Can I Still Be A Hero?

Standing Out

Bakugo's POV
"Congratulations on your acceptance to U.A. Bakugo. It's quite a feat."
Ms. Beck nods her head at me, the compliment sounding genuine enough. This is her first session at the house, 's been about a week and a half since being discharged from the hospital. Yesterday I'd gotten the letter from U.A. saying if I got in or not. I wasn't fucking worried about it though, I knew my score was more then high enough to gain acceptance.
Though I couldn't help but be a bit curious on whether they would just turn me down when seeing, omega, on my I.D. For their fucking sakes though that wasn't the case.
But that also means the faculty will have my records. They'll know the truth. Fuck.

"Yeah, whatever. I knew I'd get in."
The older woman laughs lightly looking back at her agenda for the day.
"What? You didn't think I'd make it in, did you?!"
She shakes her head, giving all her attention to me before explaining,
"No, no, no. Quite the opposite actually. It's just that I've never met an omega with so much confidence before."
I raise an eyebrow at her before rolling my eyes, puffing out a breath to blow my spiky bangs away from my eyes.
"Anyway before we start I wanted to go over your new omega supplies."

Crossing my arms, I sit up to match the betas eye level as well as possible.
Ms. Beck starts reading off her list,
"So, tell me if I'm mistaken, you've started using Scent Sprays, Anti-Glow Rub and Instinct Modulation Pills."
She glances at my feet from over the living room table.
"Oh! And I almost forget, you've purchased two pairs of height deception shoes and some heat suppressors. Am I correct?"

Fuck yeah she's right, you little monster!
Shut up bitch. The only reason 'm letting you fucking talk 's because school hasn't started yet and 'm not going out today.
"No, you got it all right, fucking stalker."
"Ah, I like to use the term 'therapist' actually."
Fucking smartass.
The dirty blond smiles at me amusedly before asking the question I'd been trying to distract her from,
"So why are you using these products?"
"'M going to U.A. why else would I be fucking using them."
"Well things like heat suppressors are important but the other things I listed are optional. You don't have to use them."

I snarl at the young adult, drawing my folded arms closer to my chest.
"Well if I don't use them than everyone at the goddamn hero school 's gonna know 'm a fucking omega."
Ms. Beck tilts her head curiously, asking in a confused manner,
"And why would that be so bad?"
I let my jaw open slightly in an incredulous manner, dumbfounded at this therapist's stupid fucking question.
"Oh, I don't know! Maybe cause omegas are treated like fucking shit in the hero world-oh! Wait no-actually the whole fucking world!"

"I mean, yes, the way omegas are treated is by no means alright. But, well, I just didn't take you as someone who cared about others opinions."
I scoff at the gray eyed woman, drawing back in offense from her revolting assumption.
"As if I'd give a fuck about any dumbass extra's meaningless opinion."
"Then who is this for exactly? I mean it can't be the faculty since they'll have your records. So if not your peers then who else?"
Frustration boils over my skin as I bore clean nails into my pale arms. I growl out at the older woman, trying to keep my cool,
"Fucking-ugh-because! Because! If those b-listers know 'm an omega then there's a good fucking chance they'll look down on me. And 'm not even gonna give them an opportunity to try that shit!"

"Hmm..."
This therapist chick doesn't even panic at my rising anger, merely placing a well manicured hand on her chin. She sits forward slightly, squinting her steely eyes at me in an analytical way.
"Are you sure that's it?"
I blink my eyes wildly a few times before full on snapping,
"Stop trying to fucking psycho analyze me!! There's no deeper fucking meaning to my answer! What is that not a valid fucking answer?! Not wanting to be treated like a shitty goddamn inferior?!?"
I stare daggers at the older woman, almost out of my seat by how far 'm leaning forward. My red irises basically pop out at the beta in fury.
Ms. Beck doesn't even flinch at my outburst, still squinting at me as she purses her lips in thought. Slowly she breaks the awkward tension by mumbling out,
"No...that's not it..."
It feels like my goddamn sanity breaks as I yell out, fully standing up now,
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN 'THAT'S NOT IT'?!?"
Just after my agitated question an equally loud voice echoes from upstairs,
"KATSUKI! STOP YELLING AT THAT POOR WOMAN BEFORE I COME DOWN THERE AND BEAT YOUR ASS!!"