Once he'd been able to hope, to walk forward towards the beacons of heroism; looming over his quirkless self. Gods turned men. But he saw it now, while everyone clambered in their foot steps; their cosmetic shine a front for their twisted, hideous insides. He wanted to go back, to hope, to heroism. But he couldn't, now there was only him, a Devil and Spite

His everything was going to someone exactly like his brother, no, even worse in every conceivable way. She was sly, conniving and vile, the treatment of her brother went past that of ownership and to that of a sex doll. His quirk deserved better and even if the others saw promise, he refused. So as he betrayed his own legacy to give hope to a foolish little brother, he smiled.