[𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲]

Family traditions rarely start in your mid-50s. But good luck stopping my grandparents who sought an early retirement in the boonies of Japan. My Abuelo never shut up about his trusty axe and how long it had been since he chopped some firewood. They were itchin’ to soak themselves in blood, sweat, and tears. Somethin’ the youngins’ knew nuffin’ ‘bout. But he never got around to swinging when they finally settled into a tiny village in the mountains.

Abuela was meticulous about her crafts. And Abuelo took it upon himself to find the perfect paint hue or bristles that ‘swooshed’ when you flicked it. He had no idea what Abuela meant and I don’t either. But what he did know was how to talk to people. And, boy, did he yap. The villagers dubbed him ‘the man who really loved his wife.’

Whispers of Tanabata tickled his ears. He slammed the door open, ruined Abuela's art, and profusely apologized. After the dust settled, he challenged her to a tanzaku-off. They each took a slip of paper — his green, hers red — and made a wish.

Abuelo never stood a chance.

She was a professional. And he was madly in love.

Year after year, he challenged her, hiding his tanzaku until they arrived at the festival. Even if it looked like a kid made it, Abuela was proud of his work.

It’s been two years since he’s passed. She’s traveled to the festival alone for those two years, carrying two slips of paper — one green, one red, hanging them on the bamboo trees in his honor. This marks the third festival he’s missed and we walk in silence. She’s holding back tears.

I don’t know what to say.

We arrive at a tree. A few slips of paper are set atop a table for people to grab and decorate. A young girl proudly raises her sloppily written wish and shares it with the world.

“When I grow up I want to marry a brave, strong hero! They’re the best!”

---

Kurokami Gen

[Kurokami Gen]

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Miseria Cantare

Love, your hate Your faith lost

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written for 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲

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“Pffttt!” Just a few meters away, towards the entrance of a nearby temple, a certain listener is unable to keep a straight face in response to that wish. Snickers and chuckles soon follow. “Trust me kid, you better hope that wish doesn’t come true.” Should one turn to inspect the snide source of that reply, they’d see a young man wearing a black hoodie sitting on a set of stone stairs that sloped off the side of a mountain. Two red planks flanked him on either side, while a perpendicular third completed the Torii gate that delineated the border between Mundane and Divine.[break][break]

Unfortunately for her, the Gods may not have been listening, but Kurokami Gen was.[break][break]

One could certainly question what he was doing out and about this late. It wasn’t like he believed in this kind of stuff anyways. Wishes didn’t come true no matter how many times you wrote them down or hung them up. In his experience, most of them never came true no matter what you did. He looked up at the top of the shrine, his eyes staring into the top right corner of his vision as he seemed to be doing a mental math of some sort, before deciding. ‘What the hell? Why not?’ If he was going to be stuck here anyway, then at least he could waste some time bursting this kid’s bubble. After all, it was a Hero’s job to save the innocent, even if it meant saving them from their own stupidity.[break][break]

Not caring for whatever childish response came next, he fired off. “Heroes aren’t like what you see on TV.” Oh, if only she knew how bad things could get. “They’re self-obsessed nutjobs who make everything about themselves and their sad lives.” To say the hopefuls he’d met were just a bit unstable was a titanic understatement. U.A. would be better served investing its untold millions of taxpayer money on some mental health services for its students, instead of building another ghost town no one will ever live in. Don’t get him started on the apples rotting away at the core of this charade, or else he’d be here all night. “Most are as bad as the criminals they stop, and the few good ones? Oh, better steer clear of them. They’re the most messed-up of them all. You'll end up burying them if their stupid ideals don't get you hurt or killed first.”[break][break]

“Take it from me, kid.” With a flick of his wrist, Gen made a single plastified card appear between his fingers, one that read, loud and clear as the day, the words. ‘Pro Hero’ on the front, with a picture of his shit-eating grin attached, along with some information that was hard to make out from a distance. It was, as far as anyone could tell, a true and blue License. “Never meet your Heroes, they'll always let you down.”[break][break]

[attr="class","curragebot"] Radiate, recognize one silent call as we all form one dark flame.

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[𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲]

At the mouth of the temple the loud and unwanted boldly proclaimed: heroes are bad, actually. I’d commend his pluckiness if I weren’t interrupted by rebellious, unwavering youth.

“You’re just a toothpick hero!” She sports tears down her face and white knuckles by her side. The weight of her accusation rests on her pointer finger, a blade she draws against the unholy intruder — a defiler of all that is good and noble. “With a shit attitude!”

”Oh, honey…” Abuela hands me her purse as she warms the cub with her embrace. All it takes is a knee to the ground and a hand to the shoulder for the child to jump in her arms. “You can’t talk to heroes like that.” She carries the kid out, but not without a few parting words. “Even if they’re assholes.”

I dig out the red and green slips from the purse, mindlessly injecting myself where I need not be. My allegiances are signed in blood, but I offer an olive branch in hopes that he looked to satiate his spirit after feeding his ego.

“You’re not wrong.” Somehow, the most unnerving heroes were those with pure, altruistic intent. I found solace in corruption and greed within the institution — it meant there was a reason to keep the powers that be in control. “But what kind of hero makes a kid cry?”

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Kurokami Gen

[Kurokami Gen]

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Miseria Cantare

Love, your hate Your faith lost

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written for 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲

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Gen let out a whistle, almost impressed at the kid’s stiff upper lip. Toothpick Hero. That was a new one. A welcome change of pace. Such defiance in the face of seniority and authority was rare around this part. With a playful tone, Gen was quick to bite back. “Wow, do you kiss your great-grandma with that mouth, kid?” He turned to the person he assumed to be her guardian. It turned out that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, even if it was thousand year old oak.

Still, there was one thing she got wrong. With a single finger raised, he wouldn’t miss the chance to correct the hag. “Especially if they’re assholes.” A little here, a smug grin there and voilá, another day ruined by Kurokami Gen. This would be where our story ended. Or at least, it’s where it should have. Of course, somebody just had to play the Hero, and now we’re here. Can’t get away from these types, even on holidays.

The monstrous man sighs. He turns around, his act unimpeded. Don’t want this guy to be loafing around for when they get back. “If you want smiles and laughter, then go to a circus.” With a little giggle, he adds. “You’d fit right in… whoever you are.”

[attr="class","curragebot"] Radiate, recognize one silent call as we all form one dark flame.

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[𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲]

I was unimpressed. It’s not that his comments weren’t scathing — they’d antagonize most people. His tone could turn saint to sinner with nothing more than a few carefully placed sentences. Nuns would run to Proctor’s Ledge with taut rope in hand if it blessed them with the luxury of silencing his incessant chirping. What disappointed me was his inability to see beyond appearances. We shared a cynical view of the world. But he was too caught up in the inner machinations of his own psyche to observe anything outside of his preconceived narrative. He was running from something. We all were.

“That wasn’t rhetorical.” Words were war to people like him. There is no such thing as a peaceful existence. Every awkward muttering and every stuttered comment was an act of aggression. To speak with confidence? God forbid. “Crying children isn’t exactly brand friendly. Doesn’t scream ‘moral paragon’ either. So, what kind of hero are you? What’s your point?”

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Kurokami Gen

[Kurokami Gen]

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Miseria Cantare

Love, your hate Your faith lost

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written for 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲

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Huh, this guy was pretty smart, huh? Most people would get so hung up on the insults that they’d forget the bottom line of it all. Not bad. Still, he was thinking too small. “The kind that doesn’t need to suck up to stupid kids to make ends meet.” There was something a lot of people took for granted, this guy sure was. Geniuses don’t have to play nice. “You don't get it yet, but a few years from now, you're going to see this face everywhere." The rotten man pointed at his all-too-perfect mug. "I'm gonna' be all over Late Night TV, throwing the first pitches at baseball games, and having entire cinematic universes dedicated to me. Doesn’t matter if you were an all-time great athlete with a hunger for success, an iron chef with a scalding tongue, or a hobbled pill-popping doctor, if you’re that big of an ass, you’re either unemployed or amazing. Given the license he was carrying, it probably wasn’t the former. “I'm what you'd call a 'generational talent'. The Sidekicks can worry about keeping up good PR and smiling for the cameras, I'm above all that.”[break][break]

“Besides, I’m just doing my job.” Pulling people out of fires and punching criminals was just one way of helping the layman. Saving people from themselves is just as important, right? “Better to crush her dreams now than to wait for some idiot with a license to break her heart or face when she’s 20.” A few tears and a short unpleasant conversation were chump change compared to what’s waiting for any would-be groupie. “Trust me, I’m doing her a big favor. At the very least, I saved gram-gram a lot of money on bad T-shirts and overpriced autographs.” She could’ve been a little more grateful. At her age, she didn’t look like the type who’d enjoy standing around in line for hours, or at all.[break][break]

“If you ask me, that right there was a bigger public service than most of us ever do in a month.”[break][break]

[attr="class","curragebot"] Radiate, recognize one silent call as we all form one dark flame.

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[𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲]

Behold — a narcissist! Somehow when I asked about their point they found a way to bring it back to crushing a child’s dreams. Giving her a dose of sensible realism was admirable. His methodology was problematic. But the matter as a whole was irrelevant to what captured my attention. He was allegedly so talented that he could skirt PR and any conventional marketing while still reaping the success of an industry predicated on transaction.

“I really don’t care about the kid or public service.” If his claims were anything less than extraordinary, then I might have, but I was so much more interested in what made him special. “What makes you a generational talent? I find it hard to imagine anyone can build a career with an aggressive bucking of the norms.” Not when they included cruelty to the most vulnerable group amongst humans.

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Kurokami Gen

[Kurokami Gen]

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Miseria Cantare

Love, your hate Your faith lost

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Like the rude bitch he was, Gen wasted no time answering a question with one of his one. “What makes a Hero different from the rest of these idiots?” He gave him a moment to come up with an answer, only to cut him off with his own. “It’s their Quirks.” For as reductive as it was, it revealed more about what the narcissist thought of their value to society. “And I don’t just have the best one, I have all of them.”[break][break]

The young man looked back at the top of the mountain, as if checking something. Good, they’re still busy up there. He had time for this. “See, I was born with the power to copy and stockpile any power I see.” Mid-explanation, Gen pushed himself off of the gate, passing the boundary that separated Mundane from Divine. He got just a few steps closer to this stranger. “I don’t even have to deal with the downsides, I can just turn them on and off.” He raised his hands. snapping his fingers. Out of his raised index, a small flame emerged from the tip of his digits. “Like that.” Then he snapped them again, causing a small spark to dance at the source of the sound. “Or that. Or…” For this one, he was going to need both hands, so pay attention, kids.[break][break]

“『Minus Energy Sphere』”
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He brought both hands together. The sound of his palms meeting was the last thing the guy heard, before a strange black light escaped from between the guy’s fingers. Slowly, he brought them apart, revealing a sphere of pure darkness. It was no larger than a tennis ball, but its size did not do it justice. That thing bore ill. Every inch of it radiated a sickening aura of malice. An endless void of entropy, threatening to swallow everything it touched, floating just a few millimeters between his palms. And after giving the mark just enough time to ogle, one of his arms would close around that thing, causing it to vanish from existence. "See?"[break][break]

[attr="class","curragebot"] Radiate, recognize one silent call as we all form one dark flame.

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[𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲]

It was obviously their quirk. But the best way to milk information out of them was to give them an opportunity to put themselves above others. Little did I realize, the habit was warranted. The ability to copy and stockpile quirks was powerful. I knew there were weaknesses and limits they weren’t explaining — intentionally masking what was likely a critical drawback of such a powerful ability — but I couldn’t deny the truth.

A flame, a dancing spark, and finally the sound of palms clasping lead me to the abyss. I’ve had glimpses of such in the past, in the eyes of Balor, and the nightmares that reflected them. We all ended up here, from people to plants to animals to the Sun itself.

Fear bubbled. Par for the course, I responded with strength. Relief and anxiety warred within me. If he decided to run rampart, who could stop him? I couldn’t. Not yet. The industry, however, would never fall while he was alive. A decade or two on our side and my wela would live a safe, peaceful life. If not… even the time turner would fall.

I shouldn’t have but I cracked a smile at the thought.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He didn’t need to follow convention, not when he defied every expectation set by society. “You’re a one of a kind, generational talent. Glad I got to see it for myself.” I pulled out two slips of paper. One red, one green. “But I’ve gotta finish up here.”

---

Kurokami Gen

[Kurokami Gen]

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Miseria Cantare

Love, your hate Your faith lost

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written for 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲

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It was always nice to see your hard work panning out. In U.A.U. Denial was never in short supply. He couldn’t blame those dumbass marks for being stubborn, though. When you work this hard to get into a Hero School and find out about a Quirk as ridiculous as All for One, it all feels a little farcical. You train for years, and someone gets all the benefits in the world because they were born with an unimaginably strong gift. Imagine how that feels for everyone else.[break][break]

Normal people were different. All for One. Time Travel. Mood Battery. It's all just different flavors of bullshit. They'd already accepted their mediocre fate, and they were happy to gobble up the slop Hero Society fed them. 'Oh, you have every Quirk at your disposal? Sure, why not? Who cares?' At the end of the day, not much changes. You still have to wake up and go to your shitty nine-to-five, bills are still due at the end of the month and that mortgage, car or college debt isn't gonna pay itself. [break][break]



Gen’s head tilted to the side. A mix of confusion and curiosity ran through his features. His eyes centered on those slips of paper. If he was buying all this bullshit about All for One whole cloth, then he couldn’t have been the smartest guy around, but was he really this big of a mark. “Don’t tell me you buy all this wish-granting bullshit.”[break][break]

[attr="class","curragebot"] Radiate, recognize one silent call as we all form one dark flame.

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[𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲]

“No,” Fair question. The existence of quirks ignited a renaissance of faith; the impossible gently rested itself on our doorstep. A ten foot tongue capable of spitting acid or the ability to grow wings and fly were all fanciful ideas exclusive to fiction — our notion of reality was abruptly flipped on its head. With that came an era of unprecedented, unjustified belief and extremist thought. From those who sought to find more accurate models of the universe to those who relinquished understanding the deities above. Who was to say what was and wasn’t true? The arrogant.

And who is more arrogant than a man who believed not in the system, not in higher powers, not in morality — a man who believed in nothing other than himself? With all that was given to him, it’s no surprise he lacks faith. But the question wasn’t a matter of faith. It was a matter of pride.

He might think himself a god. He might think himself worthy of offerings, of tribute. But he isn’t.

“It’s symbolic.” I hang up a red slip, then green. It doesn’t mean anything to me, because much like the man before me, there’s nothing to believe in but myself. In English, three letters are scrawled across each slip.

RIP

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Kurokami Gen

[Kurokami Gen]

[nospaces]

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Miseria Cantare

Love, your hate Your faith lost

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written for 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲

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Huh. Bummer. [break][break]

Not because he had inadvertently mocked a dead stranger. That did suck a little bit. What sucked even harder was how little he had to say to that. “Fair enough.” Can’t really mock a guy for paying his respects to the dead. It was stupid, illogical, and if it were anyone from the Hero Course, he certainly would’ve had no empathy to spare, but this was just some Randy off the street. “First time I’ve heard a good reason for coming to these things.”[break][break]

[attr="class","curragebot"] Radiate, recognize one silent call as we all form one dark flame.

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