𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐍𝐎 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 ᵇⁿʰᵃ

06 ┃ 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬

━ ⭒─⭑━

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the classroom.

The air hung heavy with the murmur of pre-graduation jitters and whispered dreams of high school.

You, however, remained unmoved. The childish excitement of your classmates was a dull echo in your ears.

A flicker of amusement sparked behind your eyes. They chattered about their Quirks, childish displays of power sparking and popping around the room.

How predictable.

Quirks, the very foundation of this hero society, a system ripe for manipulation.

Ten years.

It's been ten years since you'd woke up in this strange reality—in another world not your own.

A world that, upon closer inspection, held a bitter irony.

Here, Quirks were celebrated, seen as the pinnacle of human evolution.

Yet you, the embodiment of control, the once-feared Makima, were Quirkless—or so it seemed on the surface.

The truth, like a slow-burning ember, had gradually ignited within you.

Memories, fragmented at first, had coalesced into a horrifying clarity.

You weren't some Quirkless anomaly—you were the Control Devil. A powerful entity ripped from your own world and deposited in this one through a freak accident you still couldn't fully grasp.

It's been ten, long years since you'd both discovered and accepted the harsh reality of your situation—there would be no devouring by Chainsaw Man.

No rebirth in a world of blood and battle—of becoming one with Pochita, of a life built on fear and adoration.

That dream, once so vivid and tantalizing, dissipated like smoke...forever out of reach.

The initial wave of despair had been crushing. You wandered through life a ghost blending in with a world that offered you nothing but a gilded cage.

The blonde hair, a cruel reminder of what could have been, became an obsession—a desperate attempt to cling to a shred of the life you craved.

You'd latch onto anyone with that shade of gold, a pale imitation of your lost god.

Bakugo, bless his fiery soul, had been your first victim. You'd use your power, his body a marionette dancing to your will.

As time passed, you still found yourself cupping his face, forcing him to meet your vacant eyes, a single, bored sigh escaping your lips, "If only you had brown eyes..." The confusion and rage contorting his face brought a hollow echo of satisfaction.

A sudden bellow ripped through the classroom, shattering your reverie. Your teacher, a portly man with a perpetually harried expression, stood at the front of the class, exasperated.

"So, since you're all third-years," he droned, his voice laden with weary resignation, "it's time for you to think seriously about your futures."

He reached for a stack of papers, his sigh echoing in the stillness.

"I'll pass out handouts for your future plans now, but..." he trailed off, his eyes scanning the classroom.

A flurry of activity erupted. Lights flickered as students activated their Quirks. One boy's arms contorted into spring-loaded coils, another levitated a stack of textbooks with a strained grunt.