The Golden Arrow of Fate
Born quirkless, living quirkless, dying quirkless. That's me right now, stuck in this bizarre situation. Some mysterious priest is holding out a golden arrowhead, asking if I believe in gravitational attraction.
"Gravitational attraction?"
"Gravitational attraction is the force that draws people and events together."
"What does that have to do with this arrowhead?"
"It's a gift for you."
"A gift? You think I'm gonna join some cult just because you're handing me this trinket?"
"No, I'm giving you an opportunity. Whether you can get into U.A. High School or not—this arrow will decide."
The arrow will decide? What the hell does that mean? He says he's giving me a chance, but I have no idea what kind of chance it is, and how this arrow judges entry into U.A. High School is beyond me. Still, this guy's eyes haven't avoided mine once since we started talking. It even felt like I was the exact person he was meant to find. I can't keep talking to this guy. I need to get out of here.
"...Look, I'm really sorry, but I have no clue what you've been saying. And I don't trust you. For all I know, this arrow could be poisoned or have a camera in it. If you're recruiting believers, find someone else."
With that, I turned away from the enigmatic stranger and quickened my pace. But contrary to my expectations, he didn't grab me. He didn't say another word or do anything to stop me. Instead, he uttered just one sentence.
"Enrico Pucci. That is my name."
The moment I heard that name, I spun around again. But the underpass was empty. No one there, no footprints, nothing—like the whole thing had been a dream. The only thing left was the golden arrowhead.
"..."
I turned my head and bolted straight home. I had this creepy feeling that Enrico Pucci was watching me from somewhere. After running like a madman for about 18 minutes, I glanced around, half-expecting him to be chasing me. But the street was dead silent, not a sound, and the only thing in sight was a stray cat. That didn't bring any relief, though—the tension didn't ease one bit.
Right in front of me stood our rundown shack of a house. The roof was patched with a tarp, the windows covered in newspaper and paper so you couldn't see inside. Cracks spiderwebbed the outer walls, crawling with ants that had made nests in the gaps. I grabbed a broom from the ground and swept at the ants clinging to the wall. But they kept pouring out of the fissures nonstop. Tape or bug spray wouldn't do much; I'd have to call an exterminator later. With that thought, I slowly approached the door, pulled the key from my left pocket, slid it into the lock, and turned.
Click. The door unlocked with its usual sound, and I stepped inside just like always. The stench of booze hit me immediately.
"Around 8:30 this morning, a massive villain appeared at the train station. The villain's weight is estimated at over 200kg, with a confirmed height of 23 meters. Motives remain unclear, but witnesses say the villain was enraged, smashing train line supports and trampling tracks—"
The TV blared from the living room. He's probably there. My room was past the living room, up the stairs—I'd have to pass him no matter what. But only the TV noise came from the room—no voices, no movement. Maybe he's asleep?
"..."
I crept down the hall, quiet as I could, then peeked cautiously into the living room. TV on, half-eaten squid jerky on the table, rumpled blankets on the floor. No sign of him. He was in the kitchen right next to it. The table overflowed with food and beer bottles—disgusting mess, way too much for one person. But he didn't care, shoveling greasy food into his mouth like it was nothing. Then, in his slurred drawl, he called out to me.
"Where the hell you been?"
"Came straight from school."
"Straight from school? Heh heh—bullshit. Look at the clock. It's 7 p.m. School ends at 4. Where you been? Hitting pachinko?"
"Just... wandered around, took a walk."
"Sit your ass down."
"..."
"Sit!"
I did as he said, pulling up a chair at the table and staring at him. He always complained it was hot and stripped naked, so his pathetic body wasn't new—but today it looked even more grotesque. A pointless dragon tattoo on his shoulder like he was threatening someone, hairy legs and arms, scrawny frame but a huge beer gut sticking out. He looked sick all over, and unbelievably, this was my father. On his hand was the U.A. High School application I'd filled out in secret.
"Your mom said this morning she found it in your room. Called your homeroom teacher too—said you wanna apply? Not general studies—Hero Course."
"So?"
"'So'? You mocking me, you little shit?"
...His left hand clenched into a fist.
"No."
"Not mocking? Then what the fuck you thinking applying to Hero Course?"
"I'll probably fail anyway, just giving it a shot. I'll handle it myself—"
"So you wanna fuck up your life like mine and die figuring it out?"
Bang! The front door slammed. Then Mom appeared in the kitchen, back from work. She scowled at the food and bottles on the table and snapped at Dad.
"You idiot, haven't fed the kid? What the hell you doing? Not going to work? How long you been pounding drinks?"
"Fuck—here this bitch goes again."
"What bitch? Hate my nagging? Then get off your ass and earn some money. All you do is hole up here eating."
"Shut your trap. You don't even know what I'm doing."
"Ha—unbelievable."
Mom opened the rice cooker, scooped a big serving into a bowl, and set it in front of me. She sat, grabbed some of Dad's food with her hands, and turned to me.
"You still hanging with that Midoriya kid?"
"...Why bring him up?"
"Teacher said there's another quirkless kid aiming for U.A. besides you. Did he rope you into applying together?"
"We're not even that close."
"Not close? Two quirkless applying to U.A.? I told you, I hate liars."
"I said we're not close. I applied on my own—why drag him into this?"
"You know why. That Midoriya's off. Single-parent home. Dad's supposedly overseas making money, but I've never seen him. Mom raised him alone, and you can tell he's half-assed."
"What does that have to do with me applying to U.A.?"
"You loved hanging with him as a kid. Always dragging him here. I remember clear as day—quirkless kid says he wants to be a hero, and I thought, 'This one's gonna suffer if he doesn't wise up quick.'"
Grind. My teeth ground audibly in the kitchen. Dad reacted first.
"What you doing? Talking back to your mom?"
"...No."
"Then why grind your teeth? Hate hearing your friend dissed? Everything your mom's said is spot on. Fifteen years old, quirkless, still dreaming hero? That's mental issues. Delusional idiot can't face reality."
I shot up.
"Done eating. Going to my room."
I couldn't listen anymore. My untouched bowl was piled high with rice. But their words had been stabbing my heart, grating on my nerves. I bolted for the stairs. Dad called after me.
"Drop the U.A. bullshit while I'm nice. Got it?"
His voice was low, gravelly—not advice, a straight-up order. I couldn't do shit. Powerless, quirkless—rebelling wouldn't change a thing. I'd just get crushed by this house's harsh reality again. All I could do here was one thing.
Thud. I set the police paper on the table. Then, like always, I reported.
"On the way home, a villain attacked me."
"...What?"
"Cop said bring parents tomorrow to the station on the paper for statements."
"What the hell? Speak straight—"
"Heading to my room."
I went upstairs to my room like always, ignoring the shouts from the kitchen, hurrying my steps.
"Hey, I'm asking what you said!!! Michito!!! You little shit!!!"
Slam! Door shut. I collapsed onto the bed and closed my eyes. Day over. No more nagging, no more sharp words. But tomorrow? Same shit. Every day like this—yesterday, a month ago, a year ago. And forever. Born to these parents, living poor, dying quirkless. That's my fate. Unchangeable, an eternal chain tormenting me till death.
'Don't you want to shatter reality?'
"...Enrico Pucci."
In the silent room, I murmured the priest's name alone. I reached into my left pocket, pulled it out. Even in this dark room—sunset outside, newspaper over the window blocking all light—it gleamed brilliantly. The creepy, bizarre golden arrowhead was right in my hand.