Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When I was 3, all I wanted to be was a designer. I loved fashion—always drawing in my free time and spending hours in my aunt’s fabric shop. Life was simple, or at least that’s how I remember it. Then life came and said, "Fuck that," and completely turned everything upside down.

The police called it collateral damage—the price to pay for justice. But really, I could tell they just didn’t want to deal with a family who’d just lost everything. And I mean everything. In less than a day, I lost my house, all my stuff, and, oh yeah, my fucking dad. It hurt a lot back then- like, I was 3, and I had just lost basically everything. But honestly, I think at the time, I was more upset about losing the house over my dad literally dying. To be fair, I was 3, and not being able to play with my dolls in my room kind of overshadowed the whole "lost my dad" thing.

But here’s where things really get fucked up. After the incident, I developed a powerful quirk called Chaos. One day, out of nowhere, it just came to me—like a switch that flipped. I didn’t even know what it was at first. It felt wild . And my mom, well, she didn’t take it lightly. She looked at me, looked at my newly developed quirk, and suddenly, all those dreams I had of being a designer went straight to shit.

 My life was replaced with a future I didn’t want. My mom pushed me into becoming a hero, claiming it was my duty. She had decided that a quirk this powerful couldn’t go to waste.

I didn’t want it, but I guess that didn’t matter.

I don’t think what I wanted ever even mattered to her. When she married my stepdad—just for money, by the way—she didn’t listen to my pleas asking her to reconsider. When she took me out of school and enrolled me in some fancy academy for gifted kids, completely destroying my social life, she didn’t give a fuck. She never did.

So here I am, training for the entrance exams for practically every prestigious hero course in Japan. All because, and I quote, “Amara, chaos has too much potential to waste on some silly fashion dream.”

So yeah. Fuck Endeavour.

And i guess my mom, too.

Chapter Text

I wake up to the sound of my alarm vibrating on my desk, groaning as I get out bed . Just thinking about everything I have to do makes me even more tired. The Shiketsu exam is in 11 months, the U.A. exam in 12, and a bunch of other tests I couldn’t be bothered to remember are happening at the start of summer. It’s early spring now, which means training starts today.

These exams are supposed to determine the rest of my life—or, well, let’s be real—my mom’s life. I didn’t have a say in any of this. If I did, I’d be asleep right now instead of dragging myself out of bed at 4 a.m. to head to some fancy “school for gifted quirks,” or whatever pretentious name they slapped on it.

After a quick shower, I throw on my uniform and try to sneak into the kitchen, hoping to avoid any unnecessary morning interactions. And for a second, I think I might make it.

But of course not.

“Oh, good morning, Amara.”

Shit.

“Morning, Akio,” I say flatly, glaring at my stepdad as I grab a piece of toast. He’s sitting at the table with his stupid perfect posture and a cup of coffee, already dressed for work like it’s not the crack of dawn.

He frowns, clearly annoyed. He hates it when I call him by his name. Like, what am I supposed to call him? Dad?

Yeah, no.

Fuck that.

He clears his throat, probably deciding if it’s worth starting something this early. “You know, Amara, a little respect wouldn’t hurt. I’m only trying to help you succeed.”

I roll my eyes, shoving the toast into my mouth as I pour a glass of juice. “Oh, yeah? That’s what this is? Help?” My voice is muffled as I speak, but the sarcasm gets through loud and clear.

His frown deepens, and I can already tell this is going to turn into one of those conversations. “I get it,” he says, leaning back in his chair like he’s about to deliver some great fatherly wisdom. “You’re young. You don’t see the big picture yet. But your quirk—”

I cut him off before he can finish. “Is so powerful it has to be used for hero work. Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard the speech before.” I wave him off and start packing my bag. “You and Mom really need some new material.”

He lets out this annoyed sigh, the kind that says I’m trying to be patient, but you’re impossible. “You’re wasting your potential, Amara. Someday you’ll thank us for pushing you.”

I pause, hand on the doorframe, and glance back at him. “Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe I’ll hate you both for the rest of my life. Guess we’ll find out.”Without waiting for a response, I grab my bag and head out. 

The driveway is just as obnoxiously large as the rest of the house—mom married rich, after all—and parked at the front is our sleek black town car.

Hiro, our driver, is leaning against the hood, scrolling on his phone. When he sees me, he straightens up and opens the back door. “Morning, Miss Amara.”

I toss my bag in the car and slide in, slumping against the seat. “Morning, Hiro. Let’s get this over with.”

He chuckles as he gets into the driver’s seat. “Rough start today?”

“Same as always,” I mutter, looking out the window as the city starts to pass by. “Just the usual reminder that my life isn’t mine anymore.”

Hiro doesn’t say anything to that, and I appreciate it. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone who doesn’t try to lecture me or pretend they understand.

The ride to the academy takes about 20 minutes, and I spend most of it staring out the window, half-dreading the day ahead.

The building itself is as pretentious as you’d expect—glass, steel, and a giant sign that screams “We think- or actually we know we’re better than you.” Hiro pulls up to the curb, and I sigh, grabbing my bag.

“Thanks, Hiro,” I say, stepping out.

“Good luck today,” he calls after me, and I wave without looking 

To be honest, the classes aren’t that bad. They’re weird, sure, but not terrible. When I say weird, I mean pretentious. But… still not the worst thing in the world. The teachers act like they’re training the next generation of gods, and the students either think they already are or are desperately trying to be.

Surprisingly, though, the actual lessons? They’re kinda interesting. Maybe even helpful? Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. At least we all get our own trainers, and the food’s not half bad.

For once, I can’t completely hate the fact that Mom married Akio.

After surviving the hell that was today’s school schedule, I step outside and spot Hiro waiting by the car, like he does every day.

“Hello, Miss,” Hiro greets, opening the car door for me. I absolutely hate when he does that, but my mother insists.

“Hey, Hiro! Can we go to aunties shop again today?” I ask, knowing he’ll say yes.

The one silver lining in my life right now is the few hours of freedom I get between school and when Mom comes home. Akio and Mom have no idea that I sneak out every day, and honestly, they don’t need to. It’s the only time I have to myself, even if it’s just for a couple hours, and I’m not about to give that up.

Hiro gives me a small nod and heads to the driver’s seat, starting the car without any questions. He knows the routine by now. I lean back, letting the hum of the engine drown out my thoughts as we drive through the city. It doesn’t take long before we pull up to the familiar storefront. My aunt’s fabric shop, tucked away on a quieter street, always feels like the one place I can breathe.

The sign above the door reads “Takayama Fabrics” in bold, elegant letters. Inside, it’s like a world of its own—shelves stacked high with every kind of fabric imaginable, from rich silks to intricate lace, all in colors that make the shop feel alive.

I push open the door, the bell above jingling as I step inside. The sweet smell of cotton and dye hits me instantly, and for the first time today, I can almost forget about all the crap life has thrown at me.

“Amara, sweetheart!” My aunt’s voice calls out from the back.

I head toward the sound, and sure enough, there she is—standing at her sewing machine, eyes focused, hands moving quickly. She’s always been the one person in my life who truly understands me.

“Hey, Auntie,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Got time to talk?”

“Always for you,” she replies, finally pausing her work and turning to face me. 

I take a seat on one of the stools near her workstation. “I just needed a break, you know? I have been training for like multiple entrance exams and it’s been a lot.”

She raises an eyebrow, knowing exactly what I mean. “It’s a lot of pressure, isn’t it? Why is your mom still pushing you into hero stuff?”

I shrug, the weight of it all sinking in again. “Yeah it is. But she doesn’t care what I want. I have no choice. So, I’m just here, trying to do my best with the whole hero thing. It’s not what I want, but what else can I do?”

Auntie studies me for a moment, her eyes softening. “You don’t have to be a hero, Amara. You’ve got so much more in you than just that. And if you want to design, you should follow that dream. No one can decide that for you.”

I give a small chuckle. “I don’t know if I can, though. Not with my quirk.”

“Well, let’s figure it out together, huh?” she says, reaching over to gently pat my hand. “You’ve got more than enough talent for whatever path you choose. Just remember, you don’t have to sacrifice what you love for what other people want.”

I nod, grateful for the words, even if they don’t totally erase the pressure. I let myself relax for a moment, taking in the familiar surroundings and the calming sounds of my aunt’s sewing machine. For the first time today, I can almost imagine a life where I’m not just a hero-in-training, a life where I can actually chase my dreams on my terms.

But I’m not there yet. Not by a long shot.

I sigh. “I just wish things could be easier.”

“Life’s rarely easy, but that doesn’t mean you have to give up what makes you happy.”

I smile at her, feeling a bit lighter, even though the weight of my reality is still there. But for now, in this little shop filled with colors and fabric, it’s okay.

I’m okay.