Today's chapter, a bit late than preferred, apologies for that.
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Beginning of Chapter
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Pain was a quiet beast. Whether it was physical pain, that alone could cripple most men...
But the pain left by loved ones, the emotional pain that could be caused, it crippled and broke down the strongest of men.
It was that crushing emptiness that came with it, the heavy burden of knowing you could have done more but didn't. The silence it left in its wake was always louder than any shout, a reminder that no matter how hard you fought, some battles were always lost.
And yet, even in that silence, the pain never truly left, it became a part of you, entwining itself with your very soul, until you could no longer tell where you ended and it began.
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Late evening, hours after the bank robbery
"Good evening, Musutafu."
The television static came in slightly as the woman spoke.
"This is Aiko Tanaka, reporting live from JPN News, bringing you the latest updates on the shocking bank robbery that took place just two days ago at the Musutafu First National Bank.
In what authorities are calling one of the most 'brazen and coordinated' heists in recent years, a group of five armed criminals infiltrated the bank, using Quirks to take control of the building within minutes," the woman on the news report channel said.
Within the local police station, the men were looking at the report.
"Hey, turn that thing up louder," one of the officers said from his desk, looking down, scribbling something on papers.
Another officer walked past the filled seats of witnesses to the table underneath the wall-mounted television and turned the volume up bit by bit via the remote.
"Among them, a man now identified by the alias 'Korihoo,' believed to be the leader of this group, was responsible for the freezing of multiple hostages, murder of six hosta—"
Suddenly, another officer switched it off, the man ordering the rest to get back to work and question more witnesses.
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The sterile walls of the police station felt suffocating as the soft buzz of fluorescent lights echoed in the quiet room. The air was heavy with tension as witnesses were being questioned about the attack on the recent bank robbery, mere hours ago.
A small boy by the name of Satoru Gojo sat quietly in the corner, his small hands clenched into fists in his lap. His father stood at the desk with the police officers, his face unreadable as they pored over witness statements. The only sounds were the scribbling of pens on paper, the rustle of pages, and the occasional hushed exchange between officers.
Gojo's mind wasn't on the questioning. It was on his mother. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since the bank robbery. The way she looked, the way she called out for him, she had been so close to being saved, and yet, every attempt he made to use his Quirk had failed. The way she fell limp against him before she could even finish her sentence, her blood pouring onto him. His heart ached, a constant, gnawing pain that wouldn't go away.
Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and the police officer on the other side of the desk spoke in a low, urgent voice. His father's face hardened as the officer handed him a piece of paper, his expression unreadable. Satoru's father took the paper with trembling hands, the color draining from his face as he read the contents.
There was a brief silence before the officer spoke again. "Sir... I'm sorry, but we just received confirmation. She... she didn't make it."
When the officer handed him the paper, his hands shook. His lips parted slightly as if to say something, but no words came. His fingers crumpled the page, not out of rage. He shut his eyes for a minute, inhaled sharply, and let out a breath so shaky it barely resembled breathing at all.
His father didn't speak right away. He just stared at the crumpled paper in his hands, his breath coming in short, sharp exhales.
The room was silent except for the distant murmur of officers outside. The muscles in his jaw twitched.
Then his eyes landed on Gojo. Small. Helpless. Still covered in dried blood that wasn't his own. And something inside him had already snapped.
Gojo felt the air in the room shift. His father's shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightening. The weight of the words seemed to crush the space between them, and Gojo's breath caught in his throat.
His stomach churned as the realization sank in. His mother was gone. The pain was instant, a deep, suffocating ache that took the air from his lungs.
"You..."
The father said in a low tone, shaking with quiet fury. "You couldn't even protect her."
Gojo flinched. He opened his mouth, but his voice caught in his throat.
His father stepped closer, the anger in his eyes burning hotter with every second.
"You were supposed to be strong. Supposed to be the one who could protect her. But you couldn't even save your own mother." His voice rose with every word, raw grief turning into something sharper. His fists trembled at his sides.
"Weak."
Gojo recoiled. It was just a word. Just a single word. But it might as well have been a blade straight to his chest.
"No." His father's voice was sharp, low, but filled with a quiet rage. He crumpled the piece of paper in his hand, his grip tight as if the paper itself had betrayed him.
Gojo's father turned to face him, his face twisted in fury. The air around them thickened, and Gojo felt his knees weaken, his heart racing.
His father's voice trembled with fury as he stepped forward, his tone ice-cold. "You couldn't even protect her. You couldn't even protect your mother. What kind of weakling are you?"
Gojo flinched as if struck by the words, his stomach sinking. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, but the words were choked off in his throat. He didn't know what to say, how to explain the failure that had cut him deeper than anything else.
The weight of his father's words hung in the air like a heavy cloud.
"You were supposed to be the one," his father continued, his voice rising with every word. "The one who would have been able to protect her. You always talked about that pipe dream of becoming a hero to save the ones you love. But you couldn't even save her." His father's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white with anger. "Weak."
"It should have been me." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palm until blood came through the skin.
"If I had been there, I would have saved her. But instead..."
He looked at Gojo, his eyes dark, unreadable.
"Instead, it was you."
"How could one be so... so weak?"
The final word was a lash of cold steel. Gojo recoiled as though physically struck. His breath hitched, the sting of his father's words digging into him.
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The days blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and silence.
Gojo barely spoke, barely ate. The weight of his father's words clung to him, suffocating. Weak. Failure. The same words echoed every time he closed his eyes.
On the third night, his uncle, a man built like a living mountain, opened his room door and tossed a bag against his bed.
"If you're gonna sit there drowning in self-pity, you might as well do it while learning how to hit back," the man said in a rough voice.
He then closed the door, exiting the room, leaving Gojo sitting there on the bed.
The anger he had felt when his father's words tore through him.. "Weak..". That anger had changed. It was no longer just a reflection of his failure. It had become a fire.
Stronger.
That was the only answer now.
If he didn't want to be weak, he would have to become so strong that no one would ever believe he was anything but the strongest.
He got off the bed, looked at the bag his uncle brought him, then went to speak to the older man. He might as well take the man's advice.
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End Chapter