Marvel: The Cursed Hero

Yuji Itadori sprinted through the bustling streets of Shibuya, his bright energy drawing glances and smiles from those he passed. The 15-year-old high schooler was known for his boundless kindness and selflessness. It wasn't unusual to see him helping an elderly woman cross the street, carrying groceries for strangers, or giving away his pocket money to the homeless. To many, Yuji was an angel walking among them—a beacon of hope and kindness in an often indifferent city.

Today, Yuji was running late. He had spent the last hour volunteering at a nearby homeless shelter, helping to serve hot meals to those in need. He glanced at his watch. Shoot, Grandpa's going to kill me! he thought, picking up his pace.

At home, Yuji's grandfather, Wasuke Itadori, waited impatiently. Wasuke was a grizzled old man with a no-nonsense attitude, but beneath his tough exterior was a deep love for his grandson. He had raised Yuji since he was a toddler, teaching him discipline through martial arts and instilling in him a strong moral code.

"You're late," Wasuke growled as Yuji burst through the door.

"Sorry, Grandpa!" Yuji panted, bowing apologetically. "I was at the shelter."

Wasuke grunted, waving him off. "At least you're doing something worthwhile. Now, sit. Dinner's ready."

Despite Wasuke's gruff demeanor, Yuji adored his grandfather. The old man had always been his rock, guiding him through life with tough love and wisdom.

Yuji's life wasn't ordinary, even if he tried to convince himself otherwise. Since he was a child, it was clear that he was stronger, faster, and more agile than his peers. At first, Wasuke thought it was because of their martial arts training. But even seasoned athletes couldn't match Yuji's speed or strength.

His school had quickly recognized his talents, pushing him into sports teams where he excelled in everything he tried—track, soccer, judo. Yet, despite his accolades and the admiration of his classmates, Yuji felt like an outsider.

Behind the smiles and praise, he feared people resented him. He worried they thought he was a show-off or envied his abilities. These thoughts gnawed at him late at night, making him question his place in the world.

Why am I so different? he often wondered. But he buried those doubts beneath his cheerful façade, determined to make the most of his unusual gifts by helping others.

One evening after school, Yuji took his usual route home through a quiet alley. The setting sun cast long shadows across the pavement, and the distant hum of traffic was the only sound. He was lost in thought when he heard the voices.

"Hey, kid!"

Yuji turned to see three men stepping out of the shadows. Their expressions were menacing, and one of them held a knife.

"Hand over your wallet," the leader demanded.

Yuji sighed, raising his hands. "Look, I don't want any trouble—"

The thug lunged at him, but Yuji's reflexes kicked in. He sidestepped effortlessly and delivered a single punch to the man's face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The other two thugs exchanged glances, their fear quickly turning to rage. One of them pulled out a gun.

"Don't move!"

Before Yuji could react, the gunman fired. Pain exploded in his side, and he collapsed to his knees. Blood seeped through his shirt, and his vision blurred.

As he lay there, a strange sensation washed over him—an overwhelming anger, primal and uncontrollable. It wasn't his own rage; it felt foreign, like something deep within him had been awakened.

His vision went black.

When Yuji regained consciousness, the alley was eerily silent. He blinked, struggling to process the scene before him. The three men lay lifeless on the ground, their bodies broken and battered. Blood was everywhere—on the pavement, on his clothes, on his hands.

Yuji stumbled backward, bile rising in his throat. He doubled over and vomited, his entire body trembling.

"What… what happened?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

He stared at his bloodstained hands in horror. The memories of what had transpired were hazy, like a nightmare he couldn't quite piece together.

"I didn't… I couldn't have…"

But the evidence was undeniable. He had done this—somehow.

Panic set in, and Yuji turned and ran, his heart pounding like a drum. He didn't stop until he reached home, bursting through the door and rushing to the bathroom.

At the sink, Yuji scrubbed his hands furiously, trying to wash away the blood. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, it felt like it was still there, staining his skin.

He glanced up at the mirror—and froze.

The reflection staring back at him wasn't his own.

A face marked with strange, tribal-like patterns and glowing red eyes stared at him. It was him, and yet it wasn't.

"Who—what are you?" Yuji whispered, his voice trembling.

The reflection's lips curled into a sinister smile. "I will always protect you, brother," it said in a deep, otherworldly voice.

Yuji blinked, and the reflection returned to normal. His own face, pale and terrified, stared back at him.

"I'm losing my mind," he muttered, gripping the edges of the sink.

Halfway across the world, in New York City, Charles Xavier sat bolt upright in his chair. He had been reading in his study when he felt it—a surge of power, raw and untamed, rippling through his mind.

"Hank," he called, his voice urgent.

Moments later, Dr. Hank McCoy, also known as Beast, entered the room. "Is everything all right, Charles?"

"There's been an awakening," Xavier said, his brow furrowed. "A new mutant—extraordinarily powerful, but unstable. We need to locate them immediately."

Hank nodded, already heading toward the lab. "I'll ready Cerebro."

As Xavier wheeled himself toward the elevator, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. Whoever this new mutant was, they were unlike anything he had encountered before.

Back in Shibuya, Yuji sat on the bathroom floor, his head buried in his hands. The events of the evening replayed in his mind like a broken record.

I'm a monster, he thought, tears streaming down his face.

But deep down, a part of him knew this was only the beginning. Something inside him had changed—something he couldn't control, but would soon have to face.