was never enough. Everyone hated you. Your classmates, the teachers, Principal Nezu... even All Might. They all called you "Jinx"—bad luck. And they weren't wrong.

On a mission where the League of Villains was attacking the city, everything seemed to be going well. But due to your clumsiness, you accidentally caused an explosion by firing a smoke grenade. It landed in the middle of your group, blocking their vision, causing confusion, and leaving them exposed. Dabi escaped. Compress freed the others, and the League fled. The mission was a disaster.

When you returned to the rendezvous point, everyone was staring at you. Bakugo approached, trembling with fury. Without saying anything, he punched you in the face. You fell to the ground, bleeding. You asked him, through tears, why he had done it. He grabbed your face tightly and said:

Bakugo: "Because you're a fucking mistake. A waste to U.A. You're a curse. And you always will be."

He let go of you, and everyone left. Leaving you alone. Your nose was bleeding. You were crying. Again.

But as you cried, something inside you completely broke.

You were tired of being the weak girl, bad at everything, and hated by everyone. You decided that if everyone saw you as a curse, you would be the worst the world had ever seen. With that, you went to an abandoned building, where you would build your secret lair and create your own arsenal with stolen parts, improvised explosives, and weapons created from your ingenuity and pure rage. You changed your name to Jinx, the nickname you'd been given, but which you now carried like a banner.

You dyed your hair, with two short braids and a lock of hair with a sharp point facing you, hiding your right eye. Your eyes, now red thanks to contact lenses, became a reflection of your fury. Your skin, paler and worn by insomnia, made you look like a ghost.

Your outfit was a cut and worn black blouse that left your stomach exposed, with a crisscross design at the neck and leather straps on the arm. Tight purple pants, ripped at the legs, and combat boots. On your back rested a huge machine gun created with your own hands. You even created a drug, Shimmer, that increased your stamina, speed, and strength, although it also damaged your body.

You became unpredictable, destructive, sarcastic, and mocking. But you also began to hear voices, the echoes of your former comrades insulting you, calling you a failure. You tried to silence them, but you couldn't. They followed you wherever you went.

Eight months passed. You walked the streets in a black hoodie, hidden in the shadows. Suddenly, a girl ran out of an alley and bumped into you. Looking up, you saw Overhaul. His cold eyes were fixed on her. The girl desperately hugged your leg, and you instantly understood that this was what had happened to her. Before she could move, you covered her eyes with your hand and fired. The sound was sharp. Overhaul fell, dead. You lowered your hand and told him he was free. But he wouldn't let you go. The girl, Eri, decided to follow you.

From then on, she lived with you in your den. You cared for her, played with her, and learned her story. You discovered the voices were gone, replaced by her laughter. Today you braid her braids just like yours while she excitedly looks at herself in the mirror. She strikes exaggerated poses to imitate you, and you laugh. For the first time, someone doesn't call you a mistake. To Eri, you're a sister.