Chapter Text
Your name is Hana Shimura. You are seven years old. Your family is dead. You would be too, if not for a sick twist of fate.
Your father, Kotaro Shumura, hated the idea of heroes. You don't know why, but it probably has to do with how his mother left and never came back. But you learned from an early age never to mention anything hero-related in the house. You don't talk about your classes in school, you don't play pretend with the other kids, you don't even mention your quirk--which, until tonight, you thought was basically worthless for anything. And not mentioning your quirk, as it turned out, was probably the best thing you could do. Because--
You take a moment to wrap your arms around your knees as you cower in the alley you've retreated to. You don't know how far you've run. You don't know if Toku can find you. You don't know if anyone can find you. You don't know if you'll fall asleep tonight, or tomorrow night, or ever again.
You thought your quirk was just creating sparkles. Little glowing specks that would fade into nothing pretty quickly. But your dad never took you to a professional quirk counselor, mostly because he didn't want to plant dreams of being a hero in your head. You learned not to use your quirk at all, not even at school, and just fade into the background. Maybe if you'd experimented more, you would know more about your quirk, about what the sparkles actually were...
Maybe you could have stopped Toku from disintegrating your dog, and the rest of your family, and your home. Maybe you would know better then running away screaming from your little brother. Maybe...
Maybe...
Maybe doesn't mean much. Not now, in the cold and the dark. You're a child in japan, a little girl with no family and very few friends (turning down conversations about heroes made you the class pariah). You don't have money, you don't have a home, you only have the clothes on your back... and your quirk.
Those little sparkles weren't just sparkles. You've always had a pool of power within yourself, but you've only ever used it in small drops, creating glimmers that did nothing--and that's when you used it at all. But when you saw Toku turning the corgi into dust, when you screamed and ran and panicked, you poured more energy into your sparkles, and the one with the most energy... opened. Something came out. A snail.
A snail.
Just a snail, but it was between you and your brother in the critical moment before he grabbed you, and you managed to slip his grasp and run, even as your home of seven years collapsed into dust. That small shelled creature is the only reason you're alive now. If you hadn't used your quirk--
--you almost died.
Oh god you almost died.
You don't have a home.
You're seven years old.
You're cold, you're scared, you're a little hungry and a little tired and you don't know what to do--
Something makes you look up, just in time to see a small speck round the corner of the alleyway. You stare, in shock and bewilderment, as it slowly inches its way closer. It's... it's the snail. You don't know how you know, you don't know how it survived, but it's the same snail that saved your life. And now it's coming to you. It crawls, slowly, down the alleyway, and it climbs up your leg, onto your knee, staring at you with its snail eyes.
You sniffle, stroking its shell with a single finger. "Hey..."
You try to think of something else to say, but you can't. You're talking to a snail. A snail summoned by your quirk, to protect you from your brother--did he even know what his quirk was? Was it just the first time he'd used it, and it was the worst way to use it? Did he know you were alive? You're talking to a snail. A snail summoned by your quirk. You're talking to a snail.
You start crying, and you don't stop. You don't know what your quirk is, not really. You don't know why you're alive. You don't know what to do. You only know that your best friend, your only friend, is a snail, and you're terrified of your little brother.
And in that alleyway, you cry yourself to an uncomfortable sleep, hungry, traumatized, and alone.
The snail keeps watch under the darkened moon.
Eight hands.
All For One looked at the collection with a mild interest. The boy, broken as he was, would not have noticed the missing pair. Perhaps he believed his sister dead alongside his parents and grandparents. Or perhaps, he knew his sister had managed to escape the ruination. It didn't matter in the long run, he could easily plant the notion that none of his family would ever forgive him, whether or not they survived. Such psychological manipulation was an old skill, one he'd mastered centuries ago. Either way, the blood of the seventh would be twisted to serve him, and perhaps one day break the eighth and reunite the spirit stolen from him so long ago... or perhaps another solution would present itself.
The world was chaos, after all. Plans would twist and break and shift in accordance to new information. He had the boy. That should be enough for now.
The girl, though... her survival was an interesting wrinkle. He'd planned for the adoption and indoctrination of the boy to be his master stroke, his greatest vengeance against the woman who had fought him so hard, and the boy she'd childishly supported. For the girl to survive was... annoying. Especially since he did not know how she achieved such a stroke of luck.
It was... irritating.
But in truth, it was a minor irritation. He could live with a child left behind. Might she be a problem in the future? Perhaps. A minor one, almost certainly, if she either sought vengeance or pinned the blame on the young boy. More then that, if she opted to strike against All For One with a quirk that somehow resisted Decay... and yet for that to happen she would have to learn much that was hidden and grow powerful. The first he had ensured would be difficult beyond belief. And the second, well, all he had to do was keep an eye out for youngsters. She might not become a problem at all. And if she did...
...he was quite used to dealing with problems.