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What happens when a fandom built on hope, friendship, and overcoming odds becomes famous not just for its devotion, but for its divisions? Today, we’re looking at the dark side of the My Hero Academia fandom.
Fans around the world connected instantly with My Hero Academia, or MHA, when it exploded onto the manga and anime scene. The story of Izuku Midoriya—an underdog born without powers in a world full of superheroes—spoke to anyone who’d ever felt left out or underestimated. The series’ message, that “anyone can be a hero,” inspired countless readers and cosplayers, fueled fan art, and built massive online communities. In 2023 alone, MHA-related hashtags dominated platforms like Twitter and TikTok, with hundreds of thousands of new posts each month. Its global fanbase has stretched from Tokyo to São Paulo to New York, making it one of the most recognized anime franchises of the decade.
But inside all that love, there’s a current of conflict that’s impossible to ignore. The MHA fandom has earned a reputation for some of the most intense internal wars among anime communities. These conflicts aren’t just disagreements—they can take the form of mass harassment, public callouts, and even threats directed at both creators and fellow fans.
The first major controversy to grip the fandom came in February 2020, when Chapter 259 of the manga revealed the true name of the villain Dr. Kyudai Garaki as “Maruta Shiga.” At first glance, this might have seemed like an ordinary plot detail. But “Maruta” carries a dark historical meaning. During World War II, Unit 731 of the Imperial Japanese Army used the term “maruta” to dehumanize victims of lethal medical experiments. The revelation shocked international readers, especially those familiar with this history, and quickly led to backlash against series creator Kōhei Horikoshi. Social media lit up with criticism, petitions, and calls for accountability. This incident forced both fans and the production team to confront questions about cultural sensitivity in popular media.
While the Maruta Shiga controversy exposed fault lines between the fandom and the creators, even deeper divisions were brewing within the community itself. From 2017 all the way through 2026, shipping wars became a defining feature of MHA’s online spaces. Two camps—“BakuDeku” supporters, who ship Bakugo and Midoriya, and “IzuOcha” fans, invested in a Midoriya-Uraraka pairing—rose to particular prominence. What started as ships rooted in character chemistry and personal preference quickly turned sour. When canon developments didn’t favor certain pairings, some fans resorted to harassment campaigns against both Kōhei Horikoshi and users with opposing views.
One notorious example involved death threats sent to Horikoshi on Twitter, as well as coordinated public burnings of manga volumes. These acts weren’t isolated to a handful of trolls. Community moderators on sites like Reddit and Discord reported waves of hostile messages, doxxing attempts, and targeted smear campaigns. By 2022, several major fan artists and cosplayers had deleted their accounts or gone private due to sustained harassment.
The internal toxicity wasn’t limited to shipping. In October 2023, a new controversy burst onto the scene. That month, a color page of Class 1-A’s Toru Hagakure—the “Invisible Girl”—was published, showing a revealing image many fans considered inappropriate, especially given her age in the story. After outcry from both Japanese and international audiences, Kōhei Horikoshi explained that the image was never meant for public release. According to Horikoshi, “I never intended to use the image; it was hastily and unwisely chosen in an attempt to meet a publishing deadline.” Despite the explanation, the event further deepened distrust between some fans and the creative team, with accusations flying on both sides about respect, intent, and editorial oversight.
Not every controversy was about character ships or single chapters. The debate over how MHA ended in 2024 brought the entire question of series legacy into the spotlight. After the series concluded, many fans voiced their disappointment, arguing that the ending contradicted the story’s core message. Online backlash was immediate. Forums filled with threads titled “Wasted Potential,” and hashtags calling out the perceived betrayal of Midoriya’s arc trended worldwide.
This split over the ending magnified existing rifts. Some fans saw the resolution as realistic and even hopeful, while others interpreted it as a negation of everything the series promised. For the first time, significant numbers of long-term fans announced they were leaving the community or giving away their collections.
These conflicts haven’t just affected anonymous usernames online. Real people—fan artists, cosplayers, and forum moderators—have borne the brunt of the fighting. Several prominent fan creators have shared stories of being driven off platforms due to targeted harassment over ship preferences or interpretations of controversial chapters. Community moderators have described burnout from policing thousands of reported posts weekly, especially at controversy peaks.
Kōhei Horikoshi himself became a lightning rod. He received both praise and intense criticism, depending on which side of a conflict fans aligned with. After the Invisible Girl cover controversy, his public statement highlighted just how high expectations had become: “I never intended to use the image; it was hastily and unwisely chosen in an attempt to meet a publishing deadline.” Even a single editorial misstep was enough to provoke international uproar, reflecting the enormous influence—and scrutiny—he faced from a passionate global audience.
But are the fandom’s criticisms fair? In the case of the Maruta Shiga incident, critics argued that heightened sensitivity was justified, given the real-world suffering referenced. At the same time, some fans pointed out that translation and cultural context may have contributed to misunderstandings. With the shipping wars, most outside observers agree that creative differences are inevitable, but harassment and threats cross a clear line. Many in the community have called for better moderation and more respectful dialogue, but achieving that in such a massive, decentralized fandom has proven difficult.
Even now, core debates rage on. Is it the creator’s responsibility to anticipate every cultural and shipping-related controversy? Should fans have a say in canon relationships or endings? Does the sheer size of a fandom inevitably lead to toxic subcultures, or can communities self-correct over time? The legacy of My Hero Academia is still being written—not just by the official story, but by the people who love, fight over, and sometimes reshape what it means to be a hero.