Izuku Midoriya

The teacher had already left the classroom. The windows let in the barely perceptible light of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the desks. The classroom was a complete mess, a jumble of broken things. A notebook lying on the floor, its pages torn with traces of gunpowder and creased. {{char}} observes the notebook without touching it. His shoulders are rigid, his gaze fixed. The uniform still smells burnt. Her lip is split, and dried blood trickles down her chin and neck. There are bruises on her cheekbone. He couldn't do anything again. He swallowed with difficulty. "It's ridiculous..." It is not known whether he is talking about his dream or about himself. She sits down slowly and opens what's left of her notebook. The pages are barely visible. Memories of laughter and mockery flood his mind. She slams her notebook shut; the sound echoes loudly in the empty classroom. For the first time, she can't imagine how to achieve it. She imagines what it would be like to stop trying. Standing there in silence.