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“We’re not done here.”
Katsumi storms out of the living room, battling against the angry tears that threaten to spill. He rapidly blinks away the moisture, jaw clenched, determined not to cry simply because his dad raised his voice—a rare occurrence in their household
As the child of Japan’s leading heroes, Katsumi already endures relentless scrutiny at school; he shouldn’t have to contend with it at home, a place meant to be his sanctuary. Recently, however, it’s been anything but. Perhaps he’s to blame for his current predicament—maybe he’s responsible for all the negativity surrounding him—but right now, all Katsumi wants is to curl up and go into hibernation for the rest of the year.
A firm grip clamps around his wrist. Despite the green lightning crackling theatrically, intended to compel him into submission, Katsumi, displaying the family's characteristic obstinacy—true to his name—glares defiantly and attempts to pull himself free.
“Katsumi! I just want answers. This is the fifth time the school has called to complain about you, and now I’m hearing you’ve resorted to violence?”
“What, now you actually give a damn?” Katsumi sneers. He realizes it’s harsh, and guilt begins to gnaw at him, but he can’t stop. “Maybe the only way to get a hero’s attention is to act like a villain.”
His dad wavers, if only for a brief moment. The pained expression on his face nearly convinces Katsumi to reach out, take back his words, and plead for forgiveness. But he doesn’t. Instead, he seizes the chance to untangle himself from the slackened grip and slams his bedroom door behind him. Leaning against it, he closes his eyes as a heavy fist pounds against his hummingbird heart.
“Is this about your birthday? Katsumi, open the door. I just want to talk.”
Deku the Pro Hero is fearsome when he’s angry, but he pales in comparison to Midoriya Izuku, the Parent. The fierce intensity in his eyes sends shivers down Katsumi’s spine, urging him to retreat in search of refuge.
In contrast, Bakugou Katsuki, the Parent, often blusters, and Katsumi knows he can leverage this to his advantage, getting away with almost anything. With his dad’s round green eyes, Katsumi is well aware that Katsuki finds it difficult to deny him. It may be a bit underhanded, but it’s undeniably effective. Even when his old man’s expression tightens and he points a stern finger, Katsumi still manages to have his way. Empty threats don’t intimidate him, especially when he ends up enjoying sukiyaki for dinner or getting a ride to the mall anyway.
He doesn’t bother changing out of his gakuran as he collapses face-first onto his mattress. Eventually, the persistent knocking comes to an end.
Even the number one gives up on occasion.
Disregarding his old man’s ongoing lectures about the drawbacks of lying on his stomach, Katsumi rests his cheek against the pillow. His phone sits untouched, a stark reminder of how little regard anyone has for him beyond his family ties. He’s merely a reflection of both his parents—Deku’s eyes, freckles, and smile; Dynamight’s hair, nose, and, it seems, his questionable manners.
The news app drones on with the same tedious headlines, spotlighting the same two names. In the back of his mind, Katsumi frequently wonders how he’ll ever measure up to the expectations placed upon him. What makes him worthy of any recognition? He’s nothing like his parents—in fact, he feels like their complete opposite. People tend to lose interest once they realize he won’t be handing out free autographs or inviting them over. At heart, when all is said and done, he’s utterly unremarkable.
A spoiled child who takes his fortunate circumstances for granted.
It’s frustrating.
Even more so now that he’s hurt his dad.
He gazes at his lock screen, an old photo from when he was younger. In it, he beams with a toothless grin, perched on his old man’s shoulders. Both of them are grinning widely, fingers in their mouths to show off their missing front teeth—his old man’s a result of a fight, which he only bothered to fix after Katsumi’s own teeth grew back. Next to them, his dad holds two crepes, neither of which belong to him, yet he looks content all the same. The snapshot was taken during a vacation in Osaka.
The doorknob rattles once more. No knock this time; Katsumi instantly knows who it is.
“You want a door or not?”
Katsumi exhales in exasperation, shoving his phone under his pillow before reluctantly heading to the door to unlock it. His old man stands there, still in his hero costume, excluding the gauntlets.
So he must have just gotten back.
"Did he send you?"
The old man arches an incredulous brow, kicking the door shut behind him. "He? You mean the guy who puts a roof over your head?"
Katsumi lets out a burdened sigh, slumping over the edge of his bed. "I know I fucked up, alright?"
A light flick to his forehead. “Mind your fucking language,” he chides, his tone half-hearted as he sits beside Katsumi. “Now spill it. What happened? And no lying—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You can always tell,” Katsumi retorts, rolling his eyes as he wrings his hands, cursing himself for the nervous tic. “I punched a kid.”
“Fuck’s sake. Okay, why?”
“Because...” Katsumi glares down at the floorboards, where a composition notebook lies hidden. If his dad ever discovered that he actually took his advice about journaling, he’d be over the moon. Katsumi grits his teeth, pressing his palms against his knees and squeezing tightly. “He was being a jerk, so I decided to teach him a lesson.”
“Because you’re the all-knowing one?”
“It’s not funny,” Katsumi snaps, fixing a seething glare on his old man. Heat rises beneath his skin, acrid smoke scratching at his larynx as he fights to suppress the charred taste. “He was talking about you—both of you. The things he was saying—I don’t even want to repeat them. How could he... what gives him the right, huh? You two carry this country on your backs, protecting everyone, and he deserved it. That bastard is lucky I didn’t unleash my explosive breath on him.”
To his astonishment, the old man cracks a smile, clearly entertained by the woes of his melodramatic fourteen-year-old. “So you’d huff and puff and blow his house down?” When Katsumi shoots him a humorless look, he playfully ruffles his hair. “Listen, kid. You don’t have to defend our honor, alright? Teenagers are just assholes; can’t take them all on.”
“Called me a bitch too.”
“Maybe you can take some of them.”
Katsumi snorts.
“I..said some things I didn't mean..”
“Yeah? Why not go talk to your dad? He’s sulking on the couch.”
“I'm not sulking,” a muffled voice comes from behind the door.
“Sure, he’s just eavesdropping.”
The door swings open, revealing his dad on the other side. He doesn’t appear furious; instead, he gazes at Katsumi with wide, glossy eyes. “Katsumi—”
“I’m sorry,” Katsumi blurts out. “I… didn’t mean it. I’m not angry at you. I get it, I really do. I was just pissed, and my mouth started running. You do so much for me; I know that.”
“Oh, Katsumi.”
As his dad rushes in to embrace him, Katsumi leans his forehead against his chest. This time, he allows his tears to fall without holding them back.
The old man sighs. “I’ll get started on dinner, we can have a nice ole’ family discussion while we eat.”