How do I hate thee? Let me list the ways

"Bullying others just because of your own insecurities. You really are the worst of humanity." Hans said derisively, turning his back on the tall, heteromorphic quirk user. The little mermaid sitting on his shoulder blew a raspberry at the teenager currently kneeling on the ground, his claws over his face.

"…Wait, who was bullying who again?" A student in the crowd murmured.

"I dunno. But man, those roasts were epic."

Hans snorted derisively at the comment. Oh, to be young again and free of liver cancer or hopeless romantic entanglements.

Eventually, the abnormally short and baby-faced student shoved his way out of the irritatingly taller middle school students.

The worst part of the arrangement was that he, Hans Christian Anderson, was once again in an education system. Filled with the demons known as… deadlines…

Truly, even after death, there was no escaping them. Oh, that and the curses that his servant form came with. The never-fading burns and itchy scales that grew on his back and legs were still there, a constant reminder of the pain that he had inflicted on his characters.

What was even more infuriating was the actual child body he was inhabiting instead of his thin, emaciated form as an adult. The form that refused to grow taller even if he wasn't impoverished and malnourished in this life.

He gritted his teeth and looked down at his weak, pale hands.

Despite being in a whole different universe, some things remained the same…

…

"I just wanted to say that… I'm sorry about yesterday. I guess I really took society's words too hard and became a bully…" the crab claw guy from yesterday said, rubbing the back of his red hair with very uncomfortable looking crab claws.

"Idiot." Hans said bluntly. "You should have realized that yourself. Also, just because your father went to buy milk doesn't mean that you have to project your feelings of desperation and insecurity onto others."

"H-how did you know?"

"I guessed." And also, I used human observation.

The heteromorph's eyes started to leak some strange, clear liquid (or whatever crab equivalent there was to tears), before he ran off, his footsteps shaking the halls and making the roof tiles quake.

Shouldering his bag and his uniform, Hans continued to walk to the classroom. Many a student moved out of his way, fearful of being the next target of one of his roast sessions. The little mermaid hovering over his shoulder put a hand on his ear, muttering incessantly.

"What, you think I was being too harsh?"

It nodded.

"Well, life isn't a fairytale. They either deal with it or turn to petty larsony and theft after they graduate eighth grade."

Delinquents in dirty uniforms scurried away as they heard Hans's light footsteps. People with powerful quirks and superiority complexes winced as a reminder from the fierce tongue lashings that Hans doled out for free. Teachers that had been biased against the quirkless merely scowled angrily as he passed.

Nobody escaped Human Observation A.

…

Hans still didn't have the answer to the three questions that had constantly plagued him

1) Why are we here?

2) What is the meaning of life?

3) When's the next deadline?

...He may have an answer to the last one.

Still, the first two were not invalid questions. Being a heroic spirit reborn into a world full of heroes that were ironically more competent and enthusiastic than he ever would be didn't exactly give him a sense of purpose.

Heh. As if he had a motivation in Chaldea anyways. Though he supposed that containing Kiara was at least part of his job there as a third rate servant.

He idly scratched a beneath his school uniform and began to walk home. As an only child with two busy parents, Hans couldn't really find any faults in his upbringing. After all, why help somebody that refuses to change?

Pointing a hand at the lock, it twisted itself open. Having magic was convenient, but he really just thought that it made him lazier. Having his books hover around him was probably why he never got any exercise. Then, he walked into the small living room of the cramped apartment to see his failiures running around.

Or, rather, whatever passed as a quirk in this world.

A dyrad of his own creation, the Elder tree mother, was situated in her flowerpot. The little match girl was lazing around the couch, now no longer having to sell matches for food… or even eat at all. A tin soldier stood on one of the counters, dutifully watching out the window. As Hans trudged by, he gave a little salute, but returned to his self-imposed duty of watching over the house.

Other fairytales manifested in different ways. His beds were never comfortable because he wrote The Princess and the Pea. He could apparently communicate with ducks and swans alike, though there weren't many in the city. His shoes were never red, for… obvious reasons. He was not one to dance, after all. And he didn't particularly want to chop off his feet… unless it meant that his deadlines would end.

But amongst all of the cursed creations that he brought into his life, one was missing. And because of this, Hans kept looking. With a snap of his fingers, his tablet appeared and he began to browse the news.

The little match girl walked up to Hans and looked up, her face slightly blurred by the transparent screen that Hans was looking at her through. Then, she tugged on his shirt.

"No mentions of cultists…" he muttered, allowing the tablet to fade into particles of mana. The tugging continued.

"What is it." Hans sighed, readjusting his glasses and looking down at the fairytale sprit.

A match was dropped into his hand. Giggling, the spirit ran off.

"Did the Snow queen take over the fridge again?" he said, allowing the match to dissolve as well.

The spirit nodded excitedly and jumped into the air, floating over to the fridge.

"Greetings, creator." The elder tree woman spoke, "Could you please deal with the Snow Queen? Her frost is chafing my leaves."

"Of course." Hans said, sighing. "Why did I write so many of you…"

The fridge rattled violently.

"Oh, shut up." Hans snapped. "Get out of there, you archetype of a woman. What are you going to do now that you've taken over the fridge? Create your own domain in the three by two box that a freezer is? Then kidnap a child and wait for somebody to come save him with the power of love? Your characterization and motivation are a mess. Now, stop trying to relive your glory days and get out."

The fridge rattled once more.

"Oh, are you mad that your best movie adaptation was a 1957 Soviet Russia film? Well, excuse me for dying of liver cancer a century before it was produced."

The fridge door began to creep open. Hans looked at the little match girl, who grinned back impishly. Inwardly, he noted the drastic change in character between the gloomy fairytale version and the much more childlike spirit version of the girl he had condemned to die in the cold, surrounded by burnt out matches in one of his fairytales.

"Creator, concentrate." The elder tree said, slightly exasperated.

"Oh, right." Hans said, scouring his brain for the last nail in the coffin to bring out the 'vengeful spirit'.

Turning back to the fridge, he began to shout once more.

"You child molesting kidnapper! Why did you kiss a child twice before wiping his memories and-"

"You wrote my story, you bast-!"

"Thumbelina." Hans said. From nowhere, a hand with thumb pointing down appeared and squashed the furious ice spirit, before the little match girl promptly set it on fire. The smoke alarms in their home had long since broken down. Hans then made his tablet reappear and returned the Ice Queen to his mindscape, the ice spirit struggling all the way.

Once situated in his head, however, said fairytale spirit now giving him a chilly headache, Hans sighed. This world really was infuriating.

"There was a reason why I kept you all out of my head. But you're just… too much trouble, Snow Queen."

The murmurs of rage in his head began to rise once more.

"But for what it's worth, I'm sorry." Hans said. "Because of your story, I'm always as pale as a sheet and get cold really easily, so it's not like I wrote your terrible characterization without suffering the consequences anyways."

"Also, you were written when I had a midlife crisis. You can't blame me for that, can you?"

The murmurs stopped.

"Now, are you going to keep obsessing over the fridge and get insulted by me every time you do, or will you stay in the house and behave? There are a ton of trashy TV dramas you can watch." Hans said, looking at the dusty television.

The spirit gradually quelled her rage, and Hans slowly let her out of his mindscape again. Mentally, he cursed quirks for being so inconvenient as the room's temperature dipped by five degrees.

Why did his quirk have to grant his creations sentience?

…

The notion of a fairytale hero is utterly stupid, Hans wrote, his pen flying across the page that the test was on.

He gritted his teeth, looking around at his fellow recommended candidates. Why the hell was he here?

Ah, yes. His damn supposed healing quirk. So, what if he found a wounded hero that so happened to be left there to bleed out by that damn hypocritical hero killer? So what if he healed said wounded hero out of spite for said hypocrite?

It didn't mean that he had to be a hero himself.

"Now, now. Don't be so scathing, creator. The graders have feelings, you know?" The elder tree spirit said, an amused chuckle following her words.

"Like you knew what heroes were like." The snow queen scoffed. "What kind of hero is a young girl? What were you trying to write with my story, a role reversal? A queen taking prisoners instead of a dragon? The girl saving the prince?"

Hans gritted his teeth, and just wrote on. Damn the legal consequences of public quirk usage!

They represent the principal of selfless sacrifice, of doing a deed just to achieve some vague greater good. Real life heroes are much more limited and much more selfish, yet they share the same title as those heroes.

In truth, the hero career is far uglier, yet far cleaner than we thought it would be. It is a mere exchange of services, for muscle power and safety assurance for wages. In this day and age, no fool wanders the land with a sword, seeking to slay a dragon yet not obtaining the treasure within the cave. Instead, businessmen and salarymen roam the streets alike, working for profit and furthering their lives with their own exchange of services.

The term hero, is thus now relegated to a person that maintains the status quo. Instead of the paragons of virtue that we wished were defending us, what we received were regular humans with winning genetic combinations instead.

Yet, is that such a bad thing? In medieval ages, men also gave their lives in order to protect their status quo, so that a world that they want, a world where they can profit and improve their living situation, could exist as well. The nature of soldiers was both altruistic, yet selfish at its core. Without a cause to support, who would fight? And without a cause that motivates, who could call soldiers into action?

Thus, in this day and age, altruism is dead. And doesn't need to exist. All who believe in this concept are naïve idiots that have merely not discovered their subconscious desire for something other than just "saving people" at their surface.

But if you were to ask me if I wanted to be a hero…

I'm obligated to say yes. But honestly? Just throw me in a bookshelf like the third rate character I am.

…

"Why is there an obstacle course in the recommendations exam?" Hans grumbled.

"Did you not read the pamphlet that they gave us?" a tall girl said from besides Hans. He looked up, past some hills and mountains, until his neck was nearly at ninety degrees.

"Well, yes." Hans said. "It's just that how do you expect these legs to compete with somebody of your stature? The fools that designed this test should just go and throw themselves into the trash."

"But is it not customary for, well, heroes to travel long distances? In our future career, we shall have to-"

"Oh, great. Make the four foot nine healing quirk possessor with permanent burns and fucking mermaid scales growing on their feet run around the streets. What an accurate representation of our abilities andour efficiencies as a hero. Not to say that I'm useful, though."

Somebody else perked up at the mention of permanent burns.

"The very notion of having a merely physical test based on measuring speed is ridiculous." Hans scoffed. "And you all listening to me rant. If you just think this is me making excuses, it really is. Still, look at me. Then look at you. I hope you think this exam is fair."

"Where's your passion, young child? You're at the top hero school in the country! Show a little-

Hans held up a hand. It was still below the boy's chin.

"Wait, what are you doing"

"I think my point has been made. Also, seriously? Passion? What do you think this is, Shounen manga? Bwhahahahah! This almost reminds me of that person!"

"What are you laughing at?"

"Your inferiority complex." Hans said. "Just because you saw something you didn't like here doesn't mean that you immediately have to impose your ideas on everybody else. Not everyone here is delusional enough to think that they'll be the very best. If that was the case, silver medals wouldn't exist."

"How did you know that I didn't like his ey-" the tall boy said.

"I don't care."

There was silence for a moment. The extremely tall and buff teenager looked at the very short child.

"What's your name?"

"Hans Christian Anderson. And you?"

"Inasa Yoarashi."

"You're very interesting." He said, beaming. "You seem so rusty and cynical, but you show your passion all the same!"

"I'd rather die, thank you very much. My passions left me the moment deadlines and wages became a thing."

…

"He's right, you know." Aizawa said. "This exam is unfair."

"You always say that, and yet you do nothing." Snipe said coldly.

"The real world doesn't care about fairness. They-"

As Aizawa rambled on about how people just needed to deal with it, Midnight and Vlad King just listened to the kid rant on screen as well.

Looking at the dead eyes of their grumpy colleague and the harsh, unflinching blue eyes of their examinee, the two heroes could not help but draw some conclusions.

"Damn. They really do have the same attitude."

…

Instantly, everybody blasted forwards, leaving Hans to roll around in the dust that resulted from the various sonic booms, ice paths, or scooters driving forward. Slowly, he picked himself up, inspecting the rips on his uniform and the bruises that now dotted his arms.

"Oh, what the hell." Hans said. "I knew it was going to be unfair, but not this unfair. I might as well just give up."

The gate to the exit of the track field closed behind him.

"God. Damn it. Thumbelina?"

A gigantic hand appeared in the air, thumb raised.

"You know what to do."

…

Hans landed on the finish line, picking himself up one last time. Leaning on the thumb of poor little, giant Thumbelina, he looked down at his muddy and dirty uniform.

"Second to last! Seven minutes!" a yellow-haired loudmouth shouted, pointing enthusiastically at him. "Way to stick to it, listener!"

"What's next?" Hans groaned, dusting himself up and preparing to utilize his noble phantasm to heal those infuriating bruises off of his arms.

"An obstacle course-"

"Oh, great." Hans said. "I haven't had enough of long distance travel yet."

"-Through a field of robots!"

"How much money are you all spending on this?" Hans said, raising an eyebrow. "I swear, if you all spent the money you use buying robots and land to actually help people, then there would be less villains to take care of."

"Or maybe… that was precisely why UA used so much of the government's budget…" Hans mused. "To create villains for their students to stop."

"These can't be very expensive, can they?" the same tall girl from the start of the exam said.

Hans turned, his blue eyes glinting dangerously. His life of fulfilling deadlines to feed himself off of his writing screamed at him to begin speaking. To use his words to address the utter absurdity and ignorance that the statement radiated.

As he opened his mouth, several other examinees backed away. Present Mic just looked at the person in last place over the cameras, still frozen in the ice, and prayed that they would get out sooner.

"Please." He prayed. "Deliver us from the savagery that is this child."

...

That night, with tears in her eyes, Yaoyorozu began to auction off her furniture on Ebay.