The Pinnacle of Union - Male Reader Insert

Season 2: Chapter 3 - Union's Mask

Unknown POV

I was born with a gift. A gift that was supposed to make me a hero. But instead, it made me a target. I was enrolled in Union Academy, a prestigious school for young superheroes, but it was anything but a safe haven for me. The other students, the popular ones, they made my life a living hell.

I was constantly mocked and humiliated, my powers were deemed useless, and my presence was a mere annoyance to those who had the spotlight. They called me a weakling, pathetic, and worthless. They would beat me senseless, even in front of our teachers. But the worst part was that I had no one to turn to. No one who understood what it was like to be me.

I tried my best to fit in, to be a part of the crowd, but it was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. I wasn't like them, I didn't have their charisma, their strength, or their popularity. I was just... me. And that was never enough.

But the bullying didn't stop at school. It followed me home, to my dormitory room, where I was supposed to be safe. But I wasn't. They would break into my room at night and steal my belongings I slept. I never knew when the next attack would come.

It was like a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why I was even born if it only brought me pain and suffering. I wished I could just disappear, to be someone else, someone stronger, someone who could fight back.

But there was no escaping it. The torment continued until one day, I couldn't take it anymore. I tried to fight back, to defend myself, but it only made things worse. They ganged up on me, beating me to near death, until I was lying on the ground, broken and defeated.

I was left there, bleeding and bruised, with no one to help me. The teachers turned a blind eye, the other students walked away, and I was left to pick up the pieces of my shattered life.

That was when I realized that being a hero wasn't all it was cracked up to be. It wasn't about saving lives or fighting for justice. It was about power, popularity, and the ability to crush those who were weaker than you.

It was nearing the end of my second year, the pattern repeating itself, over and over again. I was still the outcast, the weakling, the loser. And the bullying only got worse. 

It changed on one particularly dark night, when I was walking alone on the deserted streets of the Union Island, trying to clear my head. It was raining heavily, and I was soaked to the bone, but I didn't care. I just wanted to be alone.

As I walked, I could feel the weight of my own loneliness crushing me. The humiliation and abuse echoed in my mind, that was when I saw her. A young girl, no more than eight years old, curled up in a corner, crying. She was shivering, her clothes soaked through, and her face was streaked with tears.

I knew I should have walked away. I knew I had my own problems to deal with. But I couldn't just leave her there, alone and helpless.

I approached her cautiously, afraid that she might run away or scream for help. But she didn't. She just looked up at me with big, tearful eyes.

"Are you okay?" I asked her, my voice barely above a whisper.

She shook her head, and I could see the fear and sadness in her expression. She told me that she had lost her parents, collateral in a hero battle.

I felt a pang of empathy in my heart. I knew what it was like to be alone and scared, with no one to turn to.

"Come with me," I said, holding out my hand. "I'll take care of you."

She looked at me uncertainly, but eventually took my hand, and I led her to dorm that I had found earlier.

I gave her my bed and wrapped with all the blankets I had left. I laid down on the floor next to her and as we lay there in the darkness, listening to the sound of the rain outside, I realized that this was the first time I had ever felt like I had done something good in my life. For once, I had helped someone else, without any thought for myself.