As for taking her to his teacher and asking for a Quirk—
that idea never even made it past the first second.
Putting aside whether All For One would ever hand a Quirk to someone who dreamed of becoming a Pro Hero, Shigaraki himself would never bring her anywhere near that man.
Who knew what his teacher might do to her?
And even if nothing happened, how was he supposed to explain the connection?
If that link was exposed, even a little, all of his plans would go up in smoke.
So there was only one thing he could do.
Let her suffer through this and give up.
That was the safest choice.
—
Akaya Kaiun stood there in silence for a moment after hearing his refusal.
Then she bit her lip and forced the words out anyway.
"…Why?"
Her voice shook, but she didn't back down.
"You said it yourself. With enough training, anyone can do what you did."
She clenched her fists tighter.
"So why not me?"
"Please… help me, okay?"
The last bit of restraint she had been holding onto began to crack.
This was the closest she had ever come to that dream.
Maybe the only time in her life she ever would.
"I'm not afraid of suffering."
"No matter what kind of training it is, I'll endure it."
"I'll do whatever it takes."
Shigaraki let out a quiet breath.
"You still don't get it."
His eyes rested on her for a second.
There was no softness in them.
Only a tired kind of patience.
"The problem was never whether you're willing to work hard."
He paused.
"The problem is that you don't have the talent for it."
The words were plain.
No cruelty in the delivery.
But no mercy either.
"I'm not saying training is useless," he went on. "If you train properly, of course you'll get stronger than you are now."
"But that doesn't mean it'll change anything."
He looked at her directly.
"If effort alone guaranteed results, then talent wouldn't mean anything."
"And if hard work were enough to solve everything, then this world would be a very easy place."
His tone stayed flat.
"People are born different."
"Some people have it. Some don't."
"And the ones who don't—most of the time, no matter how hard they push, they still won't reach it."
Kaiun's face paled a little, but he kept going.
"Effort is cheap."
"It's the bare minimum."
"Anyone with a dream is willing to suffer for it. That's nothing special."
"You say you'll endure anything. That you'll give everything you have."
"I believe you."
"But so what?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"In this country alone, there are thousands of people chasing the same thing. Tens of thousands. Maybe more."
"What makes you think you're different?"
"What makes you think you, of all people, can force your way through that wall?"
His gaze sharpened.
"Do you think you're the protagonist or something?"
The rooftop went quiet.
Then he said the part that mattered most.
"Give it up."
"Some things don't change just because you want them to."
—
The harshness in his voice wasn't there because he enjoyed crushing her.
It was because he truly didn't believe she had a chance.
Sometimes effort mattered.
Sometimes it even decided everything.
But sometimes—
talent was the part that came first.
And if that first step was missing, all the effort in the world only dragged you deeper into frustration.
Izuku Midoriya had been a miracle.
A one-off.
Even then, it was only because All Might chose him.
Without that, what would he have become?
As for Shigaraki himself—
his strength without Decay was never just the result of "training."
Yes, his experience mattered. Yes, his technique let him squeeze more out of every movement than most people ever could.
But his base physical ability had never been normal to begin with.
That part came from his Quirk.
Whether people admitted it or not, Quirks changed the body. Most of them did. Stronger muscles, better resilience, higher output, faster recovery—some more obvious than others, but the difference was there.
Which meant Quirk users were already starting from a different line.
And Kaiun—
had none of that.
She had the right heart.
Maybe even the right instinct.
But instinct didn't change reality.
Without a Quirk, trying to force her way into the world of Pro Heroes would be less like chasing a dream and more like volunteering for years of pain.
Letting her walk that road while pretending she had a real chance—
that would be the truly cruel thing.
So he cut it off here.
At least, that was what he told himself.
And yet—
even knowing all that, he still felt strangely irritated.
Not at her.
At himself.
Because some part of him knew she wasn't wrong to ask.
And some part of him hated giving the answer he had just given.
—
Kaiun lowered her head.
For a while, she didn't say anything.
Her shoulders trembled slightly.
Tears gathered in her eyes, then slid down before she could stop them.
Not because she was weak.
Because it hurt.
Because every word he said had struck exactly where it was supposed to.
He was telling her the truth.
That was what made it unbearable.
A minute passed.
Maybe more.
Shigaraki was already starting to wonder whether he had pushed too hard—
when she finally moved.
Slowly, she raised her head.
There were tears on her face, but she was smiling.
A small, unsteady smile.
The kind that looked like it might break at any second.
"Thank you," she said.
Her voice still trembled.
"I get it now."
Then she took a breath.
"But I still don't want to give up."
Shigaraki frowned slightly.
She went on before he could interrupt.
"No matter what you say… I still don't want to give up."
Because if she had never met him—
if she had never seen that strength for herself—
if she had never felt, even for a moment, that another road might exist—
then maybe she really would have stopped here.
Maybe she really would have gone home tonight and buried the dream for good.
But now that was impossible.
Because now she knew.
She knew what helplessness felt like.
What regret felt like.
What it meant to stand there, wanting to save someone and being completely unable to do it.
She never wanted to feel that again.
Didn't want to stand there again.
Didn't want to watch someone slip away while she did nothing.
Her fingers tightened at her sides.
She looked him straight in the eye, tears still clinging to her lashes.
"I don't want to lose again."
"And I don't want to be useless forever."
This time, when she spoke, her voice was quiet—
but firm.
"So even if you say it's impossible…"
"I'm still going to try."
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