Boku No Hero Academia One Shots [Book 2]

Rumi Usagiyama ღ Miruko

[A/N]: I hope I portrayed her character right! She's a new favourite of mine! Also, I don't have this illness, so I apologise if some aspects of the story are inaccurate - I really tried to do my research!

Update: I do now, lol ;-;

↪ I hope this isn't terrible! 

↪ What did you guys think of Chapter 271?!

Trigger Warning: PTSD.

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What had enticed you so, that you deemed it necessary to abandon the security and warmth of your home?

Simple: food.

Your rations had depleted rather swiftly, despite you having a meagre appetite. It shouldn't have ever been such a bleak existence. This wasn't right, wasn't fair...but the normalcy was startling. It was a recent development, since you now couldn't fathom an idea as elementary as walking through the door. Shopping, bearing witness to the cruel humanity awaiting you just beyond that gut-wrenching wooden frame...

...You wouldn't ever do it again! You promised yourself. You promised yourself! But...how else were you supposed to reap the rewards of the harvest? Gods, you sounded so old-timey. It was unavoidable, really, considering your previous employment and family situation. You strained, but failed to remember a single instance in your childhood, or early adulthood, of you owning any kind of electronic. Everything you had access to was basic. Riches were never within your grasp, and both of your parents had insisted that you shadow them in their field. It had soon become an inescapable cycle of hoarding, rationing and pleading over the phone for someone to re-stock your supplies. You couldn't leave the confides of your home. You just couldn't!

Surely, they understood this, being war veterans themselves. Alas, their collective trauma was light - far lighter than yours. They could sleep soundly at night, without the relentless tears, without the thrashing and the screaming. They weren't plagued by insomnia, nor were they forced to consume ungodly amounts of coffee, in an effort to counter the hellish drowsiness. The night-terrors were agony and fright beyond human comprehension. You refused to submit to them ever again.

Your parents indulged the anxious thoughts swirling around your brain...for a while.

Now, there was no acknowledgement, only a blood-stained knife, stabbing at that horrendous, throbbing organ encased within your chest. Sometimes, you really loathed this life. Your parents complained - their burden of raising a child had long since passed. They wanted to converse with a responsible young woman, not a needy, whining baby.

So, it had come time to face the world.

Only...the world was just as disgusting as you recalled. Villains roaming the streets, with quirks allowing them to rival, if not surpass, the deadliest military personnel and weapons. You couldn't have possibly predicted this - you yourself weren't blessed with a special ability, and you had been in the field for so long, you managed to forget they even existed.

Except that one...the diabolical one, the one you were never supposed to encounter. To maintain a level ground, slaves to the army were chosen amongst the quirkless population. It was rare, but some families pledged their entire lineage to the higher-ups. This had been your case - none of your kin had ever developed powers. They were the unlucky few. It was of no actual consequence to your parents, but you were different. As such, you couldn't place your faith in the hands of heroes - or anyone! Your sense of trust had dwindled down to nothingness, especially following the abandonment by those who should have jumped to help you. It wasn't attention you wanted. You didn't need any of that!