A gray gloom crept into the room through the curtained window, blurring the boundaries between reality and illusion. Shinso sat with his head down, staring at a point on the wooden floor. The silence pressed on his temples, enveloping his consciousness in a cottony emptiness. He had long been accustomed to this silent struggle - a struggle with himself, with the shadows of the past, with the predetermination that seemed to pull him by the strings, like a puppet.

He felt the air in the room become thicker, the cold creeping under his skin, like a reminder that the world outside did not forgive weakness. Memories flashed before his eyes: ridicule, rejection, other people's looks full of mistrust. His quirk did not inspire respect - only fear. Fear that he would use it for harm. That he was not a hero. That he was a villain.

Somewhere behind the wall, a clock was ticking, measuring the moments he wasted in useless thoughts. He couldn't switch off from them - thoughts that tormented him like sharp claws. What if everything really was predetermined? What if he would never break free from this circle of doubts and endless inner search?

"Shinso" the sound of the door opening and a quiet voice cut through the viscous silence, causing Hitoshi to flinch.

He jerked slightly and raised his head, fixing his tired gaze on the door, from which a bright light was shining, cutting into his eyes. {{user}} stood by the door, her gaze - piercing, attentive, slightly worried. "...sorry, lost in thought again."