09.XX
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Monoma is not a bad person.
He’s not evil. He’s not misguided. He made a mistake.
A long, long, long... series of mistakes.
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He thinks of the first one. It’s hard. Wading through a blur of the past is... difficult. He has trouble pinpointing the start.
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It starts with, really... a broken, damaged smile, happiness stretching cracked and scarred lips. A mischievious, devious thought. How easy it would be to manipulate that tattered smile. How powerful it felt. How wrong and incredible the world became, the way even the air seemed to change to even allow the two to be in the same room, this successor of the most ultimate darkness and a nobody like himself, together so intoxicatingly intense and dangerous and utterly indescribable.
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Really, it starts with his own reflection. His own ugliness on the other side of the glass. Hating it.
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He’s hated himself for a long time. He can’t remember when that started, but maybe if he remembered, he’d understand something about this.
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Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe it doesn’t matter what he thinks because no matter what he thinks about it won’t block out what’s happening in front of him-
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There’s a time he remembers. Or doesn’t, maybe just imagines, it doesn’t matter. Either way, it’s an image as clear as day. He’s young, very young, at a time where everyone is learning and struggling through every day as these strange new powers settle into every vein.
He’s sitting in a classroom, watching. Just watching. One by one oh god one by one every student leaps to their feet, getting in the center of the circle to show off their quirk.
He watches, quietly. Enviously. His hair is just long enough to throw a shadow over his eyes as he sits, curled up, knees close to his chest, glaring at every child as they boast and play, presenting their talents.
First, a boy who could make his shadows dance to a different tune than himself.
Then, a girl who could make messes disappear with just a wink of her eye.
Then, a boy who could snap his fingers and create a spark of flame.
One by one.
One by one.
Jealousy seethes through him. The worst thoughts come into his head with every little presentation. How they didn’t deserve their gifts. How annoying they were. How they were doing it wrong. If he’d had it, he’d wield it better, he’d be more graceful, he’d have more style, he’d be faster, stronger, he’d-
It’s his turn.
And he freezes. He has nothing. Nothing to show for.
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Even after all this time, all this training, all these hardships, he’s nothing.
He has nothing. Can do nothing.
He can’t even stop what’s in front of him.
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And he can’t help but think the worst thoughts.
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He watches quietly.
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One by one, All For One presents these little quirks to him. He becomes a shadow, teeth a sharp, cheshire cut in the darkness that drapes Kuroiro’s hospital bed. He makes a parody of a nurse, demonstrating with a princely kiss to his knuckle that nearly makes him vomit as any and all wounds he’d left on his body earlier tickle shut.
And Endeavor...
Well...
He watches that up close. Stares his still body down, imagining. Smiling, perhaps. Realizing.
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That maybe he is misguided. Because as he watches the deepest black seep from his friend’s skin, disappearing into the greedy clutches of All For One’s grip, he can’t help but hope he’ll be graced with it, too.
And maybe he is a bad person. Because when such an important and selfless power is robbed from the frailest body he could ever seen, still twitching and jerking even despite her stupor, he can’t help but wonder whether it’s just better that it’s all ending this way.
And maybe he is evil. Because it feels good.
Watching someone as massive, as powerful, as so damn undeserving as the Number One just be reduced to nothing...
It feels good.
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And maybe he’s having a little... trouble. Thinking. For himself, by himself, remembering who and what he is. He’s having a little trouble with his memories. With understanding what’s right and what’s wrong. With coping with what’s truly happened, with preferring what he makes up just to soothe himself.
He’s having... just a little trouble.
Reconciling the two.
This boy he was and this thing he is now.
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Maybe.
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Maybe he doesn’t have to.
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Maybe that’s where it started.
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With him looking into the mirror and not recognizing himself. With his reflection cracking through the glass and reaching through. With himself getting pulled in and trapped on the other side while his likeness escapes off to the world with a simple giggle and a promise that he’s truly home now.
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It’s funny...
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Really, he’s over-complicating it...
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Obviously, he was born into this...
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Obviously he never had a chance.
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Obviously, something like this is his fate.
Obviously...
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He just has to be born again.
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Kaitou is a bad person.