BNHA || white lie

06

Minutes pass.

Slowly, you reach for a bag and begin sorting the fruits from the vegetables, setting aside the meat. Your joints pop as you rise. Making your way to the refrigerator, you open it, putting in the fresh food. The shelves are filled with bags, plastic ones with a variety of groceries stored inside. You decide to clean it out.

You end up tossing over half, keeping the ones you had gotten last week. The old food is placed on the counter, so you could take them out all at once. Each one is stored in identical bags--white with the logo from the little store two blocks away.

---------

Class 1-A was a half hour into their Hero Ethics and Philosophy class when they see the door at the front click open. All twenty are seated at the top left of the lecture hall, and look down at the new arrival--you.

The CIHA students are used to you and your fickle attendance. They peek when you enter, but shrug off your tardiness and return their attention to the lecture. They probably excuse your delayed arrival for you doing your job, just as they do for your absences.

The teacher, interrupted mid-lecture, only sends you a nod in greeting before continuing. You bow your head in response before turning towards the desks, head down. You trudge up the stairs to sit in your usual corner in the left, only to pause when you see the guest students occupying it.

I have to say, I rather dislike you all.

Pursing your lips, you turn abruptly to your right, sitting in the first seat available. Your words running through your head, you take out your supplies, all too aware of the piercing gazes on your form. Just thinking about their reaction this morning makes you angry; to think that they would look so shocked! As if they expected the world to love and praise them for what they've done!

Only the fragile barrier of silence and the small gap between rows separates you from the heroes-in-training. And they should be grateful that it does, or you would have definitely done something you would regret.

"Continuing on. There are several variations between our hero justice system and others. As you know, the US is much more lenient on Quirk regulation. Laws vary state to state, but for the most part Quirk use in public is completely acceptable under the condition that it is limited and does not cause harm." The scratching of pens on paper echoes throughout the room. Your pencil moves along with them, but doodles of flowers bloom across your pages rather than notes. You are trying to calm yourself down. "Such freedom was earned through the hard work of liberals in the past decades. Protests, petitions, and civil rights movements shaped our society to its modern day. I'm sure you'll go more in depth in your history classes."

In the corner of your eye you see a hand shoot up in the air.

"Ah, Yaoyorozu, yes? You go by last name?"

Yaoyorozu nods. "Yes, sir," she says. "I have a question. Wouldn't open use of Quirks lead to higher crime and vigilante rates?" Her English is fluent, you note. Her accent is there, but it does not hinder your understanding of her words.

Your teacher visibly brightens. "We were just about to go into that. You're right. When the government finally conceded to the civil rights leaders' wishes, villainy and vigilante attacks became much more common. Law enforcement and professional hero demand was at an all-time high, and a distressed society began to take cover in their homes in fear of evil. The short-term effects were disastrous.

"However, with more criminals came more vigilantes. They began to balance each other out, both sides helping to keep the other in check. That's when politicians got smart. Rather than denouncing both the culprit and his punisher, only the villain was condemned. That is why America is so lenient with their heroics policies, and why our regulation of Quirks isn't so strict. We encourage acts of valor and praise those with courage so that they grow to understand that their powers were made for good, rather than suppressing their ability and teaching them to fear using it. Vigilantes run amok, but they do more good than harm. Very rarely do they commit murder--according to statistics, we have only 8 deaths at the hands of vigilantes per year. Even then, vigilantes are not punished harshly; instead, they are sent to rehabilitation and taught to become heroes. You may disagree with our system, but the facts don't lie. Annually, the US has only 92 deaths caused by acts of villainy, including any vigilante attacks, compared to the international average of 906.

"We treasure each and every hero in our nation. Here, no hero goes unnoticed; every child, adult, and elder can recognize the names of every hero in our registry, no matter how big or how small. We respect and honor all heroes, because, every day, they stand up proud and face their biggest regrets armed only with a Quirk and a smile."

His students hang onto every word. Even you. You still sit slouched, head propped up in your [n/d/h], but your eyes hold a tiny twinkle of admiration and your lips are slightly parted in wonder.

"Wow," Midoriya whispers in awe. "I'd hear that the US had a unique heroics system, but I hadn't had the chance to do in-depth research. . ." Your doodling becomes mindless, attention diverted to their conversation instead.

"I understand how it would seem controversial," Iida comments. His notebook is filled with neatly written Japanese.

"Oh, you wrote a lot of notes," Uraraka observes, peering at the navy-haired teen's paper. "He was talking kind of fast, so it was a bit hard for me to translate." She sheepishly smiles.

"To think they let vigilantes off so easily, though," Iida frowns. He pushes his glasses up his nose. "It's completely different from Japan. Isn't it dangerous?"

You snap the lead tip of your pencil. No one pays it any mind.

After class, you return to the roof. You are no longer in the mood to attend the rest of your classes. It is warmer than it was this morning, you note, content. Basking in the sun, you let your thoughts wander as you lay down and rest your eyes, shivering as the warmth replaces the cold from the air-conditioned indoors.

You think about yourself for a bit. What you are going to do in the future. Your visit to your mother. The dog in its box. Heroes and villains. Vigilantes.

Your brother.

Displeased, you shift from laying on your back to your side and try to push those thoughts away. They leave a sour taste on your tongue.

UA. . .you really do not like them one bit.