I looked back at Mr. Aizawa, taking a deep breath. "Yes, Mr. Aizawa?" My voice sounded slightly hesitant, as if I was afraid to speak to him.
Mr. Aizawa raised an eyebrow, leaning against the chalkboard as he sighed. "I prefer sensei."
"Sorry..." I mumbled under my breath, my cheeks flushing from the lack of respect.
"Don't be." The gruff looking man interjected. A small smile pierced his face as his eyes, which were slightly obscured by his greasy black hair, fell on my eyes.
"I can tell you're not Japanese, so mistakes like that are common here." His voice had softened slightly, but it still contained the usual gruffness I was somewhat used to hearing.
"Should I call you sensei then?..." I looked up at the man, fiddling with the straps of my backpack in an attempt to appear nonchalant even while my stomach was performing backflips like a circus.
"I don't mind if you would, but feel free to call me whatever." He raised his head slightly.
"That's...good to hear." My gaze fell to the floor below, taking note of how strangely clean it was for a basement.
The room fell silent for a few moments before Aizawa ushered me over. "Mind telling me why you look like you just survived an explosion? Sorry for just asking now, I didn't want to rush you when we first met."
At that moment I looked at him, somewhat taken aback by the almost genuine interest in his voice. Sure he was a Hero Course teacher, but he also was one who taught powerless students like me how to act like and be an everyday hero. Just because I didn't have power didn't mean I wasn't worthless in his eyes?
Deep down I felt like I should tell him everything regarding my situation. But would it work?
"I...got bullied and beat up by a few students at my school." I answered, hesitancy evident in my voice.
"Just bullying did that much damage?" Aizawa's eyes roamed over my body, assessing all of my wounds. I nodded my head, looking down at the floor in embarrassment.
"I may not be the best when it comes to people, but there is someone I believe you can talk to." He took a step back, looking me up and down as if studying my entire body.
"Like a consular?..." My parents never had the money to pay for a therapy of any kind, so I was used to bottling up my emotions and unleashing them in erratic bursts. I could always sense that my parents were somewhat on edge around me, as the complexity of my emotions and my tendency to have outbursts and unpredictable behavior unsettled them.
"Yeah, Mr. Tatsuma is good with students like you."
...
I stood in front of the white door labeled Guidance Office, and I could feel my palms begin to sweat slightly. I had never openly talked to anyone about my emotions or vented to many people except my mother on rare occasions.
The thought of venting to someone was scary to me, but at the same time I couldn't help but feel a small rush of anticipation. Behind me, Mr. Aizawa stood with his arms crossed on his chest, his figure almost towering over me.
"Go in, he won't bite." The man spoke up from behind, his voice commanding yet neutral at the same time—something I didn't know was possible.
With shaky hands, I grabbed the doorknob and opened the door leading to the Guidance Office. Inside the office, there were a few bean bag chairs sprawled across the room and a small bookshelf in the corner. Outside the large window, I saw the side of the building and a small lot filled with cherry blossoms.
"Who might you be?" A somewhat deep yet gentle voice sounded from the other corner. When I turned my head, I saw a man sitting at a desk, an open book in front of him. He had somewhat long hair similar to Aizawa's, and on his head were two dark blue horns. His eyes were light green, and a barely visible stubble adorned the top of his mouth above his lips.
The first two buttons of his shirt were loose, allowing me a partial view of his toned chest. On his rear was a long black tail resembling a snake, while coiled around the leg of a chair. On his left cheek were a few scars.
He cocked an eyebrow as his lips unfurled into a casual smile.
"My name is...Isaac." I replied, adjusting my uniform collar in hopes of appearing presentable.
"Well, Isaac..." His voice lowered as he narrowed his eyes. I saw his lips part slightly, as if wanting to speak. But he ended up chuckling softly, a complete switch in demeanor.
"Name's Ryujin Tatsuma, U.A. High's guidance counselor. You can call me Mr. Tatsuma by the way."
I nodded upon hearing his words. The man appeared to have a more relaxed demeanor, unlike most of the people in my life. Back at home the atmosphere was tense and I always felt on edge, but in this room I felt strangely at peace.
"Alright." I replied, feeling a small warmth in my chest. Looking at this figure was similar to taking a hot shower.
"Sit down." Ryujin pointed to the corner, gesturing towards a blue bean bag chair. It was scattered among a few other bean bag chairs, all varying in different shapes and sizes. Plopping down on one I looked towards the horned man.
"I heard you're from the Quirkless Program." Ryujin picked up his mug of coffee and sipped it, his gaze still fixated on me.
"I am, I just got my first assignment." I opened my backpack and pulled out the worksheet. Even if the description was to ask three students, would Mr. Aizawa really care if I consulted a teacher? My gaze lifted from the paper and towards Mr. Ryujin.
"Hey...I have a question."
"Answer away." He nonchalantly replied, leaning back in his chair as his tail wrapped tighter against the leg of it, giving himself a makeshift support.
"What do you think it means to be a hero?"
Mr. Ryujins eyes softened as his lips curled into a soft smile. "Good question—never been asked that before."
"Can you answer it though?" I leaned forward in my bean bag chair, taking out a half-chewed pencil from my backpack as a small rush of anticipation and focus charged right into me.
"A hero is a good person, someone who doesn't want to embrace evil." Mr. Ryujin explained, his voice filled with a sense of casualness while also a mixture of finality.
That's all? I expected a teacher from U.A to give a better explanation than that. I wouldn't be surprised if he gave the textbook definition to be honest.
"That was underwhelming..."
"There's nothing underwhelming about my response, I simply answered because you asked."
He took a deep sigh before continuing. "Just because I'm a hero doesn't mean I have it all under wraps. Your place in society shouldn't mean you know or experience more than others. We're all humans—we're all capable of great things—even if it seems underwhelming from another perspective."
I nodded my head slowly, taking in that information. Mr. Ryujin seems to have a lot of experience in the hero field. And being a Guidance Counselor, he was used to hearing students open up and opening up himself.
"I don't have a quirk...how could I achieve what if all I do is get bullied and beaten by everyone? It's not fair!" I felt a sudden rush of sadness upon recalling my past.
"Why did you join the Quirkless Program then?"
I looked back up at the black-haired man. "I was convinced by my mother. They're currently going through a divorce at the moment and she wanted me out of the house a little longer for the sake of my safety."
"I see..." Mr. Ryujin nibbled on a pencil for a few moments before dropping it on the desk and strolling over, plopping down next to me on another bean bag chair.
"Life is a difficult thing to deal with, Mr. Isaac. We all have our own troubles and flaws, but we don't let them define who we are inside."
He looked towards me, his emerald eyes flickering with a small amount of curiosity. "What do you do when life gets hard?"
At that moment I felt my heart sink a little in my body. The place I always went to, that movie theater in my mind, was a place nobody knew about, and I didn't want anybody to know about. Sighing softly, I turned to the man and answered his question.
"I read, I write, I be alone..." I sighed softly, leaning back against the bean bag chair, staring up at the ceiling.
"...sometimes I wish I could disappear just like my problems."
Even if I don't recall my suicide attempt, the thought of having my life ripped from my body was somewhat satisfying. To a certain extent I didn't wanna be here, but the now comforting and alluring presence of Mr. Ryujin made me feel safe and comforted.
"Wanting to disappear—we've all been there." The man's deep voice sounded once again as he ran a hand through his hair.
"But you have to realize those feelings aren't healthy. They aren't yours."
But they were my feelings. When I dreamt of me murdering my father I felt like I wanted that to happen, when he called me Mr. Nauseous I wanted to hurt him, when he slapped me I wanted to punch him in the face, but I was too paralyzed with fear and shock to do anything.
"I want them to be healthy, I want to be loved and accepted by everyone." At that moment I felt a pang of sadness rush through my entire body.
I suddenly felt a warm hand on my shoulder, it was Mr. Ryujins. He looked into my eyes, which had begun to liquify, his expression softening slightly as if feeling my pain.
"We all want love in our life, it's basic human anatomy. But the thing stopping you is, well...you."
"Huh?" I uttered, my brows creasing as I was suddenly overcome by a wave of confusion.
The Guidance Counselor sighed softly, his expression remaining the same. "You are only stopping yourself from achieving your desires."
He leaned back in the bean bag chair, sighing softly. "Caring about what others think about you in a negative way will only destroy you more, kiddo."
He continued. "Y'know what I recommend?" At that moment his lips curled up into a small smile.
"What?..."
"Well, if you have a thought about yourself, write it down. Whatever you think, dream, aspire, write it down."
I had already received advice like this from Ayumi. It seemed like everyone in my life wanted me to journal—at least the good people in my life.
...
After I entered my room as I sighed, plopping down on the bed and buying my face into my worn pillow. The entire day was exhausting, but in a way, it was good to get out of the house for a few extra hours.
The black journal my mother had given me two days ago sat on my dresser, though it didn't accumulate much dust or anything from the room, which I found slightly peculiar.
Reaching out I opened the journal, grabbing my half-chewed pencil from the desk. Turning to the first page, I saw words that were scrawled out and barely legible.
"I want to get out of this place."
"I want to get rid of my awful father."
"Does anyone actually care about me?"
The words were scrawled out in red ink that appeared to bleed through multiple sheets of the journal. I had never remembered writing any of this!
My eyes widened as I tossed the book onto the ground, staring at it as if it had grown two legs and walked around on its own.
I never wrote that down. Why is that there?
My eyes darted over to the bedroom door which had been left cracked open, allowing the light from the hallway to bleed in, in the form of a tiny sliver near my bed.
I ran over to my bedroom and slammed the door shut, grabbing the journal off the ground and tossing it directly out the window and into the rain.