Maybe it’s an unpopular opinion, or maybe not, but I’ve always thought My Hero Academia had the potential to be legendary—not just good. It had everything it needed to transcend beyond the usual superhero shōnen: a world where quirks don’t just define your powers, but your worth as a person; a society that measures heroism through fame and performance; and a protagonist with no power who still embodies what it truly means to be a hero. That premise was brilliant.
That early scene of Deku crying after being told he’s quirkless—it hit me hard. It’s still one of the most powerful and heartbreaking moments in the series (at least for me). At that point, My Hero Academia felt like a story with real soul, about hope in the face of helplessness.
But as time went on, I think the series lost a lot of that emotional depth. It started feeling less like a story with meaning and more like a product of marketing—more flashy fights, more secondary characters, more “iconic moments,” but fewer moments that truly said something. And that’s the sad part: the action was never the problem; it’s that the message got drowned in spectacle. The story stopped asking why we fight and started focusing only on how cool the fight looks.
And I think that shift exposed a pattern that became repetitive: friendship solves everything, optimism solves everything, and the stronger your quirk is, the more valuable you are. It’s a shame because that goes against the message it started with. Instead of showing real emotional or moral consequences, most conflicts end up being resolved through power or speeches about hope—and that slowly drains the story’s impact.
At least for me, My Hero Academia always seemed afraid of consequences and accountability—especially death. For a world constantly at war, barely anyone ever dies. Something Jujutsu Kaisen has no problem with—but where Jujutsu overkills, My Hero Academia kind of overprotects. And that makes everything feel strangely safe, almost sanitized. Take All Might, for example—and yes, I’ll say it: I wish All Might had died. Not out of cruelty, but because it would’ve given Deku the space to truly grow. All Might’s presence, while inspiring, always kept Deku in his shadow. If he had fallen during his final battle, that loss could’ve been Deku’s defining moment—the moment he finally stood alone, as the new symbol of peace. But again, the series seemed afraid to take that risk.
And that’s where My Hero Academia loses something for me. Another example, It's how tries to make us understand its villains, but often stops at justifying them instead of holding them accountable. It’s a fine line, but one that matters. Demon Slayer, for instance, does this beautifully—you understand why the demons became who they are, you even grieve for them, but they still face their end. There’s dignity in that, not erasure. That’s the kind of emotional honesty I wish My Hero Academia had dared to reach for.
I felt like the pacing in general became too frantic; there was no room for the story—or the emotions—to breathe. Even Deku’s lone arc, when he isolates himself, could’ve easily been expanded into an entire season. It could’ve been a moment for everyone at U.A. to truly understand what it means to be a hero—not just in battle, but as friends of Midoriya, as kids thrown into a war they never asked for. That whole section had the potential to carry so much emotional weight, but it felt rushed, like we barely got to sit with any of it.
And then there’s Deku’s ending. I’m still torn about it. From the very beginning, he represented the idea that you don’t need a quirk to be a hero—that true heroism comes from heart, not strength. So for me, there were always two possible endings. One where he truly becomes the new Symbol of Peace—not just the next All Might, but something beyond that, the embodiment of hope itself. And the other, more poetic one: where he loses his quirk, returns to being powerless, yet is no longer the same boy who once cried for being “worthless.” The hero who finds strength in spirit, not power.
And I know, I know—he did become quirkless, but hear me out. They tell him he can still be a hero if he uses this new technology or items that act as a substitute for a quirk. They bring him back into action, which, for me, kind of contradicts that original message. I would’ve loved to see him remain as a symbol—not as a fighter, but as living proof of what being a hero really means, beyond quirks, beyond strength. The way he began, the hero he always was. That would’ve been such a powerful ending.
In the end, My Hero Academia is a series that came so close to greatness. It built an incredible world, created unforgettable characters, and had moments that touched something real. But it never fully embraced the emotional weight it promised. Instead of diving into tragedy, loss, and the messiness of being human, it chose the safer route—the “everything’s gonna be okay” route.
And maybe that’s the real tragedy of My Hero Academia: it could’ve been so much more. It could’ve been a story we’d still be talking about decades from now—not just for its fights, but for its heart.
Because maybe… the greatest tragedy of My Hero Academia isn’t the villains or the losses—but the story it was too afraid to tell.
JUST MY OPINION, I STILL LOVE THE SERIES AND I LOVE MIDORIYA <3
P.S. Something I’ll always give My Hero Academia credit for—and something I’ll always personally love—is how they wrote Todoroki. He’s honestly the kind of character I imagined the whole series could’ve revolved around: great quirk, incredible backstory, and a development arc that actually breathes. His growth feels organic, painful, and hopeful all at once. In many ways, he carries the emotional weight that I thought every main and side character (even the villains) would eventually get. And honestly, I think Todoroki embodies the message My Hero Academia started with—the real heart of what it means to be a hero, beyond any quirk (which he greatly suffers from).
Maybe it’s an unpopular opinion, or maybe not, but I’ve always thought My Hero Academia had the potential to be legendary—not just good. It had everything it needed to transcend beyond the usual superhero shōnen: a world where quirks don’t just define your powers, but your worth as a person; a society that measures heroism through fame and performance; and a protagonist with no power who still embodies what it truly means to be a hero. That premise was brilliant.
That early scene of Deku crying after being told he’s quirkless—it hit me hard. It’s still one of the most powerful and heartbreaking moments in the series (at least for me). At that point, My Hero Academia felt like a story with real soul, about hope in the face of helplessness.
But as time went on, I think the series lost a lot of that emotional depth. It started feeling less like a story with meaning and more like a product of marketing—more flashy fights, more secondary characters, more “iconic moments,” but fewer moments that truly said something. And that’s the sad part: the action was never the problem; it’s that the message got drowned in spectacle. The story stopped asking why we fight and started focusing only on how cool the fight looks.
And I think that shift exposed a pattern that became repetitive: friendship solves everything, optimism solves everything, and the stronger your quirk is, the more valuable you are. It’s a shame because that goes against the message it started with. Instead of showing real emotional or moral consequences, most conflicts end up being resolved through power or speeches about hope—and that slowly drains the story’s impact.
At least for me, My Hero Academia always seemed afraid of consequences and accountability—especially death. For a world constantly at war, barely anyone ever dies. Something Jujutsu Kaisen has no problem with—but where Jujutsu overkills, My Hero Academia kind of overprotects. And that makes everything feel strangely safe, almost sanitized. Take All Might, for example—and yes, I’ll say it: I wish All Might had died. Not out of cruelty, but because it would’ve given Deku the space to truly grow. All Might’s presence, while inspiring, always kept Deku in his shadow. If he had fallen during his final battle, that loss could’ve been Deku’s defining moment—the moment he finally stood alone, as the new symbol of peace. But again, the series seemed afraid to take that risk.
And that’s where My Hero Academia loses something for me. Another example, It's how tries to make us understand its villains, but often stops at justifying them instead of holding them accountable. It’s a fine line, but one that matters. Demon Slayer, for instance, does this beautifully—you understand why the demons became who they are, you even grieve for them, but they still face their end. There’s dignity in that, not erasure. That’s the kind of emotional honesty I wish My Hero Academia had dared to reach for.
I felt like the pacing in general became too frantic; there was no room for the story—or the emotions—to breathe. Even Deku’s lone arc, when he isolates himself, could’ve easily been expanded into an entire season. It could’ve been a moment for everyone at U.A. to truly understand what it means to be a hero—not just in battle, but as friends of Midoriya, as kids thrown into a war they never asked for. That whole section had the potential to carry so much emotional weight, but it felt rushed, like we barely got to sit with any of it.
And then there’s Deku’s ending. I’m still torn about it. From the very beginning, he represented the idea that you don’t need a quirk to be a hero—that true heroism comes from heart, not strength. So for me, there were always two possible endings. One where he truly becomes the new Symbol of Peace—not just the next All Might, but something beyond that, the embodiment of hope itself. And the other, more poetic one: where he loses his quirk, returns to being powerless, yet is no longer the same boy who once cried for being “worthless.” The hero who finds strength in spirit, not power.
And I know, I know—he did become quirkless, but hear me out. They tell him he can still be a hero if he uses this new technology or items that act as a substitute for a quirk. They bring him back into action, which, for me, kind of contradicts that original message. I would’ve loved to see him remain as a symbol—not as a fighter, but as living proof of what being a hero really means, beyond quirks, beyond strength. The way he began, the hero he always was. That would’ve been such a powerful ending.
In the end, My Hero Academia is a series that came so close to greatness. It built an incredible world, created unforgettable characters, and had moments that touched something real. But it never fully embraced the emotional weight it promised. Instead of diving into tragedy, loss, and the messiness of being human, it chose the safer route—the “everything’s gonna be okay” route.
And maybe that’s the real tragedy of My Hero Academia:
it could’ve been so much more.
It could’ve been a story we’d still be talking about decades from now—not just for its fights, but for its heart.
Because maybe… the greatest tragedy of My Hero Academia isn’t the villains or the losses—but the story it was too afraid to tell.
JUST MY OPINION, I STILL LOVE THE SERIES AND I LOVE MIDORIYA <3
P.S. Something I’ll always give My Hero Academia credit for—and something I’ll always personally love—is how they wrote Todoroki. He’s honestly the kind of character I imagined the whole series could’ve revolved around: great quirk, incredible backstory, and a development arc that actually breathes. His growth feels organic, painful, and hopeful all at once. In many ways, he carries the emotional weight that I thought every main and side character (even the villains) would eventually get. And honestly, I think Todoroki embodies the message My Hero Academia started with—the real heart of what it means to be a hero, beyond any quirk (which he greatly suffers from).