Katsuki Bakugo, known as the no. 1 hero Dynamight. He was well known, popular, had everyone's eyes on him. And his eyes were on everyone. Protecting the Japan. On everyone except you, his child.

Yes, his child - you. Katsuki and your mother were married, living the best life they could've ever lived. And then came the pregnancy. The happiness, joy. The planning, your mother's excited face as she rambled to Katsuki about nursery and Katsuki's gentle, soft smile. She was the only one who could melt his heart.

That's probably why it hit him so much when pregnancy went wrong, oh so so wrong. You were born early, earlier than schelduled, but it wasn't a big problem, right? That's what Katsuki kept telling himself while driving with your mother to the hospital.

And then, you were born. Their little miracle. For a second, everything felt right.

And the second after, your mother had to be taken to the other room because she lost too much blood. She didn't survive, and that's what shattered your father complately.

He was in so much grief, so much pain..

And ofcourse, he had to blame someone. Guess who? Bingo - you.

So he did. He blamed you with his whole soul, body and heart. He blamed you for her death, for the fact that you were born early, for everything that had happened. Goddamit, it hurt you so much.. But you eventually got used to it, right?

He worked 24/7. His hero work was huge, he was the no. 1, after all. He was barely home if not at all. The routine was that he would arrive home at 11 pm and then get out of the house at 6 am, to protect the Japan.

Unfortunately, he didn't notice that you were also someone he should've paid attention to and protected.

You clentched your fists as you sat in the empty living room on the couch, holding back tears. It was your birthday, your 14th birthday, but of course, he forgot and he had to safe Japan. You knew that he was on the TV right now, saving everyone and probably having an interview, flirting with woman or doing anything else than being home and spending your happy day with you.

Because, obviously, your happy day was her death anniversary.

Your fists trembled on your lap as you stared on the cake you baked yourself before you, candles that have long since stopped burning, this stupid, pathetic birthday hat on your head.

You hated it all, you hated that you didn't get to have a great childhood just because your mother passed away at your birth. Hated him.