Devil Fruit System in MHA

"You guys are so astronomically ass," I said, rubbing my forehead as the defeat screen burned itself into my monitor for the twelfth time tonight. The leaderboard glared back at me like it was personally offended.

"Dude, you're the one who kept running down mid!" Mike shouted in my headset.

I scoffed, tossing an empty soda can at the trash bin. It bounced off the wall and landed on the laundry pile next to it, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

"It's called making space, genius. Too bad none of you know what to do with it."

A wall of bitching and moaning immediately followed, but I barely paid attention. My focus drifted to the disaster zone that was my room. Posters of my favorite animes hung along the walls, including my prized JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable poster signed by Araki himself.

In the corner, a bookshelf overflowed with manga and figurines, their vibrant colors dulled under a thick layer of dust. My gaze shifted to the greasy tower of Papa John's pizza boxes stacked precariously next to my trash can. It was my very own, handmade Leaning Tower of Pisa.

"Dan, I swear, you've been feeding all night. Are you good, man?"

"Yeah," Sarah, the team carry chimed in. "This is, like, new levels of bad, even for you."

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

And I was. Fine, in the sense that I hadn't left my room in a week, and my sleep schedule was about as stable as a Jenga tower in an earthquake. Fine, in the sense that I couldn't remember the last time I cared about winning—or anything, really.

"I'm chill." I said, wiping Dorito crumbs off of the hoodie I'd been wearing for the past week. Another three or four days and I'd need to change.

"BORING! Worst shonen MC. Go." Mike shouted through the coms, like the chaos gremlin he was.

Tom leapt on the topic like a fly on shit. "Easy, it's Naruto. Dude was obsessed with one guy who hated him for, like, four years, just because he was his first kiss. I swear, bro was ready to die for a whiff of Sasuke's hair. I guarantee if Sasuke wasn't the last Uchiha, they'd have gotten married. I can already picture the wedding: It's just them, alone in the forest, staring at each other like 'I've loved you for 700 episodes.'"

The Discord erupted into cackling and mock outrage.

Kevin, ever the defender of all things Naruto, was the first to bite. "You did NOT just come for my boy Naruto!" he howled, as if Tom had insulted his own mother. "Man's out here building bridges, uniting nations, and THIS is what he gets? He's basically the Michael Jordan of anime!"

"Yeah, but he did all that while simping for Sasuke!" Tom shot back.

"Look man, you're just mad that nobody has ever loved you the way Naruto loved Sasuke," Mike teased.

"Well, that's my pick." Tom said, "Who's next? Sarah?"

"Deku is the worst MC in my opinion. Hands down. For fourteen years he just cried into his notebooks until one day he gets rescued by MHA's version of Deus Ex Machina and just gets carried to the top. Not to mention, mirroring Tom's point on Naruto, the man is in love with his bully who told him to kill himself." Sarah said casually.

"Well that's not really fair." I said, surprising even myself with the heat in my voice. "For most of his life, he had nobody who believed in him, not even a little. When he was a kid, his mom apologized for him being born, his father abandoned him, and his best friend started using him for target practice. An upbringing like that would screw anyone up."

The call went solid for a good few seconds, until Sarah finally responded. "Aight, I get it, damn. My bad. Pretty sure that's the most you've said in two weeks."

"Sorry," I muttered, embarrassment coloring my face. "I just really feel like if Izuku had some form of male role model, one that wasn't his bully or an idiot, he could've been one of the greats. It's a shame he was just a walking case of fatherless behavior."

After ten seconds, Kevin responded. "Alright guys, time to wrap it up. We're requeuing. Dan, this time don't throw. You've dropped me like three ranks."

"Alright, alright. My bad." I said, scrounging through the cans of energy drinks and soda on my desk, desperately searching for one with some soda left in it.

"All good, man," Kevin said, the casual tone of someone who had completely moved on.

I finally found a half-finished can of cola buried under a pile of used napkins and half-eaten pizza slices. With all the dignity of a man who had just scrounged through his desk trash like a racoon, I took a sip, the drink long stale, and probably warmer than the pizzas that had once been fresh. But I well past caring.

That's when I noticed something moving out of the corner of my eye.

A creak. A shudder. And then that ominous "eeekkkk" sound furniture makes right before it decides life wasn't worth living.

I froze, my 'gamer instincts' delayed by the probably poisonous half-sip of stale soda I'd just forced down. Slowly, I looked toward the shelf above my desk—a precarious glass shrine overloaded with comics, figurines, and the lava lamp. A disgusting Slimer from Ghostbusters themed one. The one I'd bought on eBay at 3 a.m. after convincing myself it would "add a retro vibe" to my bedroom.

The shelf wobbled again. I stared at it, like some kind of dumb horror movie protagonist who thinks the creepy noise is just the wind. In hindsight, I probably should have done something. Anything. Maybe catch it, brace it, scream "NOOOO" in slow motion like a tragic anime hero. Instead, I just whispered, "Oh, crap."

And then it happened.

The shelf gave up on life entirely, tipping forward like it had been waiting years for this exact moment of betrayal. Comics rained down first, Attack on Titan volumes pelting me in the face, each one a hardcover insult to my reflexes. Then came the figurines.

Tony Tony Chopper was first, launching himself with a velocity NASA would've admired. His wide, innocent eyes seemed to say, This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you. Spoiler: it didn't.

Then the lava lamp hit. The cursed, neon nightmare of a lava lamp. It didn't just fall—it exploded on impact, showering me with shards of glass and what I can only describe as Satan's molten lime Jell-O.

"GAAAAH!" I flailed, my chair wheeling backward as I clawed at my face, trying to wipe off the searing goo. But the chaos wasn't done. Oh no, that wo8uld be too merciful. My chair clipped the pizza box Tower of Pisa.

The tower toppled.

Like dominoes made of grease and regret, box after box came crashing down, taking me with them. My head hit the carpet, now a battlefield littered with pepperonis, shards of glass, and the broken pieces of my dignity.

I groaned, lying there like a defeated JRPG boss. Somewhere in the carnage, Tony Tony Chopper landed beside my head, perfectly upright, his tiny plastic hands forever posed in mock concern.

Death by reindeer.

The irony wasn't lost on me. I always thought I'd go out in some grand, stupid way—maybe bungee jumping off a bridge or choking on a gas station burrito. But no. My life ended because I thought a lava lamp would make me quirky.

As my vision blurred and darkness crept in, I could feel the pizza grease seeping into my hoodie. I could smell the pungent mix of burnt wax, day-old pizza, and shattered dreams.

My last coherent thought?

I really hope nobody finds my browser history.

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I'd really appreciate some feedback on the style and direction this is going.

Feel free to comment your reviews either on this comment or in the chapter comments.