Why couldn't he become a hero?
The answer was simple.
Kurose Kuro was afraid.
In his family, becoming a Pro Hero had never ended well.
Before he turned five, the only adults he clearly remembered were his parents. His grandfather had been a minor hero. His uncle too. And in the end, his parents had followed the same path.
His father—Kurose Haruto—was someone Kuro had always admired. Tall, scarred, and steady, with a quiet, reassuring smile.
Before his Quirk awakened, Kuro had said it without hesitation:
"I want to be a healer hero like my dad."
His family never treated the word "hero" as something special. They didn't talk about glory or sacrifice. They didn't think of themselves as part of some grand legacy.
No one believed they had to die for anyone.
Until the Kita Bay City incident.
Kuro remembered everything.
Snow and blood covered his vision. He couldn't see the attacker's face.
But he remembered the pain.
He should have died that day.
Instead, his Quirk dragged him back.
Again.
And again.
Each time he reached the edge of death, something pulled him back—his body forced to recover, only to be torn apart again.
There was nothing worse than that.
Dying would have been easier.
"I want to die! Please—!"
"Kill me! It hurts—kill me!"
"Dad! Please, just kill me!"
What was worse than death?
Being unable to die.
Kuro carried the box into his room.
The orphanage gave each child a small space. It wasn't large, but it was enough.
He opened the cabinet and carefully placed the toys inside, one by one.
Beside his clothes sat a Quirk pistol, a gift from Kurose Daichi.
The toys were all hero figures.
He recognized All Might immediately. And Enji Todoroki—Endeavor—along with several others from years ago.
But a few figures stood out.
They wore white coats, with black bandages wrapped around their arms and legs. Some had cloaks, others hooded jackets, but all of them had the same symbol printed on their chest.
Spring.
Kuro blinked.
These were his uncle's.
He let out a small laugh—rare, awkward, but real.
He picked up the pistol and placed it next to one of the figures. One of the heroes in his family had carried a gun.
Maybe that one was his father.
Something warm stirred in his chest.
A thought pushed its way forward, louder and louder.
Why can't I be a hero?
A voice answered immediately.
Don't be stupid.
His Quirk was unstable. Overuse could kill him.
How could someone like that become a hero?
People like Hitoshi Shinso, with powerful, practical Quirks—those were the ones who had a chance.
Kuro's Quirks?
Both of them were unreliable.
And worse—
He never knew if the next time he used Damage Replacement would be the last.
Still…
The thought didn't go away.
What if he could become a hero?
At fifteen, it was easy to imagine things like that. To build a version of yourself that was stronger, braver, better.
For most people, it was just a passing fantasy.
For Kuro, it was something he only allowed himself to think about in private.
This might be the first time in ten years—
And the last—
He admitted it to himself.
I want to be a hero.
He stood up suddenly, energy surging through him.
"If using my Quirk too much will kill me… then—"
He threw a punch into the air.
"Like this—take them all down!"
His voice echoed in the small room, hoarse but filled with excitement.
A complaint came from the next room, followed by someone snoring loudly.
Kuro froze.
He slowly lowered his hand, embarrassed.
"…Right."
He let out a quiet laugh and shook his head.
Still dreaming.
He picked up the toy pistol, squinting one eye as he aimed at nothing in particular.
"Bang. Bang."
The words were soft, almost childish.
He wanted to try.
But the fear was still there.
Fear of dying.
Fear of ending up like the rest of his family.
Eventually, the energy faded.
He cleaned up, washed, and got ready for school.
The sun rose.
It reminded him of the day he woke up in the hospital, the day the doctor told him his Quirk had been pushed beyond its limits.
Fear.
Loss.
And something else—
A faint, bitter sense of relief.
I can't.
I shouldn't.
How could I possibly do it?
How could he avenge his parents?
He wasn't even a Pro Hero.
And even if he became one—
Wouldn't he just die the same way they did?
If he couldn't even understand how they died, what was the point?
Better to focus on staying alive.
The question of his uncle's death, and the fragile dream of becoming a hero, sank back into silence.
A new day.
Another day he didn't want to go to school.
"Kuro, your uniform…"
Fujita Emi held up an old autumn uniform, her expression apologetic. "This is the only spare we have."
His original one had been destroyed by Katsuki Bakugo.
"It's fine. I'll wear the summer uniform—"
He stopped.
Short sleeves.
His injuries would be visible.
"…I'll take this one."
The uniform didn't fit well. It was clearly someone else's old clothes.
"If this doesn't work, we'll get you a new one later," Emi said. "Just manage for today."
Kuro nodded, finishing his drink before heading out.
He had barely taken a few steps—
Something slammed into him.
A bag.
And then—
"You bastard… I'm going to crush you."
Kuro's head snapped up.
Bakugo.
He dodged the incoming punch on instinct, grabbed Bakugo's arm, and activated his Quirk.
Nothing happened.
Bakugo grinned, sharp and dangerous.
"You think that trick works on me now?"
He grabbed Kuro by the face and slammed him to the ground.
"Fight me head-on! What's the point of cheap tricks?!"
Kuro stared up at him.
…They were in the middle of the street.
He gritted his teeth and pushed his Quirk harder.
Pain Recall surged again.
"AHHHHH—!"
Bakugo's scream tore through the air.
At the same time, Kuro felt the same pain crash into him.
Both of them froze for a split second—
Then moved.
At this point, it was simple.
Whoever could run faster while enduring the pain would win.