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October 14
Cher journal!
The weight of secrets upon my shoulders has been so extreme that I cannot breathe. It is truly a travesty especially when I am surrounded by many a righteous classmate who would certainly reject me if they knew the truth about my tainted soul. Thus, I have found myself enveloped in the pages of a journal like many great poètes before me.
The valiant theatre kids out there burst into song when they can no longer express their emotions through talking alone – but alas I must stick to writing instead. For I am but an unfortunate agonized soul suffering from a debilitating condition that does not allow for such a brilliant form of creative expression. Tone deafness!
I know, quelle horreur! And to make matters worse I cannot dance either. Yes, I am aware that I am an embarrassment to Broadway fans all around the world. Naturally, I have memorized all the lyrics to Hamilton (in multiple languages might I add, mon ami). But never shall I proudly belt out the lyrics of Burn lest that fiery poméranien Bakugo set me ablaze for giving him “ear cancer” with my voice.
Mon dieu! What a poor sad individual I am. How long must I continue to suffer in silence? Is this what it feels like to be a parrot locked in a zoo? A brilliant bird destined to dazzle – even shine – restricted from flying free and not allowed to let the world to bask in their glorious light. What a tragedy!
But alas I cannot cry. No longer a young boy – rather I am a gentleman. For the sake of propriety – nay, heroism, I must put on a brave face. Oh, mon journal bien-aimé, how am I to contain this wave of sweltering emotion?
When a song and dance performance was selected for the culture festival, I feared that I would be exposed. Imagine everyone pointing at me and laughing, proclaiming that I am a shame to society since I sound like a dying cat. Which is un mensonge complet! I sound like the music of an amateur violinist, thank you very much!
Yet to my utmost relief, I was not assigned a dancing role. Instead, I am the star of the show meant to twinkle like a human disco ball. A chance to truly live up to my dazzling hero name that surpasses all others. I am aware of how unfair my situation is. How much do the roles of singing and dancing pale in comparison to sparkling? However, I am eternally grateful. For yet another day my secret shall remain safe… well, one of many secrets that is.
Thank you for lending an ear – or rather a page, my beloved confidant!
Bises,
Yuga 🌟
November 1
Cher journal!
Oh, the humanity! Monsieur Aizawa has discovered my greatest secret of all. My lactose intolerance! Ever since I was a young boy, I held this truth near and dear to my heart. After all, a true French man’s body would not dare reject fromage.
Allow me to set the scene! It was a dark and stormy night – alright, I admit there was no storm but since it was minuit the sky as deep blue as can be. After leaving a lovely gift behind in a neighboring room, Monsieur Aizawa spotted me scaling the wall. I almost fell to my death from the shock! Alas, I am a truly adept climber who is not fazed by even the most piercing of red glares.
However, since Monsieur Aizawa knows where I reside, I was unable to evade him. First, he chastised me for leaving fromage on mon ami Midoriya’s balcony. C’est ridicule. A good classmate provides their peers with all the good things in life. And clearly, Midoriya is in dire need of the calcium contained in dairy considering the ease with which his bones snap.
But oh no, the terrifiant tale does not end there! For no sooner had he spouted a tangent about invasion of privacy, when my fickle stomach began to rumble. In a flash, I stormed to the bathroom yet as soon as I left the stall my shoulders began to sink. I yearned to pass off the stomach upset as a side effect of my quirk. Yet there was not a single twinkle of Navel Laser in sight. Only the damning evidence of the bits of fromage surrounding my lips.
Et le pire? He banned me from eating any more fromage. Monsieur Aizawa said he would expel me if I continued to consume the most divine of all foods. How am I to go on living like this? What is life without the thing I treasure above all else?
Right now, I sit sobbing in the bathroom as I scribble in your pages. However, I know I will persevere even if the cruel heinous Monsieur Aizawa separates moi from my beloved. For I am a hero!
Alors, let us discuss something else rather than dwell on my deepfelt sorrow any longer.
You might be wondering whether it is safe to write a diary. After all, I am surrounded by classmates who might enter my room and not be entirely blinded by the lights. Perhaps they would become tangled in the strings of fate, open you and discover all of my greatest secrets. But never fear! For I have beauté et intelligence!
I could not have made it through UA’s grand doors without a brilliant mind. Thus, I have come up with un code secret to make my journal completely unreadable to those unfamiliar with français. Isn’t that genie? And the best part is that my first entry uses the code too, thus, making it completely safe from prying eyes. Oh, I wonder whether my fellow journal enthusiast also writes in code. If not, perhaps I should instill Midoriya with some advice. He did seem to appreciate my fromage. I say he is a classmate of absolutely refined taste!
Ah, and on another note I’m not français. Juste un francophone. Mais, shhh – do not tell a soul.
Bises!
Yuga 🌟
November 15
Cher journal!
The most peculiar of occurrences took place when I ventured to the hairstylist. I must journey there on a weekly basis for I am not a natural blonde. Well, I suppose I am, but the gorgeous cheveux dorés I bless all of society with is nothing but a sham. For in actuality, I am a platinum blonde. A reality that brings me the utmost possible shame!
And as you may know, platinum blonde hair looks very much like white hair, and I simply refuse to be mistaken for the elderly. Now you may think that it is invraisemblable for me to be perceived as un senior. After all, I am an avid devotee of the miracles brought through Korean skin care. Could skin as taunt and porcelain as mine possibly be possessed by someone decades older than me?
Why the answer is oui! My very own mère looks seventeen at oldest even though she is fifty. (Oh, s’il-te-plait, do not reveal her age to anyone. That is Maman’s greatest secret of all. Well, aside for the other one we never talk about. But that’s not important. Even though it involves moi.) Her youthful looks can be accredited completely to the wonders of Botox. Therefore, I must diligently cover my roots lest the secrets hidden in my hair be exposed to the whole wide world.
Anyways, I had successfully made my grand escape from the dorms. With permission of course. I am no delinquent! Decked out in des lunettes de soleil so no one would recognize me as a student of UA, I snuck into the salon. Yet as the stylist touched up my roots, I spotted Kirishima staring back at me from the other side of the room.
Terror stirred in my stomach to the extent it made gurgling noises (though arguably the cause for the sounds may have been the black market fromage I had acquired). Of course, I yearned to see the best in Kirishima. That he would keep my shameful secret to himself. Alors, he is known to be quite the chatterbox and I feared that the truth about me would spill out his mouth the second we set foot in the common room.
Until another stylist hurried over to touch up his red roots. All of my worries melted away in an instant. Looks like I am not the only one who carries the great burden of concealing this true hair color. Kirishima is truly a pretender worthy of praise. All this time I thought he was a natural roux. He even possesses the headstrong spirit of one. As a result, I must assume that he has always been a redhead at heart. Oh, this glorious revelation makes me want to sob tears of joy!
Let us hope that we find fraternité with many more classmates! Others who understand the influence of holding secrets!
Bises,
Yuga 🌟
December 24
Dear Diary,
I have received the most precious of gifts from my dear classmates! Truly it outshines even the pony my parents gave me. Yes, I’m referring to my Shetland pony named Tiara. Even the diamond necklace in my personal safe rumored to have been worn by the Queen of England herself pales in comparison to the Christmas present I have received.
Even now late into the night when I should be wearing slippers, I cannot bear to take off the gift. Why, the sequins beam brighter than even the most powerful of lasers! And my vast knowledge of tailoring informs me that they were hand-sewn onto the fabric.
Not only did my dearest classmates envelop my present in silver wrapping wrapper that was brighter than the moon itself, but they gave me the most dazzling rainbow boots. I am not ashamed to say that I sobbed as raced over to hug my nearest peers to express my gratitude. My fellow hair-secret-keeper beamed like the sun upon discovering how much the present had moved my spirit. Kirishima even gave me a fist bump, while Kaminari readjusted his bi-flag pin and gave me a thumbs up.
I never told them of my orientation, but the gift implied that they knew and accepted me as I am. The way my parents haven’t. Oh, but do not misunderstand! My parents did not accept me for… a birth defect. They have not rejected me for my sexuality (not that I have told them). However, I still find myself freezing up every time I seek to tell my mother and father that my heart skips a beat when I look at boys rather than girls. It’s a fact I cannot ignore with the way that the muscular silhouettes of my masculine classmates send blushes across my cheeks. Still, I worry that my parents will reject a gay son the same way they didn’t want an… incomplete son. That they will not want a child unable to carry on their legacy with an appropriate heir.
But that’s none the matter, for I have these stylish boots. Proof that my classmates will embrace me in all my boisterous shining brilliant rainbow glory. And for all that I lack, for all the secrets I carry, I think 1A’s acceptance will be enough to make me finally feel whole.
Love, Yuga
P.S. Mon dieu! I forgot to write in code. But that is alright. For this secret is one I do not wish to hide.
Still, donning his Tartarus uniform, All for One did not have any thoughts of changing into a fine Italian suit on his mind as he soared across the night sky. After all, he had priorities! In the months since his arrest, All for One’s careful grasp on his puppets had begun to slip without him standing behind the stage. Settling on the balcony of UA’s dorms, he rose to full height and was grateful that security hadn’t been tightened quite yet.
He used a quirk to merge with the shadows, but almost ended up exposed regardless by the light refracting off rainbow boots. He glared at the fashion article for nearly exposing him but found that there was no need for concern as Aoyama snored obnoxiously loud. All for One tip-toed toward the student’s desk, wary that his informant might have exposed his secret somewhere anyone could find it.
Activating a speed-reading quirk that was his pride and joy, All for One flipped through the diary covered in glitter. He cursed as the sparkly specks latched onto his skin and he knew that they were bound to live there forever. Still, he pressed forward and kept a metaphorical eye out for key words like traitor. Thankfully, he did not find what he was looking for.
Yet All for One’s relief subsided once he deactivated his speed-reading quirk and revisited the most damning of all the diary entries. He dropped the book and inched away from it as if the pages had burned him. For the first time in centuries, the world’s greatest villain trembled in fear. If he still had eyes, they would have widened like saucers.
“The Aoyamas aren’t French?”
And All for One’s entire reality shattered.