MHA; I'm Batman

*Chapter 1: The Boy Who Loved Batman**

Rentaro sat at the very back of the classroom, his messy black hair falling into his eyes like a veil. He was twelve years old, with pale skin and dark eyes that seemed to absorb the light around him. His classmates were a whirlwind of energy and noise, but Rentaro was an island of silence. He kept his head down, his fingers nervously tracing the edges of his notebook. The pages were filled with doodles—crude sketches of Batman, his cape billowing in the wind, his fists clenched in defiance. Batman was Rentaro's hero, not because he was the strongest or the fastest, but because he was just a man. A man who stood tall in a world of gods and monsters.

But Rentaro wasn't tall. He wasn't strong. He wasn't anything, really. And that made him a target.

The bell rang for recess, and the classroom erupted into chaos. Rentaro stayed in his seat, hoping to avoid the usual barrage of taunts and shoves. But today, luck wasn't on his side.

"Hey, Rentaro!" Kenta's voice cut through the noise like a knife. He was the kind of kid who commanded attention, with his broad shoulders and a smirk that never seemed to leave his face. "What's the matter? Too scared to come out and play?"

Rentaro didn't respond. He kept his eyes on his notebook, his heart pounding in his chest. Maybe if he stayed quiet, they'd leave him alone.

But Kenta wasn't one to be ignored. He sauntered over to Rentaro's desk, his shadow looming over the smaller boy like a storm cloud. "You know," Kenta said, his voice dripping with mockery, "if you were a superhero, you'd be... what? The Invisible Boy? Oh wait, you're already invisible!"

The class erupted into laughter. Rentaro's cheeks burned with shame, but he refused to look up. He focused on the doodles in his notebook, his fingers trembling as they traced the outline of Batman's mask.

Kenta wasn't done. He grabbed Rentaro's notebook and held it up for everyone to see. "What's this? Batman? You think you're some kind of hero, Rentaro? Newsflash: you're not. You're just a weak little loser who can't even stand up for himself."

The laughter grew louder, more cruel. Rentaro's stomach churned, but he didn't move. He couldn't. He felt like a statue, frozen in place by the weight of their ridicule.

Kenta tossed the notebook onto the floor and gave Rentaro a shove, sending him tumbling out of his chair. "Come on, guys," Kenta said, his smirk widening. "Let's leave the Invisible Boy to his little fantasies."

The class filed out, leaving Rentaro alone on the floor. He sat there for a moment, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Then, slowly, he reached for his notebook and clutched it to his chest. His hands were shaking, but his grip was firm. He wouldn't let them take this from him. Not this.

---

The walk home was a blur. Rentaro kept his head down, his shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller. The bruises on his arms and legs throbbed with every step, a constant reminder of his weakness. He hated this—hated the way they looked at him, the way they laughed at him. But most of all, he hated the way he couldn't fight back.

When he finally reached his house, he slipped through the front door as quietly as he could. He didn't want to see his mother. Not like this.

"Rentaro?" her voice called from the kitchen. "Is that you?"

He froze, his heart pounding in his chest. "Yeah, it's me," he called back, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not hungry. I'll eat later."

Before she could respond, he darted up the stairs and into his room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He leaned against the door, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He couldn't let her see him like this. He couldn't let her see the bruises, the cuts, the evidence of his weakness.

---

Rentaro's room was his sanctuary. The walls were covered in posters of Batman—dark, brooding images of the Caped Crusader standing atop Gotham's skyscrapers, his cape billowing in the wind. On his desk sat a stack of Batman comics, their pages worn from countless readings.

He quickly changed out of his school uniform, wincing as the fabric brushed against his bruises. He cleaned himself up as best he could, wiping away the dirt and blood with a damp cloth. Then he sat down on his bed, a Batman comic in his hands.

He flipped through the pages, his eyes lingering on the images of Batman fighting villains twice his size. "I love Batman," Rentaro whispered to himself, his voice trembling. "Because he's just a normal person. He doesn't have superpowers. He's just... strong. Brave. Not like me."

He traced a finger over Batman's silhouette, his heart aching with a mixture of admiration and despair. "I wish I could be like you," he said softly. "But I'm just... weak."

---

Meanwhile, miles away, a different kind of drama was unfolding. Rentaro's father, a man with sharp features and a pair of glasses perched on his nose, was running for his life. His white coat was stained with blood, and his breathing was labored as he clutched a briefcase to his chest.

Behind him, the city was in chaos. Buildings exploded in showers of glass and concrete, and cars were flipped like toys as a swarm of agents pursued him. His partner, a man with a grim expression and a gun in his hand, was by his side, but it was clear they were outnumbered.

"Keep moving!" his partner shouted, firing off a few shots to hold their pursuers at bay. "We're almost there!"

But Rentaro's father wasn't listening. His mind was elsewhere, on the boy he had left behind. "Rentaro," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of gunfire. "I wish I could see you one last time."

"Don't talk like that," his partner snapped, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him forward. "We're not done yet."

They reached a car, its engine already running. They jumped in, tires screeching as they sped away. But the agents were relentless. A rocket launcher fired, and the car was sent spinning, flipping over and crashing into a wall.

---

Rentaro's father crawled out of the wreckage, his glasses cracked and his coat torn. His partner was gone, his lifeless body still trapped in the car. Tears streamed down his face as he struggled to his feet, clutching the briefcase like a lifeline.

He stumbled into an alleyway, leaving a trail of blood behind him. The walls seemed to close in around him, the shadows growing darker with every step. He leaned against the wall, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"I'm sorry, Rentaro," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

And then, with the last of his strength, he disappeared into the night, the briefcase still clutched tightly in his hands.

.

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