The Quirkless Problem
"Next is Soga Miwa reporting on the newest developments regarding the number of quirkless deaths recently. Take it away Miwa." The male reporter tapped his papers on the desk before setting them down and turning his attention to Miwa, who was seated a couple feet to his right.
Soga nodded and smiled at the camera. "Thanks Kyou." She clears her throat before motioning to the television behind her. It had a graph of statistics in blue.
"As you can tell the sheer amount of people who are quirkless have decreased tremendiously. Not even seven years ago, the quirkless population made up twenty percent of society--however many were of the older generations. Yearly, approximatly two percent began passing away due to sickness and old age. That means as of right now only six percent of the quirkless population was naturally surviving." Soga paused to grab a breather.
"What do you mean by only six percent were "naturally" surviving?" Kyou asked, hoping to show the audience that the downfall was more than natural deaths.
"Well studies have shown--" she clicks a hand-remote to change slides. This time it showed a pie chart with the colors blue and red. Blue was overtaking the red; seventy three to twenty seven. "--that the new generation of quirkless do not die of natural causes. Sure--their bodies are weaker and more prone to contracting illnesses--but almsot three fourths of the quirkless population end up dying in their younger to teenage years from suicide or murder." Soga paused again and looked solemnly into the camera. Her niece was quirkless and recently committed suicide due to immense bullying. That is why she actively chose to be the one reporting on this topic. The topic, though it hit a little to close to home, she felt she would give it more justice than someone who hasn't experienced such a loss.
"This means the quirkless population is nearing three percent. Majority of the older folks have passed on, yet fourth generation quirkless kids have been committing suicide or are remaining targets for abuse and violence."
Soga used the remote to change the screen again. This time it was filled with multiple kids with various expressions ranging from the happiness of youth to the betrayal of teenage years. The youngest looked to be about five years of age. Overall there were forty collaged photos on the screen.
"These are all the quirkless kids that the newest villain is killing. He has been targeting them for around two months now. But since then he has begun restless and his murder count has only gone up--there has been no security footage of him murdering these kids but their bodies were brutally slaughtered and killed. Over forty kids have died, from ages four to seventeen. These forty kids were only half of the quirkless population left. Think about this."
Kyou looked uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. His coworker seemed to be very passionate about the dying population--something he could never fully understand. Soga stared at the camera head on, gazing through all the quirk-infested souls watching the news.
"There is only three percent quirkless population left after these forty kids were murdered, the older generations dying off, and a plethora of quirkless suicides. There is only three percent left. That constitutes less than fifty kids."
Soga continued to go on and on. She held up the photos of all the kids individually as well as their murdered families. The photos were followed by a five minute silence for all the people who have passed.
"As a society, we need to do better. Because if things keep going on like this, I'm not going to be proud of our country and--dare I say--the people inside."
Soga cleared her throat, picked up her flower decorated mug and took a sip as if to calm down.
There was an awkward silence before Kyou looked around uneasily. "Uhmmm...well thank you...for that it was--I think we all learned a lot from...uh, that. Now onto--time for the weather with meteorologist--"
Inko turned off the television and sighed, putting her hands over her face, tears threatening to fall.
She was worried for her son--she wanted to make sure he would continue to be safe, but with the killer killing quirkless kids and their families, she felt he was in danger. And she was distraught. She felt like they only had a little time left.
"Oh, Izuku." She wept.
She wept for the son she hardly ever saw anymore. He was always in his room or out at late times, he never seemed to eat anymore--no matter how many times she hand delivered his favorite meal. He looked so thin, so sickly. It broke her heart.
No longer was he the same little boy that made Inko turn on the infamous All Might video where he saved hundreds of citizens from danger. No longer was he the boy who would sit on the couch with her, watching and analyzing the Hero News for up and coming new heros.
No longer did he smile and show all his pearly white teeth.
Inko tried everything to comfort her obviously hurting child. She tried coaxing him to the living room and kitchen for family time. She tried sitting outside his door to talk to him. She tried to cheer him up with small gifts and cookies.
She tried to give him space, but this gave way to even less progress.
Over a couple months, she resigned her efforts begrudgingly. If her baby boy needed to talk to her, she would be there for him.
Her work began picking up soon after and she had to go in for longer hours and double shifts. She hardly ever was able to come home--and this broke her heart even more. However she still took time out of her day to write her son encouraging letters every morning and slip them under his door.
She knew he didn't go to school anymore, though she learned this quite recently when she got the call from Aldera's principle saying that Izuku had been accepted for online high school classes.
She wasn't mad, but she would have preferred to have been informed. She just wanted to talk to her baby. But it all seems like her baby is distancing himself from her.
And it hurts.
It hurts so much.
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