The Ending Only Matters Because of the Journey
Today I watched the last episode of My Hero Academia.
It left me quiet for a while.
Not hyped. Not excited. But grateful. Grounded. Meaningful.
Because the ending only worked for one reason:
I remembered how far Deku had to go to get there.
He Started With Nothing — And Still Chose to Move
Deku didn’t start strong. He didn’t start talented. He didn’t even start qualified.
In a world where almost everyone had a quirk, he had none.
No power. No shortcut. No hidden advantage.
Just a fragile body, notebooks full of observations, and a stubborn desire to help others anyway.
Most people would’ve accepted reality at that point. He didn’t.
He trained his body even when it felt pointless. He showed up even when he knew he would lose. He kept moving forward without any guarantee that it would pay off.
That part matters more than people admit.
Power Didn’t Save Him — It Only Raised the Cost
When Deku finally received One For All, the story could’ve ended there.
Chosen one. Legendary power. Problem solved.
But it didn’t.
Because the power was too much for him.
Every fight broke his body. Every punch shattered his bones. Every victory came with pain, fear, and consequences.
He wasn’t cocky. He wasn’t satisfied. He wasn’t comfortable.
He kept asking:
“How can I use this without destroying myself?”
Growth didn’t come from power. It came from learning restraint, patience, and responsibility.
Sometimes progress meant winning. Sometimes it meant choosing not to fight. Sometimes it meant sacrificing his own future for one more chance to protect someone else.
That’s not glamorous. That’s heavy.
Becoming a Hero Cost Him More Than Strength
Deku didn’t just sacrifice comfort. He sacrificed safety. He sacrificed certainty. He sacrificed parts of himself.
There were moments when being a hero meant:
- standing alone,
- carrying guilt,
- pushing forward while injured,
- choosing the harder path again and again.
And still — he kept going.
Not because it was fun. Not because it was easy. But because it aligned with who he wanted to become.
By the time he reached the end, the title “greatest hero” didn’t feel exaggerated.
It felt earned.
Why This Matters to Me — Right Now
This is the reminder I needed.
If you only look at the ending:
- success feels shallow,
- achievement feels empty,
- results feel accidental.
But when you know the struggle behind it, everything changes.
The pain. The waiting. The boredom. The moments where quitting would’ve been reasonable.
That’s where meaning is built.
A Note for My Future Self (and Anyone Who Needs It)
This part is for you — the version of me who might read this one day feeling empty, lonely, clueless, or stuck in uncertainty.
I know how heavy it can feel.
The silence. The doubt. The constant question of “Why am I even doing this?”
I know quitting feels tempting — not because you’re weak, but because you already know every logical reason to stop.
Rest looks peaceful. Letting go feels easier. Walking away seems reasonable.
But please remember this:
You didn’t choose this path because it was safe. You chose it because it mattered.
You chose it knowing it would be hard, harsh, and uncertain — because deep down, you wanted a life that meant something.
Your future self will be grateful for what you’re enduring today. Not for the comfort you preserved, but for the courage you didn’t abandon.
The moments that stay with us forever — the ones that shape us, ground us, and define us — never come from easy seasons.
They come from nights you almost quit. From days you kept going without clarity. From journeys you walked alone.
So if you’re tired — rest. If you’re scared — breathe. But don’t forget why you started.
Because a great pirate never comes from quiet seas.
And neither do you.