Disclaimer
This is a work of fan fiction. The universe of My Hero Academia (Boku no Hero Academia) and its characters are the creation and property of Kohei Horikoshi. The conceptual abilities inspired by the character Fujitora (Issho) from One Piece are the property of Eiichiro Oda. The original character, Kaito Kurosawa, and the specific narrative events of this story are original to this work.
Chapter 1: The Color of Nothing
The world, to a four-year-old Kaito Kurosawa, was a symphony of blindingly beautiful colors.
He lived in a small, quiet apartment in the Musutafu suburbs, a neighborhood far removed from the dazzling chaos of high-level hero work. His world was the gentle, flour-dusted apron of his mother, Misaki, the crisp blue of a cloudless sky, and the vibrant, almost aggressive green of the local park grass.
Kaito was a quiet child, but his eyes were loud. He would sit for hours, just watching. He watched the way the sunlight made the dust motes dance in the living room. He watched the way the crimson of a ladybug stood out against a brown leaf.
His favorite color was the deep, impossible blue of his mother's favorite vase, the one she kept on the windowsill.
"Kaito-chan," Misaki would laugh, her voice as warm as the tea she was brewing. "You're staring at that vase again. You'll bore a hole right through it."
He would just smile, turning his gaze to her. "It's pretty, Mama. It's like the sky before the stars come out."
On this particular afternoon, the sky was that exact color. A perfect, late-autumn blue. Misaki had taken him to the park, a rare treat since his father, Kenji, was working late. Kaito was sitting on the swings, kicking his small legs, trying to fly high enough to touch that blue.
"Higher, Mama! Push me higher!"
Misaki laughed, giving the swing a gentle push. "Not too high, little bird. You don't have wings yet."
The park was nearly empty. The setting sun cast long, orange shadows. It was peaceful. The air smelled of dry leaves and distant chimney smoke.
The peace broke like glass.
It wasn't a loud noise that startled them. It was a feeling. The air turned sour, heavy. Kaito stopped pumping his legs, the swing slowly creaking to a halt.
"Mama?" he whispered.
Misaki's hand, which had been resting on the swing's chain, suddenly gripped it tight. Her knuckles went white. "Kaito. Get behind me. Now."
A man stumbled out from the trees lining the park's edge. He was thin, wrapped in dirty rags, and he moved with a frantic, twitching energy. He wasn't a powerful villain, not a monster of an All for One documentary. He was just a man, desperate and broken, and that, Kaito would later learn, was often far more dangerous.
"Gimme the bag," the man rasped, his voice like gravel. He pulled a small, rusty utility knife from his pocket. The blade caught the dying orange light.
Misaki's Quirk was simple; she could make small plants grow slightly faster. It was useless here. She moved Kaito behind her legs, her body trembling, but her voice firm. "Please... just leave. We don't have anything."
"Don't lie!" the man shrieked, stepping closer. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and utterly vacant. There was no thought behind them, no plan. Only a raw, buzzing need. "The bag. Give it to me!"
He lunged. Misaki cried out, pushing Kaito away as she fell back, clutching her purse. "Run, Kaito! Run!"
But Kaito didn't run. He was four. He was frozen. He stared at the man's face, at the way his teeth were bared, at the desperation that made him ugly.
The man got the purse. He ripped it from Misaki's shoulder, and she fell to the gravel, scraping her hands. He had what he wanted. He could have left. He should have left.
But he saw Kaito staring. He saw the boy's wide, intelligent eyes taking in every detail of his face.
The man paused. A cold, strange stillness came over him. He looked at Kaito, and a grotesque smile split his face.
"What're you lookin' at, kid?" he whispered, his voice suddenly calm. "You see me, don'tcha? You see everything."
Misaki scrambled to her feet, screaming, "No! Leave him alone! Take it! Just go!"
The man ignored her. He took one step toward Kaito, who was still paralyzed by the swing set. He knelt, bringing his face level with the boy's. Kaito could smell the sour sickness on his breath.
"You got pretty eyes, kid," the man murmured. "Just like that vase. That pretty, pretty blue."
He raised the knife.
"The world's ugly," the man said, his voice almost sympathetic. "You shouldn't have to see it."
Misaki's scream was a sound Kaito would never forget. It was a sound that tore the fabric of the world. But it was distant. All Kaito could focus on was the flash of dull orange on metal.
He felt a searing, electric pain on the right side of his face. Then the left.
He screamed, a high, thin sound that didn't feel like his own. He clapped his hands to his face, feeling something wet and hot gushing through his fingers. The smell of copper filled his nose.
Then, the colors were gone.
The perfect blue, the dying orange, the green of the grass. All of it.
Gone.
Replaced by an absolute, terrifying, and infinite black.
He heard the man laugh, a short, barking sound. He heard the pounding of his mother's feet on the gravel. He heard her wailing his name.
He felt her arms wrap around him, pulling him close, her tears hot on his hands.
"My baby! Oh, no... no... Kaito... My baby!"
He tried to open his eyes to see her. He tried to find her face.
But there was nothing. There was only the sound of her agony, the wetness on his cheeks, and the endless, crushing dark. The last thing Kaito Kurosawa ever saw was the empty, hateful gaze of a stranger.