Vigilante Yoru

Chapter 1

(Author's Note: Hello again! I was able to write another chapter! I also think I am going to write a kind of bonus chapter next! Hopefully, I can post that one today or tomorrow! I am having more fun than I thought writing this! As of today, I hope to rewrite the description soon and finalize my ideas for the story! I may not plan the ending quite yet, but having some finer details in place will help the flow of the plot! Now I guess I am just rambling lol. I hope to gain some more readers soon too! With me writing so many chapters so fast, hopefully that happens. I write not only for my fun but also for others to enjoy my work! Anywho, as always, if you have any suggestions or requests, I am more than open to them! Hope you enjoy the chapter! Thanks for reading!) 

!!! Hints of abuse, descriptions of injuries 

Limping back to my bedroom, I particularly struggle at the stairs, but I make it to my destination nonetheless. After pushing the door open, I grimace as I take off my hoodie, throwing it into the laundry pile. My undershirt clung to me and was more of a struggle to get off than the hoodie. Letting out a quick breath after it was finally over my head, I was grateful to have it off. But my relief was short-lived as pain erupted throughout my abdomen. He really did not hold back on the kicks today, didn't he? My ribs were extremely sore, I would not be surprised if a couple were broken. Despite knowing this, I still look down to acknowledge the damage. Bruising ranging from fresh to just barely healed littered my chest and stomach. What was also clear were the scars. From slashes of knives to circular wounds evidence of gunshots to a couple of extremely harsh burns all scattered across my body. I walk, well more like drag, myself to the mirror. My face was also sporting wounds. A scratch along my cheek and a black eye looked fitting with the scars. I looked like I went to war and was able to come back to talk about it. A sigh escaped my lips as I walked over to my closet and pulled out a new shirt. This one was baggy thankfully, a couple sizes too big to hide wounds and my figure. Despite all the wounds and scars, I was thankfully very fit. I was surprisingly proud to say that I am so healthy, especially since there is not much I am proud of. I always try to keep my figure hidden to try and keep people from making any type of connections. After the shirt was on and a pair of jeans slid carefully over my sprained leg, I went over to my desk to grab my wallet, my more casual phone, and keys. Sliding them into my pants pockets, I head towards the door only stopping to pick up a baseball hat off my dresser.

!!! End

Leaving the house was thankfully uneventful, though I only believe it went so smoothly due to him either being passed out or he knew I was headed to work. Both my hat and shirt sported the cafe logo in evidence of where I was headed. Sadly, it was located in the middle of the city which was quite a distance from where I live. I sighed again, accepting that this was going to be a long walk. Thankfully my mind did a great job of either disassociating or rambling about different cases. Passing through different alleyways and trudging down different streets with my hands in my pockets and eyes on the ground, there was not much to think about today. Granted, I could ponder on the case I just finished last night or any future case, but I was drawing a blank. It seems my old man beat my IQ out of me this morning, which was another topic I tend to find pride in. It's not every day that a 19-year-old has an almost completed master's degree in Engineering and Quirk science. I dropped out of in-person classes due to the bullying, enrolling myself in an online school, which I was more than grateful for. Through that school, my true smarts were uncovered and were able to bloom. I graduated high school at the ripe age of 16, which was fitting because that is when I began my journey as Yoru. I was accepted into a prestigious online college that thankfully ignored me as I flew through courses, already knowing my reputation from my high school. I was known for my high IQ and for completing courses before they could get halfway through the semester. I thank whoever invented online schools with a freeform curriculum. Going through classes so quickly allowed me to spend time at my jobs, the dojo where I was accepted as a student when I was 5, and was quick to let me teach other children. By the age of 11, I was teaching more than I was learning so they decided to start considering me part of the staff and providing a small, off-hand paycheck, or allowance as they liked to call it. My Master was kind, and I believe he knew of my home life from the beginning. He may have thought I was learning to defend myself against that bastard I call a father, but eventually was disappointed as I continued to come to the dojo with more wounds. I think he attempted at least once to report my father to the police, but as soon as my condition was brought up, he was swiftly denied a case. I am not all surprised. Heroes and police alike have ignored my wounds and tears since it all started. He just had to learn to give up later than I did. I see the small ways he tries to help though, from bringing bento boxes for me here and there to forcing me to sit so he could tend to my wounds. I was grateful for him, especially since I see him as a grandfather figure in my life. He continues to schedule me to this day and insists on paying me extra, which none of the other staff seemed to mind. He was a dilemma all of his own, constantly on my back about taking care of myself. Which is a task all on its own, my father could barely hold a job which left that task to me. That's where the cafe job came in. I would have preferred to work in a quiet library where I could read while I work, but they wouldn't accept a 14-year-old at the time. Instead, as a barely teenager, I walked into a humble cafe that had a beautiful plant theme. The owner was more lenient than most places and took me under her wing as quickly as she could. Himari took on the role of crazy, overprotective aunt as fast as I learned how to operate the coffee machines. She had the same issues as my Master did with the police though, because coming to work every day with a new wound was hard to hide. She never seemed to give up though, and started building her own sloppy case against my father, determined to find someone who would take it. She has been unsuccessful so far and has passed the point of being able to adopt me since I turned 18 almost two years ago, which was apparently her end goal. I chuckled at the memory of her claiming to the customers that he would become her adoptive son despite the customers finding no interest in the topic.