Chapter [X]: Breaking the Cycle
The night was thick with the scent of rain-soaked concrete, the neon glow of the city bleeding into dark alleyways where the law never quite reached. Kirishima kept to the shadows, his hood pulled low over his face. This was stupid—he shouldn't be here. If Aizawa caught him sneaking out like this, he'd be in for the lecture of a lifetime.
Kirishima walked through the dimly lit streets of Musutafu, fully aware that he shouldn't be out here alone—not with the city still on edge after the USJ attack. Yet the thought of staying inside, doing nothing, made his skin crawl. He needed to move. He needed to do something.
The echoes of his earlier thoughts still lingered in his mind: the hero system wasn't enough. It was too slow, too restrained. People got hurt while heroes hesitated. If he truly wanted to protect people, he had to act differently.
Kirishima's heartbeat pounded in his ears as he crouched on a rooftop, his fingers gripping the rough concrete edge. Below, the alley stretched into darkness, illuminated only by the flickering glow of a single streetlight. In the distance, he heard a muffled sound—a choked grunt, the dull thud of a body hitting the pavement.
Peering over the edge, he saw it: three men surrounding a fourth, kicking him relentlessly. The victim, a middle-aged man, was curled in on himself, desperately trying to shield his head from the blows. His breath came in ragged gasps, and with each strike, his resistance weakened.
Kirishima felt his fists tighten. This wasn't a high-profile villain attack with cameras or backup. It was just another crime happening in the dead of night—a scene all too common across the city—and no one was stopping it.
His thoughts flashed back to the ants in the garden, moving with purpose and without hesitation. They didn't wait for permission; they acted. Neither would he.
With determination, Kirishima dropped from the rooftop, landing with a resounding impact that cracked the pavement beneath his boots. The gang members flinched, startled by his sudden appearance. He straightened, rolled his shoulders, and locked eyes with them.
"I'd walk away if I were you," he said steadily.
The leader—a stocky man with a jagged scar running down his cheek—sneered, "And who the hell do you think you are?"
Kirishima didn't answer. He stepped forward, the streetlight casting sharp shadows over his hardened skin as he activated his Quirk.
"Tch. Just another wannabe hero," Scarface scoffed, flicking open a switchblade. "You kids don't know when to quit. Get him!"
The first thug lunged, swinging a length of metal pipe at Kirishima's head. He barely moved, letting it collide with his temple. The impact rang out with a metallic clang, the pipe vibrating from the force. The thug recoiled, eyes widening in disbelief.
Without pause, Kirishima slammed his hardened knuckles into the thug's gut, sending him skidding backward with a pained wheeze.
The second attacker came from behind, aiming a wild punch at his ribs. Kirishima pivoted, caught the man's wrist, and twisted. A sharp cry echoed in the alley as he drove his knee into the thug's sternum, sending him crashing to the ground.
Scarface snarled and rushed in with his blade, slashing in quick, practiced motions. Kirishima dodged the first cut but let the second scrape against his forearm—the knife barely leaving a scratch.
Scarface's confidence shattered.
"What the—?"
Kirishima didn't let him finish. He grabbed the gang leader by the collar and slammed him into the brick wall hard enough to rattle the streetlight above. Scarface groaned, dazed.
Leaning in, Kirishima growled, "You enjoy picking on people who can't fight back?"
Scarface's eyes darted around wildly. "L-Look, man—"
"Shut up." Kirishima's grip tightened. "You don't get to walk away from this without learning something. If I ever see you or your friends pulling this crap again… you won't get off this easy."
He released the thug, letting him crumple to the ground. The other two scrambled to their feet, dragging their leader away, their fear evident.
Kirishima then turned to the injured man and knelt beside him. "You okay?"
The man winced but managed a weak nod. "Who… who are you?"
Kirishima hesitated, unsure of how to answer. He wasn't a hero—not in the way the system demanded, and he wasn't a villain either.
He simply said, "Just someone who couldn't stand by and watch."
Kirishima felt a rush of joy as he realized he had already made a difference, his stressed mind no longer fatigued by the demeaning thoughts that made him feel powerless.
Before he could slip away into the night, a soft whimper reached his ears from a nearby abandoned warehouse. The crime had already occurred, but if he could save one more life, why stop at just one instance?
Never had he imagined that this incident would be the turning point in his life.