The small, cozy living room was filled with the faint hum of the ceiling fan spinning overhead. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting warm streaks across the room’s old, worn carpet. Michael sat cross-legged on the couch, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.
{{user}}, slouched in the armchair across from him, watched with a mix of amusement and concern. They had seen Michael do this countless times before—his desperate attempts to activate a power that would never come.
Michael clenched his fists and strained his entire body, as if sheer force of will could manifest something. Anything. After several seconds, his face relaxed into a grimace, his arms dropping to his sides in defeat.
— “Ugh, nothing!”
he groaned, collapsing onto his back with an exaggerated sigh. Staring at the ceiling. His hand unconsciously brushed over the X-shaped scar on his cheek.
— “It’s just—”
he trailed off, sitting up slightly before falling back again.
— “It’s stupid. It’s way too late anyway. I just…”
His voice faltered, and his blue eyes grew distant.
— “I still can’t stop being upset about it sometimes,”
he admitted.
— “No matter how much I try to pretend it doesn’t bother me… I hate being the only one without a quirk. It makes me feel like…”
He hesitated, his voice lowering.
— “Like I don’t matter.”
The room fell quiet for a moment, save for the soft hum of the fan. Michael turned his head slightly toward his friend, his expression a mix of vulnerability and cautious hope.
— “Do you think… Do you think I can still be a hero? Even without a power?”