Aero (a BNHA OC story)

Chapter 4

...

A few weeks had passed, and Kenzo found himself seated in his modest dining room, scrolling through his phone while consuming a bowl of plain porridge oats. It had become a routine of sorts, a simple breakfast in the solitude of his small apartment.

Watching the news about the recent attack on a group of UA students, Kenzo couldn't shake the feeling of culpability for not heeding Nezu's request. In simple terms, he felt like he had let everyone down. Avoiding his manager's calls only added to the weight of guilt that rested on his shoulders.

He glanced at his phone's screen and noticed a daunting tally of 11 missed calls from Mr. G. The implications of those calls weighed heavily on his mind.

As he continued to contemplate his life, Kenzo couldn't help but wonder if this was the path he was truly meant to tread. Was he destined to be just another fighter in the underground world of Tokyo, scrapping for survival and recognition? The echo of his former dreams as a hero haunted him, a stark contrast to his current reality.

His reflection was interrupted by another incoming call from Mr. G. 

Kenzo hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath before answering.

Mr. G's voice crackled through the phone, rough and unwavering. "Kenzo, you've been avoiding my calls. We've got a major bout lined up for you. You can't afford to bail out now."

Kenzo listened in silence, the gravity of his manager's words settling in. The fight club was his lifeline, the means by which he made his living.

"Next week Thursday, 9 PM, sharp."

With a resigned tone, Kenzo acknowledged, "I'll be there, Mr. G."

The manager's response was brisk. "See you in the ring, champ."

The line clicked off, leaving Kenzo staring at his phone, a heavy weight settling in his chest. Was this really all there was to his journey? Nezu's words echoed in his mind, a poignant reminder of the dreams he'd once held.

Kenzo let out a heavy sigh, the weight of his decisions pressing down on him like a lead blanket. He pushed his phone aside and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as thoughts swirled in his mind.

Nezu's words from his days at UA Academy resonated with him now more than ever. The belief that he was destined for greatness, that he would rise to become Japan's number one hero—it all felt like a distant memory, a dream shattered by the harsh realities of life.

He couldn't help but wonder if he had settled for less than he was capable of. The adrenaline-fueled battles in the underground fight club, while providing a means of survival, felt like a far cry from the noble ideals he once held.

Kenzo's gaze fell to his hands, strong and calloused from years of training and combat. They were a testament to his resilience and determination. But in that moment, they also represented the choices he had made, the path he had forged.

As the hours passed, Kenzo's mind churned with contemplation. The walls of his small apartment seemed to close in around him, suffocating him with the weight of his own uncertainty.

...

In the changing room, Kenzo meticulously wrapped his hands in bandages, the distant chants of his fans reverberating through the thick metal doors.

"Aero! Aero! Aero!" The chorus echoed, the nickname they had bestowed upon him, inspired by his remarkable air manipulation quirk. 

Kenzo seldom showcased this power in the ring, but when he did, it was a demonstration of raw might and unwavering strength.