Capítulo 128: Fanfic #128 Heads or tails? by Bazookabazooka(MHA)
This fanfic follows an oc in the world of My Hero Academia. I really like this fic mainly because of the mc, I've never really seen this kind of mc in MHA and it's fun and kind of refreshing to follow his journey. I'm also looking forward to how the story develops with his personality.
Synopsis: Gyoubu Oniwa can spin things by touching them. Ridiculously fast. So fast that a spinning coin won't tear skin by touching someone, it'll make the muscle underneath curl in on itself. It's fortunate he became a hero (regardless of his less than heroic reasons). Male OC, with light crossover elements of Spin from JoJo, and Gotoh from Hunter x Hunter.
Rated: M
words: 68k
https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13637376/1/Heads-or-tails
Here's the first chapter:
There will always be children bullies are drawn to. Maybe an interesting appearance, a verbal tic, a disability, a humiliating quirk; if there was anything at all that people could make fun of, they would. When he was young, Gyoubu was one of those children.
Until the day.
"Gyoubu, Gyoubu, Gyoubu the demon!" They jaunted, forming a ring of their tiny bodies around him. Why was he a demon? His family name had the word "oni" in it, and he had red eyes. That was it.
"My mum told me demons need to be beaten!" One brave child said, to cheers and agreement from the rest, and slowly the chant changed to "Beat the, beat the, beat the demon!". Around the same time, they started calling him a villain, and with it, kicks and stones began to be thrown.
Tears streamed like rivers down his face, features contorted into a truly demonic scowl- well, as much as a prepubescent child could scowl. Merely 8 years old, and Gyoubu had experienced true hatred for another person.
'I want to fight back'
'I need to fight back'
'I need to fight'
His quirk was simple, he could spin objects as long as they were touching his skin, and weighed less than him. But when you could rev anything up to thousands of rpm in a few seconds, anything could become a weapon. He had never realised this until he grabbed a coin from his pocket, threw all his energy into spinning it as fast as he could, and shoved it straight in the face of one of his attackers.
Screech
The boy's face twisted in on itself.
The cracking of bones resonated.
Gyoubu had never known flesh made that noise when it tore.
The sound was an orchestra Gyoubu had never heard.
And he loved it.
The day became known as "The Twister Incident", yet another entry in a long list of quirk-related injuries that were so commonplace in early schooling. Toddlers and young children with potentially deadly quirks had the tendency to turn schools into more of a part-time hospital, to the point where teachers had almost the same qualifications as nurses and doctors.
To Gyoubu though, it took a while before life was the same again. Most, if not all, quirk injuries were total accidents; perhaps an attempt at showing off, or using a quirk during a game and losing control. Gyoubu had done it intentionally, and that was all his classmates needed to know for them to isolate him further.
Gyoubu agreed with them. If he wasn't a demon before, then he sure as hell was now. He was still a little too young for true self-hatred, but when his classmates would single him out he didn't feel the same defiance; it was just his punishment for doing what he did.
Yet, those were only his surface level feelings. What lied below, was pure pride. Why should he feel bad for attacking his classmate? If he didn't want to get his face torn, he should have just dodged. Better yet, he could've stopped bullying Gyoubu.
Even deeper, was the fact he relished the memory. The way the blood threw itself into the air like a garden hose, the way the flesh took a shape wholly unnatural, and that satisfying crunch when his nose snapped. Every detail imprinted itself into Gyoubu's memory, to be enjoyed during his dreams and darkest moments.
He knew those were bad, naughty things to think though, so he simply didn't think about them. He would go into school, get teased a little (they never did anything serious, not after he nearly killed one of them for it), head home (sometimes daring to wonder where his father went), and try to sleep without thinking bad thoughts.
And so it continued.
Yet, there would be little slips, as he liked to call them, every so often.
The very first time happened on a hot, humid summer day, and after a long day of school.
Walking home from school, as usual, he saw a bird lying on the ground.
"What are you doing down there? Why can't you fly?" He asked it, half expecting the bird to fly away, merely to avoid his judgemental gaze. He looked closer, and realised its wing was bent in a painful-looking way.
"Oh. You were too weak to keep your wing safe? Those are your life, birdie, why didn't you take better care of them?" The little red robin merely tweeted at him.
"Some other animal's gonna eat you if you can't fly away."
He gazed into the eyes of the thing.
"I don't want that."
He raised his foot.
Bird's bones were hollow, which made them produce a satisfying snapping noise.
He made sure to clean off his shoe before arriving at home.
A year or so passed like a blur, and so did another, and then another, until he found himself about to enter junior high school, a little after his 12th birthday. Again, he was walking home from school, as it seemed all his life-changing moments happened on the walk home. He was caught up in thinking about a show he had watched, an incredibly entertaining one about what the Olympics used to be, before quirks made them obsolete. He loved the idea of people competing against each other with only their talent and bodies. And steroids, lots, lots of steroids. But that was water under the bridge. His thoughts were rudely interrupted by him walking into a barrier, one he recognised as belonging to the police, used only when a villain was attacking a hero.
Instant excitement coursed through his body; he had never seen a villain fight in real life! Who would win? Forget about that, who was the hero? The villain? What were their quirks? Would it be violent or full of one-up-manship? He got his answer as soon as he looked up.
Deatharms was the hero (how on Earth was that name approved?) and some other grisly-looking, muscular villain was his assailant. But he didn't care for a single second about who they were, when he looked closer. His cheeks hurt from grinning when he saw what they were doing.
It was an absolute slugfest.
A complete and utter battle of attrition. Little bits of spittle and teeth and blood littered the ground around them, only increasing in quantity every strike was exchanged. Oh speaking of strikes, each one shook the damn sky. Both combatants had almost entirely forgotten about dodging, parrying, anything except for slamming into their opponent with every tenet of force they possessed.
It belonged in a museum, he humbly thought. It would definitely be in his mental museum, at least.
They went on for what felt like only seconds more, before Deatharms landed one final cannon to the villain's jaw, and dropped him like a stone. Gyoubu nearly cried. He urged the villain to get back up, to carry on going, to just fight for half a second longer. But he got no such luck, and it seemed god didn't want to treat him too much, just yet.
The police officer near him must've noticed his distraught face, and placed a hand on his head, as if to comfort him.
"You worried for Deatharms, kid? Don't. Heroes are made of the strongest stuff you'll ever find, and Deatharms might be even stronger. They gotta be strong though, fighting is essentially their job, and getting roughed up like that is just part of the job description. Look, what I mean is he'll be fine, now head off home, your parents'll be worried."
It hit him.
Harder and faster than any of Deatharms' or the villain's punches.
Heroes fight people.
As a public service.
And no one can tell them it's wrong.
His career was settled from that day on.
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