MY BLOOD SWEAT & TEARS | BNHA (old)

prologue

In a small house far away from the bustle of a city, a woman gently sweeps at the floor. Her pinky was tucked underneath her hand as to not activate her Quirk against the broom, and lips pressed together, emitting a quiet and melodious hum.

Covered feet padded along the tatami mats of her residence as Uraraka shuffled from one room to another, completing the remainder of her Spring cleaning tasks. The kitchen, the bathroom and her bedroom were all polished and shining, leaving only the basement and the living room. Dreading the long flight of stairs after a long day of working and cleaning, Uraraka grabbed her cleaning supplies and walked down the stairs with a sigh.

She set her things down and ran her hand against the cold wall, searching for the light switch in the dark. Finding it with little effort, Uraraka flipped it up and the lights turned on with a flicker. Boxes upon boxes, some marked and others not, sent a wave of cardboard smell towards Uraraka's nose. She sniffled and rolled up the sleeves to her light pink jumper.

The woman stretched and secured her ponytail before making her way towards one of the stacks. She took a pocket knife out from the back of her jeans and started cutting away at the taped seams of the box, this one being one of the many unmarked boxes. A wave of nostalgia hit Uraraka like a ton of bricks, her breath caught in the back of her throat and eyes filling with tears.

Lips quivering, Uraraka gently took hold of one of the items from inside. A hard and green round item with dark ridges along the surface, like that of a turtle's shell, met the light for the first time in over a decade. Its dark green hue had worn off from excess use, some parts darkened from scorch marks. Its twin had long since been destroyed.

Uraraka gently placed the item onto the floor and peered into the box once more. In it was her old hero costume—the one that brought her graduation from U.A and even a few years beyond. The one that people would see and say, "Hey, that's the pro Hero Uravity!"

It was way too small now, Uraraka mused, and too worn out. There were multiple rips and discolouration. The glass from the visor of her old hero's helmet had a big crack down the middle, making it hard to see out of.

On top of her uniform, though, in the corner of the box rested a black mask with an orange strip along the outside. A thin layer of dirt still clung onto it, although otherwise the mask was still perfectly in tact.

Uraraka let out a strained sigh, bringing the mask out of the box. She managed to brush off most of the dust before bringing it up to her lips. The action alone sent her mind spiraling, bringing her to a past she longed for, where the naivety of children was accepted, and ignorance was bliss (mostly).

A past where he was still alive.