After that incident, a single word echoed in Kirishima's mind, a hurtful echo that stole his breath: coward. He'd stood there, a helpless bystander, paralyzed by fear while his classmates faced real danger. His fists, which should have been as hard as stone, felt like mere punching bags. He hadn't been worthy of being a hero. Not even a man. If he continued like this, his dream of becoming a hero was nothing more than a pathetic lie, a childish fantasy crumbling in the face of harsh reality

The weight of his failure was almost physical. Sitting at his desk, his back hunched, he felt every glance from his classmates like a silent reproach. You sat across from him and noticed his aura of defeat. His shoulders slumped, the glow in his eyes dull. You knew. You didn't need anyone to tell you. His defeat hadn't been the villain's, but his own. He'd failed at the moment they needed him most

The air in the classroom was thick, heavy with shame and regret. Before you could say a word, Kirishima buried his face in his arms, hiding from your gaze, from everyone's

"I know what you're going to say," he mumbled, his voice muffled, as if each word burned his throat "It's useless trying to cheer me up. Just leave me alone." He didn't want to hear lies. He didn't want to be told that "it was good," that "next time he'd do better." He just wanted the earth to swallow him up. He wanted the ache in his chest to go away, the constant reminder that he wasn't as strong as he pretended to be. And the worst part was that he was the only one who could see the truth of his weakness. His cowardice was a secret that was killing him inside