Just Deserts: Revised Edition (MHA, OC) — Section 1

### Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Beach, Musutafu. The day I unlocked my quirk, I fell apart, and that isn’t a metaphor. “When is Nanami getting here?” I asked, voice quiet. “They won’t be here for another half-hour,” Aunt Hayami said, “You might as well go for a swim now if you don’t want to wait—I’m sure they won’t mind.” I eyed the expensive paper fan she used to cool herself with, wondering why I never saw anyone else use them. Thinking carefully about my response, I tried to figure out what I should do. If I went for a swim now, Nanami might be upset with me for not waiting for her and the last time she was upset, she had cried for almost ten minutes straight. I couldn’t tell if that was a lot of crying compared to most people because Nanami was really the only person I had seen doing it with any regularity. Like the time I heard about an evil monster that hid inside closets and came out at night to steal little children away. I’d thought it was an interesting story—mostly because if something like that happened enough for rumours to start spreading, then why wasn’t there ever anything in my closet when I checked—but when I asked Nanami if she had ever found one of them in her closet, she’d burst into tears. There was also the incident in which I told her I would wait to watch the latest episode of ‘ Warrior Woman: Moon Ninja ’ with her the next time she came over, but then I ended up watching it on Hayami’s computer later that night. Nanami had been even more upset that time, even after I promised to watch it again with her, and I still wasn’t sure why . Once, I asked Uncle Sajin why Nanami cried so much more than everyone else, and he told me that I was looking at the entire situation in the wrong way. Apparently, everybody cried and for all sorts of strange reasons. I’d asked him why I didn’t cry like everyone else, and he’d told me that I used to cry when I was still a baby. Uncle Sajin didn’t like lying, so I was pretty certain that he was telling the truth about that. Still, I couldn’t actually remember crying about anything, not even once, and when I’d asked about that, his response was that some people felt things far more strongly than I did, so they were more likely to feel overwhelmed or sad. Uncle Sajin didn’t like crying either, so at his request, I promised him I’d try not to make Nanami cry anymore, and since he would be watching to make sure I didn’t break my promise, I had to take it seriously. That meant that in order to keep my promise to Uncle Sajin, I had to avoid going for a swim now because it had a high likelihood of making Nanami cry after she arrived. “I’ll wait until Nanami gets here,” I decided, “That way, she won’t cry—” —my fingers crumbled without warning, falling into a million grains of sand that settled amongst the rest of the beach. My arms came next, my shoulders, my neck, and then the rest of me. My eyesight shifted as the effect reached my face, fracturing into an overlapping mess of perspectives. Aunt Hayami’s raised eyebrow turned into an expression filled with terror as I disintegrated before her eyes—and then I was on the ground, or perhaps I was the ground. Everything looked strange, as if I was looking in a million directions at once, each dot of sand a new point of view from which to observe the world. It was far too confusing to understand what I was seeing, and soon, I found a way to reduce it several times over until every small clump of sand was a new perspective. With this new and more cohesive net of vision, I got to watch from a thousand different perspectives as Aunt Hayami went mad—she crawled across the sand without any of the decorum she usually carried herself with, clawing at and flinging around what I was starting to realise were parts of me as she tried to uncover where I could have gone. “Hisoka— Hisoka? ” Hayami cried, “Don’t panic—it’s going to be alright—just— just— don’t move. ” I couldn’t really understand where my body had gone—that was, my real body, with my arms, my legs, and everything else that made it a body—there was just a wide net of pressure spread out amongst the beach that grew, shrunk, twisted, and shifted with my attention. My attempt to respond to her panic with something didn’t really accomplish anything more than a splash of sand rising up off the beach before dispersing again—how strange this all was. “Hisoka—you’re just like Uncle Sajin, okay? A little bit worse, maybe— it’s going to be alright ,” Hayami managed, “You just need to pull yourself back together; you can do that, can’t you?” Could I? I felt around with that pressure, finding it oddly similar to the feeling that usually let me know where my hands or feet were. It was in a lot more places than it usually was, but I could still feel myself, even if all of the parts I was used to had changed shape. Starting with what I could get a mental grip on, I started collecting more of the pressure, a task that sent more formidable puffs of sand in Aunt Hayami’s direction. “ That’s it .” Hayami spluttered amidst the minor assault. “Keep doing that .” The wealth of feedback I got from those attempts at movement helped a lot in distinguishing what I had to actually do in order to access myself, and within a minute, I was moving as much of myself into a lump, condensing that pressure down directly next to Aunt Hayami. “Very good—now, you need to—to— to shape the pile? ” Hayami tried, still not quite herself. “Remember what you look like, Hisoka—you’ve got two arms, two legs, and a torso—” The process was growing easier as I grew more familiar with the control mechanism for shifting the sand, and soon, I was a vaguely human-shaped lump of sand standing beside her, featureless and barely more than that of a blank mannequin. “ Perfect —that’s perfect. Now, you need to put a proper head on your shoulders.” Aunt Hayami breathed, “That’s it— that’s it —eyes, nose, mouth—the details are already coming in.” It was getting more comfortable by the second, and the closer I came to a shape that was like that of my previous self, the simpler the task actually became. There was some kind of automation to that returning process because I didn’t have any of the real control needed to make such fine edits to the detailing—and then, at some point, it took nothing more than a twitch to shift from a statue made of sand into the short, black-haired boy, Hisoka Higawara. Aunt Hayami and I were both silent for a long moment as I blinked several times. My body felt almost normal, except for the fact that I could now see in every direction at once, including from the beach itself. “Oh my god , Hisoka,” Hayami cried, dragging me into her grasp, “ You scared me half to death .” That didn’t feel particularly fair when I hadn’t meant to do anything at all, and the entire situation had been just as much of a surprise to me as it had been to her. There had been several discussions about quirks since they had first taken me in, so it wasn’t entirely bizarre, though, or completely unexpected. Both my father and Uncle Sajin could transform their upper bodies into sand, and Aunt Hayami could do the same with stone. It was never their complete bodies, though, which made me wonder if that was a choice they had made to avoid having to put themselves back together like I just had or if this was just another facet of my life in which I would be different. Even though I was facing Hayami, I could see—from the back of my head—that a small, familiar silver car was in the process of parking somewhere behind me. “Sorry, Aunt Hayami,” I said before pausing. “Nanami is here.” Within moments of the car coming to a complete stop, the back door was open, and Nanami was rushing down towards the beach to meet them. Hayami seemed unable to really process what I had said; instead, she simply held me at arm’s length for a long time, staring at me as if to make sure I really had returned, and once she had finally managed to trick herself into believing it, she rose to her feet. “I’m going to go speak with Hiroshi and Kana,” Hayami managed, taking a shaky breath. “Don’t go anywhere , okay? Just—stay right here.” “Okay, Aunt Hayami.” I agreed. “I’ll stay here.” Nanami sped straight past my Aunt, barely taking the time to say hello before she hopped to a halt in front of me with her arms held out to each side as if she sought to secure the entire beach and all of the ocean beyond it within her grasp. “Hisoka.” Nanami said, voice bright, “You waited for me.” “Yes,” I said, nodding. “Nanami, I learned something new—do you want to see it?” “ Duh— of course I do,” Nanami said, planting her hands on her hips. “Show me.” I fell apart into a million grains of sand, and then Nanami immediately burst into tears—sorry, Uncle Sajin, It looks like I broke my promise already. # Medical Clinic, Musutafu. “Come in, come in.” Doctor Mimi said, “I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get you an appointment; there has been a surge of quirks this month—apparently, it’s a very popular time of the year, if you don’t mind me saying.” The two women exchanged an amused glance over my head at the words, but I couldn’t understand exactly what had caused it or why this particular part of the year would be more popular than any other—had there been a holiday that I had missed? I would have to ask Nanami. “I bet it is,” Hayami said, laughing. “This is my nephew, and I’m his Aunt Hayami—say hello to the nice Doctor, Hisoka.” I made sure she had no ring visible on her hand before speaking up, because the last time I had made that mistake I’d received a particularly nasty remark from the woman in question. “Hello, miss,” I said, nodding at the word. “It’s nice to meet you.” “My—such manners.” Doctor Mimi said, her tone pitched as if she couldn’t believe I could even exist. “It’s a pleasure to meet such a polite young man.” Oddly enough, Aunt Hayami was preening at the words, and once again the cause of exactly why that was the case eluded me. “He scared the life out of me the other day by bursting into a pile of sand right in the middle of a sentence,” Hayami said, shaking her head at her own words, the motion sending her long hair swaying about behind her shoulders. “Of course, sand is very on theme in our family; his father, uncle, and grandfather all had a similar quirk.” “That’s not uncommon amongst families,” Doctor Mimi said in agreement, “His father must be that hero who can turn the top third of his body into sand. I think I’ve seen him on television before.” “That is actually his Uncle, but yes, his father had much the same quirk,” Hayami said, “I’m afraid his father is no longer— around .” Aunt Hayami sent a furtive glance down at me for just a moment near the tail end of her sentence, and I could only assume that it was in response to the subject of my father being brought up—I studied her face from a point of view that emerged from near the top of my ear. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Doctor Mimi said, ducking her head slightly at the words. “Hayami, may I ask—do you have a similar quirk as well?” “Yes, I’m able to accomplish much the same as my brothers, except with stone—no sand for me, I’m afraid, but I think I got the better deal,” Hayami said, apparently far more comfortable with talking about herself than my dead father. “I’ve made quite a living making sculptures, you see—statues and busts in particular—my quirk is quite applicable in that area.” “ Ah —I believe I have actually seen some of your work as well,” Doctor Mimi said, looking interested. “It is quite something to see.” “Yes, yes, that’s sweet of you to say,” Hayami said, eyes sparkling. “Thank you, darling.” I’d never seen her look so vibrant before, and I wondered how a stranger who had only just met her could make Aunt Hayami look at them that way with nothing but a few short words—was this a gift that all doctors possessed, or was she just particularly mighty? “Well, let’s see to Hisoka, then, shall we?” Doctor Mimi said, tone stretching into that high register again as she ducked down a bit to speak with me, “Can you tell me about your quirk, sweety?” The odd tone drew my attention far more than the content of her words, but the expectation to answer her question that hung in the air was enough to direct me towards thinking about her question. It was broad, but it must have needed to be because she didn’t know anything about me before today. I spent a long moment making sure that my answer would be relevant to what she was asking, and then when I was sure I wouldn’t make a mistake, I spoke up. “I am able to turn into sand and also control sand,” I said before pausing. “I can make more sand as well.” My own words sounded odd and clumsy, the repeated use of the word ‘ sand ’ throwing it off entirely and sending my mind into a spiral of how I could have worded it better—I frowned in the aftermath of my mistake, wondering if she would let me try again. “That’s wonderful, Hisoka.” Doctor Mimi said, smiling, “Does it hurt at all when you change?” I studied her face, wondering if she thought my poorly worded response was wonderful or if it was my quirk that she was more interested in. It wasn’t obvious to me which she had directed the comment at, and she was already waiting for the next answer, so I was forced to move on before I could ask for clarification. I considered the question. It was difficult getting used to seeing in every direction at once, but it had never hurt, nor was it particularly taxing. Falling apart didn’t hurt either, but when I’d fallen over and scraped the skin off my knee, it had hurt—at least until I’d replaced my leg with a new one, after which it had been fine. “No, miss,” I said and then took a risk. “Do quirks usually hurt?” “Unfortunately, some quirks do.” Doctor Mimi said, her tone still pitched high. “Although I’m very glad to hear it’s not the case with yours.” It was obvious now that she was changing her voice every single time she spoke to me and then back again when she spoke to Aunt Hayami. The reason she was doing it wasn’t as obvious, but now that I’d noticed it, it was suddenly impossible to ignore, and after that, I found myself frowning. I had learned not to ask people about things like this in public because most people didn’t like answering my questions and also because I didn’t want to make Aunt Hayami feel uncomfortable. Doctor Mimi leaned all the way in and then covered her mouth with her hand like she wanted to tell me a secret, but when she spoke, it was easily loud enough for Aunt Hayami to hear, which seemed to ruin the whole purpose of it. “Have you been using your quirk very much?” Doctor Mimi asked. “Yes,” I said, “I filled my room with sand last night.” “You did— ” Hayami said, “I didn’t see any when I woke you up this morning?” “I made it go away before you came in,” I said, nodding. “That’s why you didn’t see it.” “How did you make it go away?” Doctor Mimi asked, “Did it vanish, or can you—uh—absorb it?” I’d heard the word ‘ absorb ’ before—notably when Moon Ninja tried to stop an attack from blowing up the earth—but I didn’t think I had a good idea of what it meant. I didn’t want to say something that was wrong because that seemed like it would be very close to lying, and I had promised Uncle Sajin I wouldn’t do that. I also wasn’t sure if I was allowed to ask what it meant or if this was part of the quirk examination—I would wait until we went home and then look it up. “I don’t know where it goes,” I decided. “That’s very interesting, Hisoka,” Doctor Mimi said, voice taking on that strange quality again, “I have some more questions to ask you, okay?” I frowned. # Park, Musutafu. Nanami Kureta was my very first friend and, for a long time afterwards, my only one—we had met for the first time at this very park when she had come up and spoken to me without any kind of hesitation. Nanami had planted her hands on her hips and then asked if she could use the swings—of which there were two, and where I only occupied one—I had thought the request was odd at the time, considering she could have taken the other one that was free and because I had no personal ownership over the public playground, so she had not needed to seek permission from me. I had nodded to her request, left the swings entirely for her to use, and then sought out the flying fox—only, Nanami had then decided she wanted to use the flying fox as well. So once again I left her there by herself, returning to my previous location at the swings, not realising that Nanami hadn’t really wanted the swings, nor had she wanted the flying fox, what she had wanted, was to play with me . That would mark the very first time that I made Nanami cry—but I didn’t even know her name then, so I liked to think it didn’t count. I didn’t really know how to deal with her at the time, nor did I know how to make her stop crying, but she promised to stop if I played with her—and so I had. Somehow, in the aftermath of that day, Aunt Hayami seemed to develop a particular interest in going to that specific park. The frequency at which I encountered Nanami Kureta would continue to grow until we were there almost every other day, and then after that, Hiroshi and Kana Kureta would even start to appear at Aunt Hayami’s house—I wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened, but at some point, I began to look forward to it. “It’s not fair,” Nanami complained, kicking at the bark. “I’m two years older.” I was almost positive that Nanami wasn’t talking about her age specifically but rather the unfairness of having someone two years her junior unlocking his quirk when she hadn’t had quite the same results—it was a common theme, and as we grew older, I would come to learn that Nanami could be very impatient. “You will get your own soon,” I said before pausing. “Although it is possible you won’t get one at all.” Nanami’s face scrunched up in a very familiar way, and I stared at her, realising in the aftermath that I had once again said something to upset her. “I’ll absolutely get one.” Nanami managed, “It will be something amazing, too, like flying horses.” “I think so, too,” I said with great care. “But what’s amazing about that?” Did she want to become a flying horse? Maybe she wanted to make flying horses? Or perhaps she just wanted the power to command a flying horse should she come across it. I wondered why she wouldn’t want a creature that already possessed the ability to fly. “Um—well, horses don’t usually fly, right?” Nanami said, waving her arms about, “So it would be pretty cool if they suddenly started zooming around in the air.” I tried hard to picture it, but I couldn’t quite see the magic that she could, so instead, I turned my attention down to my hand. I generated some sand from my palm, compressing it down into the shape of what I thought a horse might look like—and then I tried again until I had something that didn’t look like a blob with four sticking out of it—once I was sure she would associate my creation with the horse it was intended to be, I sent it limping forward through the air. “ See ?” Nanami said, clearly excited by the construct. “But, Hisoka, you didn’t give it wings.” Was it supposed to have wings? I’d never seen a horse with wings, and I doubted a horse could lift itself off the ground even if it did have them. The weight and shape would make that impossible, wouldn’t it? I focused a bit more, adding two vague wing shapes to strike up out of its back—the winged blob gave a flap of its great sandy tentacles and then exploded. “Oh,” Nanami managed. Recognising the signs immediately, I took action to safeguard my promise to Uncle Sajin before I could break it once again—I leaned all the way in, just like Doctor Mimi had, and covered my mouth with my hand. “I’m not very good yet, so I’ll make sure to practice it for next time,” I said at a completely normal volume. “Okay, Nanami?” Nanami’s smile brightened at the promise, and I nodded at my success—I wasn’t sure why it had worked, but there were some things that adults did that were just like that, and by mimicking them, I had found a way to harness it for myself. Happiness restored, Nanami returned to destroying the general area and sent another splash of bark flying with her shoe. “Everyone else in my class has one already,” Nanami started and then frowned. “Haru made fun of me too—he’s such a jerk.” Haru was a villain in training from her class, or so I had gathered from how Nanami spoke of him. Many of her stories involved the other boy saying something wrong and making her cry. At first, I had felt a kind of distant kinship with the other boy, considering just how often I seemed to accomplish the same thing by accident. But the more I heard about him, the more I realised that we weren’t really alike at all, and I was starting to think the reason she kept bringing it up was because she wanted me to do something—I just wasn’t sure what it was. “Do you want me to make him stop?” I asked. I’d heard how many times Haru had been in trouble, and it was very clear that the teachers had spoken to him before, but nothing that had been tried so far seemed to have worked. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I could find something that would work. “No way.” Nanami laughed, “He’d beat you up for sure.” I wasn’t really sure what that meant or if Haru was the type of person who would do it, but Nanami knew both of us, so I could probably take her word for it. “Okay, Nanami.” I agreed. Instead of soothing her—like I had thought it would—my agreement seemed to have the opposite effect. “Hey, don’t give up so quickly,” Nanami said, planting her hands on her hips. “You’re supposed to say you’ll beat him up for picking on me anyway .” “Oh,” I said, “Do you want me to beat Haru up for you?” “I don’t want you to beat him up because I asked you to, dummy,” Nanami said, crossing her arms. “I want you to want to beat him up because he’s mean to me.” The way she said it made me think she was repeating something she’d heard from someone else back to me. I thought about what she was asking, trying to figure out what she actually wanted me to do. I didn’t really want to beat Haru up, partly because I still wasn’t sure what that was but mostly because I didn’t really want anything at all—with perhaps the singular exception of making sure Nanami didn’t cry. I didn’t get what she was telling me, not really, but I thought that maybe she wanted me to take action without being asked to do it first. Whatever good Nanami found in that , I wasn’t sure, but I suppose I didn’t really need to know in order to do what she wanted. Everybody had such strange rules they wanted me to follow. It seemed like every single day, I would uncover a new one. Sometimes, it was just so hard to keep track of them all, but I thought I might be getting better at it—besides, Nanami was my friend, and Uncle Sajin told me I had to protect those. “I’ll do it properly from now on,” I said, “Promise.” Nanami’s smile was radiant. # Higawara Manor, Musutafu. “Hey, buddy,” Uncle Sajin said, “Enjoying your birthday? It’s not every day that you turn six, you know?” You didn’t turn any age every single day, and I couldn’t imagine a situation where that would be the case—what a strange thing to say. Despite not really knowing what he had meant by it, I found myself smiling anyway. “Uncle Sajin,” I said, “You got the day off.” “I did,” Uncle Sajin said, “Almost didn’t happen, but I pulled a few strings—now, what’s this I hear about you turning into sand, huh? Taking after the handsome side of the family, I see.” I’d seen the family pictures of my father, Uncle Sajin, and Aunt Hayami together when they were younger—all three of them had blonde hair and blue eyes. My father, like Uncle Sajin, had a sand-related quirk, but my mother had a quirk that involved mist. I knew from memory and from the pictures of my mother that sat on the mantle place downstairs that I looked far more like her, with dark hair, eyes, and a pale complexion. From what I could tell, both sides of the family were handsome, but he had made the comment in relation to my quirk appearing—which left me having absolutely no idea what Uncle Sajin meant or which side of the family he was talking about. “I scared Hayami,” I said, taking the safe bet. “Nanami, too, afterwards.” Uncle Sajin cracked a smile at the words, the large, bushy moustache wiggling about above his lip as his face transformed from the expression—he had those lines in the corners of his mouth that Nanami said came from smiling a lot. “You made her cry again, huh?” Uncle Sajin said, shaking his head. “It’s like clockwork.” Unable to help myself, I ended up mouthing Uncle Sajin’s catchphrase under my breath, at which point he reached down and patted me on the head. “I’ll try to do better,” I promised. “That’s all any of us can do, Hisoka,” Uncle Sajin said in agreement. “Keep that mindset, and you’ll know I’m proud of you—okay, buddy?” It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that, and I still wasn’t really sure what it meant , but somehow, I knew that it was something that I wanted—I wanted him to be proud of me, and if trying to be better was all it took, then I would do it. “Okay, Uncle Sajin,” I said. “I’ll have to set aside some time every day to show you the ropes,” Uncle Sajin said, “There are a few things I’ve learnt about my quirk that I wish I’d started on when I was much younger—have you tried anything with it yet?” “I filled my room up with sand,” I said, “But Aunt Hayami told me not to do anything else until you spoke to me.” “The whole room? That’s a lot of sand for someone just starting out,” Uncle Sajin said with interest. “Do you think you could make more than that?” I thought about the question and what I’d seen so far—there had been so much sand at the beach that I was sure that I could affect far more than what I had managed to squeeze into my bedroom, but I wasn’t sure I had the control to make sure it did what I wanted. “I think I can make a lot more,” I said. “Yeah?” Uncle Sajin said, scratching his chin in thought. “It’s your entire body, isn’t it, not just the top half?” I nodded at the words, and Uncle Sajin hummed in the back of his throat, eyes searching the rooftops stretching out in front of us. The voices from inside the house grew louder for a moment, and I sent a glance back at the glass sliding door, certain I’d just heard Nanami—when had they arrived? “We’ll make a trip to the beach out of it in the next couple of days,” Uncle Sajin decided. “Now, why are you out here , anyway—wait, let me guess, there were too many people in the house.” “I was going to—” I said. Nanami’s voice rang out from inside the house as she called out at the top of her lungs, the noise passing through the closed balcony door without fading even a fraction—it was so loud that it came out distorted, and I could only guess that she was saying my name. “It’s like clockwork,” Uncle Sajin said, laughing again. “Come on, you better not make her celebrate your birthday on her own, or she might start crying again.” # Higawara Manor, Musutafu. Nanami’s voice floated up the stairs and under the gap beneath my bedroom door, the excited twist to her voice heralding her arrival. The voices I associated with Hiroshi and Kana followed a moment later, quieter and without quite as much excitement but still oddly energised. I began absorbing all of the sand I had spread out throughout the room at the sound of the furious footfalls progressing up the staircase, already knowing their destination. I moved to stand in the middle of the room, ready to wait for the door to burst open—Nanami almost stumbled as the door swung inwards faster than she had intended, but the almost mistake did nothing to sap her energy. “ Hisoka ,” Nanami said, beaming. “Guess what?” Considering that her quirk appointment had been scheduled for today—something I’d heard about multiple times since she had found out herself—and that she was so obviously excited, the most reasonable explanation was that her previously unknown quirk had finally been identified. I almost spoke up, but then I considered a future in which I made her cry by upsetting her intention to reveal it to me. “Hi, Nanami,” I said before pausing. “I don’t know; what is it?” Nanami preened at the question, twisting her hands behind her back as she rocked back and forth on her heels. “ I found out what my quirk is,” Nanami said, her smile bright. “ Finally. ” It was a rather timely occurrence, given that the school year would be starting again in only a couple of days. Now, at least, she wouldn’t have to feel bad whenever someone asked after her quirk. This also meant that my own start of school was arriving, and for the first time, we would be attending the same school together, something that Uncle Sajin had made clear to me already—namely, to make sure that I understood that because we were in different age groups, we wouldn’t be sharing the same classes or teachers. I wasn’t sure Nanami had realised that part yet, but perhaps that was why he had told me, so I could have more time to prepare for the eventual realisation. “Congratulations,” I said, “What does it do?” My interest in the question was entirely genuine because quirks were far more interesting than most of the things I had interacted with—she had been right; flying horses were cool, but the reason for that was because they could do something that was unusual, uncommon, or even unique—either way, Nanami beamed at the interest. “It’s an amp — li — fi — cation quirk,” Nanami said, the clearly rehearsed word coming out in a steady staccato of syllables. “Pretty cool, huh?” I’d never heard the word before, so I didn’t really know if it was cool or not, but my interest in the topic grew further—reading was good, but finding out the meaning of new words was better. “Very cool,” I said, “What does amplification mean?” Nanami pouted as I repeated the word back to her without breaking it up into its component pieces. “It means that I can make other people’s quirks better—that’s what the doctor said,” Nanami said, turning her nose up. “He even said that I’m going to become really popular in the future.” I would accept that the meaning of the word was what she said it was, but I would have to look it up later just to make sure because there had been several times when she had been wrong about things like this. “I think you’re really popular now, Nanami,” I said, “I’m glad you got your quirk.” I was glad because it had seemed to be a very sore topic for her and one that had frequently ended with her crying. “Thanks, I’m super lucky to get such a good one,” Nanami said, planting her hands on her hips, “And—and—and one day I’m going to use it to become an amazing hero, just like your uncle.” “Do you want to become a hero, Nanami?” I asked. “ Yes ,” Nanami said, beaming. “You have to become a hero too, and then we can make a team—we’ll become super famous and save the whole world together, okay?” The whole world sounded like a rather large place, and I wondered what we would save it from or if it even needed saving in the first place. “Okay, Nanami.” I agreed. “Let’s save the world.” Nanami’s eyes sparkled. # Higawara Manor, Musutafu. I pressed into cracks, gaps, holes, and every other space that I could find across the entirety of my bedroom until there was nowhere left to fill. Then, I removed a column of sand from the very centre of the space. A mass of sand rose up within it, slowly shaping itself into something I had been trying to figure out for several days. I studied it from every angle and from within, using the pressure as a guide to help with the details—after several long minutes, my twelfth attempt to make a Nanami was left standing there. It wasn’t anywhere near as detailed or accurate as the one that Aunt Hayami had created two nights ago when I had first asked her for help. That wasn’t exactly unexpected, considering that Aunt Hayami was a world-class artist and a self-proclaimed perfectionist. Uncle Sajin had even given me some tips, but he seemed to think that making full-scale models was unusual and that I should simply stick to figurines until I had a better handle on it. Aunt Hayami had told me so many things about how to structure the face that I wasn’t sure I remembered more than half of them, and of that half, I could neither implement them nor, or in some cases, even notice the distinction she had been trying to point out. I was currently terrible, but Uncle Sajin seemed to believe I possessed the potential to be just as good as they were or maybe even better, as long as I continued to practice every single day—the Higawara family motto seemed to come up a lot of times during those conversations. “Strength and perseverance,” I said. I let the statue fall apart and then immediately started on a new attempt—today would be my first day at Musutafu Elementary, and according to Aunt Hayami, they enforced a strict dress code. The school uniform that she had brought for me was folded neatly on the bed—currently buried underneath a mass of my sand—and I would need to put it on before going. Nanami had complained about the uniform on more than one occasion, but I didn’t find myself nearly as bothered by the colours, the style, nor the fact that it was unfair that boys got to wear trousers or shorts, but the girls could only wear skirts. I was far more interested in seeing the faces of the people who would be there and then matching them to all of the names I had been hearing so many stories about. Uncle Sajin had accurately predicted the outcome of Nanami realising we wouldn’t be in the same class, and in order to make her stop crying, I had been forced to make a promise—to do so well on the tests that my teacher would have no choice but to put me in her class. I wasn’t sure if the teachers could even do something like that, but Nanami had seemed pretty certain at the time. We weren’t supposed to use our quirks at school, but maybe, if I was particularly careful, I could send some of my sand to sit with her during class. That way, I could see all the faces and names in her classroom first-hand—the Nanami standing in the middle of the room crumbled as I lost concentration. “Strength and perseverance,” I said. I started the process all over again, the sand rising up into the now familiar shape—Nanami was still my only friend, although there had been several attempts by Aunt Hayami to change that. None of them had ended up working nearly as well, and each time, I had simply returned to sit with my Aunt. Nanami, who had been there for several of those attempts, had managed to get along with everyone, and all of the other children seemed to have liked her. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the other children or that I hadn’t tried to get along with them. It seemed more apt to say that they hadn’t liked me or that there was something about the way I acted that seemed to put them off—I was too different. I asked too many questions. I took too long to respond. I used too many words. I was too silent. I wasn’t fast or energetic. I stared too much. I asked difficult questions. I grew bored too easily. I used big words. I asked stupid questions. I said the wrong things—it was the first time that I really noticed that there were distinct differences between how Nanami interfaced with the world and how I did. I couldn’t yet understand what those differences were or what they meant, but now it seemed as if I could see them everywhere . The newly rebuilt Nanami stood in the centre of my room. The face was wrong, the eyes too far apart, with eyelids protruding far too much. Her mouth stretched too wide and sat too high on her face. I flattened the face and started again, this time focusing on the smaller details first, but it didn’t end up much better than before. Aunt Hayami could make an exact replica of a person after seeing them only once, a skill that had taken her years of her life and a dedication to creating artwork to accomplish. Uncle Sajin could build multiple figurine-sized models in the palm of his hand before having them engage in a brawl—a level of hard-earned control over his quirk that he had obtained after almost twenty years of being a professional hero. Even my father was supposed to have been creatively inclined, although I’d never seen anything that he had made or contributed to. The Higawara family all seemed to share some form of creative talent or outlet, and I found a great discomfort in the knowledge that I might somehow fall short of that expectation. Just last night, I had watched Uncle Sajin sweep his arm out to the side and leave a picture-perfect copy of me behind in no more than the space between blinks. When I had attempted to match the feat and create a copy of Uncle Sajin, they had both laughed at the massive moustache I’d deliberately covered the figure’s face with in order to avoid having to figure out the details of his face—the statue of Nanami in the centre of my bedroom had somehow developed a very familiar moustache. “Strength and perseverance,” I said. I destroyed and then reformed the Nanami construct once again, paying particular attention to the shape of her eyes, nose, and mouth, ensuring that there was no sign of erroneous facial hair. The hyper-focus led to what was—self-reportedly, at least—by far the best attempt I’d made, but it was also missing both eyebrows and one of her ears. “Hisoka,” Hayami called from somewhere downstairs, “Come down and eat already, or you’re going to be late for your first day.” If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Nanami collapsed, and all of the sand that was filling the room surged inwards, vanishing back beneath my skin. I slipped a single thin tendril into my uniform before reforming my body inside of it until I was sitting on the bed, fully dressed—it was time for my first day of school. # Principal’s Office, Musutafu. Yukiko Sarada slammed her hands flat onto the principal’s desk, her voice coming out in a hiss of furious noise. I had seen people cry, yell, and laugh, and all sorts of other things, but I couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone nearly as angry as she was right now—despite the fact that I was most assuredly in a lot of trouble, I couldn’t help but find the whole thing oddly fascinating. “I’m not going to wait.” Yukiko hissed, waving her hand in my general direction. “You’re going to explain to me exactly how— this happened.” A ruddy red colour seemed to be rising up on Principal Kazu’s face as he leaned back in his seat to maintain the distance between the two of them. Even without him having said the words, I had a distinct feeling that the man would have liked to be somewhere else. “Miss Sarada, please sit down, and we will get to the bottom of this,” Principal Kazu said, voice firm. “Miss Higawara is on her way—” “The bottom of this?” Yukiko snapped, spinning around to stab a finger in my direction. “This little fu—” Principal Kazu surged upwards to his feet, his sheer size dominating the room as he rose to his full height in order to cut her off before she could say what was probably the word that Nanami had been grounded for saying two weeks ago. “ Miss Sarada , please sit down.” Principal Kazu insisted, “We will —” The door opened without warning, and Aunt Hayami pressed her way inside the room, looking frazzled—she spotted me a moment later and immediately started forward in my direction. “ Hisoka ,” Aunt Hayami said, “What has happened? Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” “Is he okay? Is he hurt?” Sarada managed. “My husband is sitting next to my son’s hospital bed after this little bastard broke his arm.” Aunt Hayami flinched at the word and then spun to face Yukiko, an expression of matching fury rising up on her face at the words—I couldn’t remember seeing her face twisted into an expression quite like this before, her features growing sharp, angular, and almost birdlike. “Do not use that language in front of him,” Aunt Hayami said, almost vibrating. “How dare—” “ Fuck off ,” Yukiko snarled, her own anger just as bright. “You—” “ That is enough ,” Principal Kazu boomed, slapping both of his hands down on top of his desk. “Both of you, be quiet .” A massive crack ran down through the piece of furniture before it caved in at the middle and collapsed onto the ground beneath him. Everyone fell silent at the massive man’s loss of composure, and I wondered if it was his sheer size that allowed him the ability to break it or if it was a result of a strength-enhancing quirk. “Miss Higawara, your son has been involved in a very serious incident this morning,” Principal Kazu said, voice perfectly level. “The altercation left another student with a broken arm; this is indisputable, as there were several witnesses to the event, including two teachers.” Aunt Hayami turned to look down at me, shocked into silence and unable to find the words to address the situation. Yukiko seemed to be taking some amount of pleasure in seeing my Aunt looking so lost—I spoke up to address the mistake I’d noticed. “Hayami is actually my Aunt,” I said into the silence. “Not my mother.” The words had the effect of drawing everyone's gaze away from Aunt Hayami, and I nodded at the attention. Principal Kazu cleared his throat at the words, apparently coming to terms with the new information, and a frown came to settle on his face. “Then I must apologise for my mistake,” Principal Kazu said, “Hisoka, this is a very serious situation, and you are in a lot of trouble—why did you do this?” Aunt Hayami seemed to be stuck in place, unable to come to terms with what exactly was happening around her—Yukiko seemed stuck between wanting to call me a bastard again and wanting to hear what I had to say for myself. I wasn’t sure if Principal Kazu knew Haru Sarada, but he seemed to be familiar with Yukiko Sarada, so I decided to start there. “Haru has been picking on Nanami since her first year at this school,” I said. “Today, he cut the back of her ponytail off with a pair of scissors—she was very upset, so I broke his arm.” Aunt Hayami and Principal Kazu stared down at me for a long moment, but Yukiko seemed to find her second wind. “He just admitted that he broke my son's arm on purpose,” Yukiko said, stabbing her finger at me again. “I want this little psychopath out of this school.” “Don’t call him that , ” Aunt Hayami hissed. Aunt Hayami took a step towards Sarada, and I wondered if they were going to fight. “ Enough ,” Principal Kazu insisted, his voice deep and loud. “Miss Sarada, please go wait out in the hall while I deal with this—don’t leave the building. I’d like to discuss Haru’s actions with you first.” “ Haru’s actions?” Sarada hissed, “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me he’s getting expelled.” “He won’t be getting expelled because this is his first offence,” Kazu said, holding his hand up as she started to speak over him. “Hisoka will , however, be suspended for a month.” “A month?” Hayami managed, “That’s—he can’t—he needs to go to school—” I took note of how the anger written across Yukiko’s face changed slightly, her cheeks rising slightly and causing her eyes to narrow. Her mouth was a flat line, lips pressed together hard, but if not for that deliberate effort, I thought that she would have almost been smiling—how fascinating it was that she seemed more interested in seeing Aunt Hayami upset than anything else. “I’ll have his teacher send his coursework to your home, and you can make sure he doesn’t fall behind.” Principal Kazu said before turning back to look at me. “Hisoka.” Yukiko didn’t make any attempt to leave the room, and I turned to address the man who had just spoken to me. “Yes, Principal Kazu?” I said. “Hisoka, while I very much appreciate you telling me the truth, this kind of behaviour is completely unacceptable—both at school and in society at large,” Kazu said, his thick black brows pulled together into a wrinkled mass above his nose. “If another student makes you angry in the future, you will not address it by hurting them; you will come to me and explain it—do you understand what I am asking of you?” There was a disconnect here, and I felt the urge to speak up to address it because I hadn’t been angry that Haru had cut off Nanami’s ponytail, and I hadn’t been angry when she came to me to tell me what had happened. I hadn’t even been angry when I’d asked Haru why he had done it or when he’d threatened to beat me up if I told anyone about it. I hadn’t broken his arm because I was angry; I had done it because he made Nanami cry. I must have taken too long to respond because Aunt Hayami drew in a shaky breath. “Hisoka,” Aunt Hayami managed. “Answer him.” I wondered if maybe, sometimes , it was just better to let people continue to think things that weren’t always correct. “If I get angry or if I see something bad happening, I will come and speak with you first,” I said, nodding. “I won’t hurt anyone else.” “Very good,” Principal Kazu said, “Miss Sarada, you’ve seen what you wanted; please wait outside.” Yukiko’s almost smile faded to something far less interesting, but whether it was because she too had noticed the mistake in Principal Kazu’s words or if it was simply because she was unhappy with the resolution, I wasn’t sure. Either way, Yukiko Sarada turned and pulled the door open with far more force than was required before pausing at the threshold. “Don’t you ever come near my son again, you little monster,” Sarada said. “Do you understand me?” “Yes, Miss Sarada,” I agreed. “I understand you.” The door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the framed letters, awards, and certificates that covered the walls—the one that had the word ‘ Certificate ’ written across it in golden font fell to the ground and shattered. Aunt Hayami’s hands were now clenched into fists at her sides, her skin shifting into a familiar grey hue as her quirk began affecting her skin. Principal Kazu stood amongst the rubble of his desk, holding his face in his hands—school was hard. # Higawara Manor, Musutafu. In the aftermath of the Haru Incident, I found myself grounded, something that I’d never experienced before except through the stories that Nanami had shared with me about the things she had gone through. Leaving my room for anything other than eating, showering, or using the toilet was now forbidden until such times as my suspension was finally lifted. I was further restricted from using the internet and doing much of anything fun. I was allowed to read, but only non-fiction books were permitted. Additionally, Aunt Hayami had informed me that I would be meeting with a special doctor for a special checkup and that once I did return to school, I would start attending regular appointments with the school counsellor to make sure I was doing okay. The last two things seemed less like a punishment and more like they were worried that I might end up doing something wrong again. I hadn’t really considered what would happen after I broke Haru’s arm; other than that it would stop him from being able to cut off any more ponytails. I had been looking way too closely at how to fix the problem right in front of me, and that meant that I hadn’t thought about any of the things that would come afterwards. I hadn’t considered that Haru would have to go to the hospital or that the teachers would start shouting. I hadn’t considered that Nanami would start crying again—or that this time, I was once again the cause of it. I hadn’t considered that Haru had parents who would be upset that he had been hurt or that the school wouldn’t like it when the students fought. I hadn’t considered that using my quirk in public was not allowed or that using it to hurt someone was actually a crime. I hadn’t considered that I would be forbidden from seeing Nanami and that she was forbidden from coming to see me until my suspension was lifted. Without Nanami around, it had suddenly become very quiet, and the days seemed to stretch on forever. I had a growing list of things that I wanted to tell her about, one that was now long enough that I might have already forgotten some of the things that had been on it. Uncle Sajin had come to see me a few short hours ago, and he had asked me to recount everything that had happened. I explained everything that had occurred between Nanami, Haru and I. He remained silent until I had finished and then asked me to go through everything again, but this time, he stopped to ask for much greater detail. He asked me what I had been thinking at each moment and if I’d considered other choices. He asked me if I knew what Nanami or Haru had been feeling or if I had felt strongly about any of it. He asked me to come up with alternative solutions to each step and then encouraged me to work out where they might have led if I’d taken them. He took the time to explain what each of my mistakes had been and then shared what he would have done in my place. I’d committed all of it to memory, burning it all into my mind and found myself marvelling at just how many other choices there had really been. I took in everything he had to say and added it to the ever-growing pattern of social rules that I was expected to adhere to and navigate through—and then he’d gone downstairs, and I had been left in my bedroom to think about it all. Uncle Sajin’s voice floated up from somewhere downstairs, and then Aunt Hayami bit back a moment later, the two of them sounding entirely unlike themselves. I couldn’t understand the words with all the obstructions in the way, but the volume and tone were easy to hear. Aunt Hayami’s voice was rapid, high in pitch, and paused irregularly; she was upset, crying, and agitated. Uncle Sajin’s voice was calmer, assured, and not quite angry, but something that was adjacent to it. Even without being able to hear the exact words or being able to watch the expressions on their face, the context of the situation left no doubt as to what the problem was. “Me,” I murmured. Aunt Hayami had been distant since the incident, staying away from my room except for necessities. It wasn’t too different from our usual dynamic, as she hadn’t ever been particularly affectionate before that. That isn’t to say she disliked me because I knew that wasn’t the case, and Aunt Hayami had always been the perfect guardian. But I’d said the words back in Principal Kazu’s office, and they had summed up our relationship entirely—Hayami was my aunt, not my mother. Aunt Hayami had never wanted children—this, I knew, because I’d heard her say it to Hiroshi and Kana once—and she had made a choice to never have children. She had chosen to avoid settling down and not to have a family of her own. That choice had been tread upon when my parents had died two years ago, and she had been expected—socially and perhaps by some measure of duty—to take me in as her own. Aunt Hayami could have said no because I knew that orphanages existed. She could have gone on to live the life she had earned for herself with her successful career. She could have travelled abroad like she spoke about or gone to the events, parties and gatherings that were befitting of someone with her social status. She could have experienced everything she had wanted—but instead, she had put her own life on hold to make sure that I would grow up cared for. Uncle Sajin had made himself available as well, but there hadn’t been quite that same societal expectation to put his own future on hold. I could recognise that my existence had caused problems for both of my parent’s siblings, but I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do about it or if I even could do something. When I had decided to break Haru’s arm, perhaps I should have considered how my actions would have affected them, as well, because now I’d caused Aunt Hayami to cry as well—and once again, I’d made things more difficult for the both of them. Uncle Sajin’s voice floated up the stairs again, quieter, calmer and in a familiar enough pattern that I could guess what he had said. “Strength and perseverance,” I murmured. Uncle Sajin had a pristine record when it came to being right about things, and his advice always seemed to make things easier. I tried my best to follow his rules, and I wanted to keep all of the promises that he had asked me to keep—he had told me once, a long time ago, that everybody cried, and now, when I found myself rubbing at my eyes, I realised that he was right once again. # Musutafu Elementary, Musutafu. “Hisoka,” Aunt Hayami said, taking a deep breath. “I know you must be sick and tired of me telling you by now, but I need you to promise me that you will not hurt any of the other students—not even if you get angry, okay?” “I won’t hurt anyone, even if I get angry.” I said, “I promise I’ll be good, Aunt Hayami.” Aunt Hayami watched me for a long while, studying my face for something that I couldn’t understand, and then, without discernible cause, she smiled. For a moment, she brushed my hair out with her fingers, seeking to tidy it up. “Good—that’s good,” Aunt Hayami said, breathing out. “Have a good day, Hisoka.” Once she was satisfied, she gently turned me around and then sent me off towards the school gate. I went willingly and without complaint, wondering if the building that I had spent only a single day within had changed since I had been gone—this last month had not been good. Aunt Hayami had spent a significant portion of it crying in the privacy of her bedroom, and I had done my best to keep out from underfoot. I had no intention of making things any more difficult for her than I already had, and that had meant further retreating into the solitude I had already grown used to. Uncle Sajin had come to speak with me last night. The timing of the discussion made it clear that it would involve the coming school day, and he had spent some time patiently explaining something complicated. I hadn’t followed it entirely, but I think I’d approached some kind of understanding of what he was trying to tell me. It had built upon our previous talks, and in it, he had guided me towards actively thinking about how the people around me reacted to each other. To look beneath the surface, past the words they used or the tone in which they said them, to the things that they were actually trying to convey—and to use the greater context of what I wanted and what they wanted to determine what was actually being communicated. It was something that had been happening almost unconsciously up until this point, and now that I was aware that I was supposed to be doing it, I was left feeling as if everything I had ever said up until that moment had been an unending line of mistakes. I had been relying almost entirely on the patterns, phrases, words, and gestures that I had observed from those around me and then mimicking them myself—but that only ever worked when the action aligned well with the context in which it was said. The day I had used Doctor Mimi’s false secret-telling to stop Nanami from crying had worked because Nanami liked secrets, and even though I hadn’t told her one, she had thought that I had. I needed to start thinking about these things in advance, to work out what I should say and what I should do, long before the situation occurred in which I needed it. I needed to work on it every single day and in the same way that I had to work on learning to control my quirk—perhaps this was the secret to why Uncle Sajin always seemed to know the answers to my questions. “Strength and perseverance,” I said. If I’d thought about it from the perspective of everyone else who had been involved in the situation, then I probably wouldn’t have made the choice to break Haru’s arm. If I’d thought about it for long enough, I might have come up with a smarter solution, one that wouldn’t have ended up causing a lot of trouble for Aunt Hayami. If I’d just thought about it, then I might have realised that I wouldn’t get to see my only friend for an entire month. “Hi, Nanami,” I said. “ Hisoka ,” Nanami bawled, almost strangling me in her attempt to perform the strongest hug I’d ever felt. “ You dummy .” Sorry, Uncle Sajin, I messed up again. # Higawara Manor, Musutafu. The greatest hero in the world was a very strange man, or that seemed to be the case at least. I’ve never seen anyone smile quite so often or with so much energy as All Might—not even Nanami was quite that cheerful. Every single picture of the man was adorned with the same brilliant smile. Every poster, figurine, and trading card was exactly the same. All of the video footage on the internet had the man smiling. Even when he was talking, the outline of cheer was still visible around his mouth. I wondered if he could only smile and that everything else was locked away somehow or if All Might had simply never experienced a day that was sad or a moment that had made him angry. I wondered if it was a smile without anything behind it, like the one I sometimes made so that Nanami would smile as well. All Might seemed to be everywhere I looked, and while that had always been the case before, now that Nanami had developed an interest in the hero, it only seemed to be magnified a thousandfold. Now, as a result of that new interest, I was expected to have watched, read about, or at least known about each of the cool things that the man had done. There were a lot of those things to remember, and I spent a lot of time reading up about All Might and all of the other heroes he had been involved with. There was a lot of material to go through, and I didn’t want to miss anything, so I had to start from the very beginning. The earliest thing I could find was an article that spoke of All Might and David Shield working together in the United States of America and how the country would go on to become an inspiration for the man’s special attacks. I wasn’t exactly sure where Nanami was getting her own information about All Might, but she must have been reading a lot—her determination to become a hero hadn’t wavered either. Almost all of our conversations eventually hit upon the topic of heroes, villains, or quirks in some way. I didn’t mind the topic because quirks were interesting, and a lot of those same heroes and villains had ones that were particularly noteworthy. The other kids at school didn’t have a problem with it either because heroes seemed to be the only thing anyone wanted to talk about. The information should have been useful for socialising with the other students, but just having the information didn’t mean that I could actually use it. As a direct result of the Haru Incident in my first year, I had irreparably damaged my reputation, and even now, almost two years later, it still has yet to recover. Yukiko Sarada had started something of a social media crusade against Principal Kazu, the school, Aunt Hayami, and me—and even now, if I searched up the school online, I could find the entire thing written about in articles, some of which even used my name. Haru Sarada had been removed from school by his parents rather than submit to any form of suspension for his own part in the bullying of what must have been everyone in his year. Nanami was the only person at school who wanted to engage with me outside of class. The other students were either scared that I would repeat the actions of my first year, or they had parents who encouraged them to keep their distance just in case. The social ostracisation wasn’t that different from how I had already been treated by others my own age, so it was something I seemed to grow used to. Nanami, however, wasn’t used to the mean-spirited comments or the fact that whenever she chose to sit with me at lunch, everyone else seemed to vanish. Even still, she’d stuck by my side in the aftermath, and though some of her friends had learned to tolerate my presence, it was clear that none of them felt safe when I was around, and some had even gone so far as to tell Nanami as much. It had put a strain on our friendship, and although Nanami had refused to acknowledge it, I had brought it up on two separate occasions; both times, I had managed to upset her, but the second time had been far worse. Suggesting that she could stop talking to me at school in order to trick her friends into coming back had been a mistake but one that was now far behind us. The mandatory nature of my weekly appointments with the school counsellor had remained, but it was something I didn’t mind—Takeda Yasunari was popular amongst the student body; he was friendly, patient, and always explained things at length. The problem, however, came from when someone had figured out I was required to go there. That had happened a long time ago, and the information had spread throughout the school very quickly. Every now and then, someone would notice one of my appointments, and a fresh wave of rumours, whispers, and glances would start all over again. My home life hadn’t changed in any really significant way, but there were some small changes. Uncle Sajin and Aunt Hayami must have come to some kind of agreement because there were now times in which Aunt Hayami would vanish for weeks at a time, and during those periods, Uncle Sajin would take care of me. Aunt Hayami’s disposition always seemed to improve after she returned, seemingly rejuvenated in the wake of whatever trip she had taken. It gave me the chance to spend far more time with Uncle Sajin, and it was during those weeks that I found myself being enrolled in three different martial arts classes—Jeet Kune Do, Karate, and Muay Thai in an attempt to find the one that I would like best. After a single lesson of each, I had developed no lasting attachments to any of them, and so Uncle Sajin had decided on the latter in my place. Every lesson left my legs aching badly, and the rest of my body didn’t fare much better. I was told that it would hurt less over time as my body was strengthened, and Uncle Sajin made sure that I wasn’t going to undo any of the growth by remaking my body in the aftermath. Unlike the other times in which I had been expected to socialise with others, this seemed to go much better. It might have been that the class was made up of older girls and boys or that the classes were shorter and the focus narrower—but at least they weren’t scared of me. # Restaurant, Musutafu. Nanami’s tenth birthday was an interesting affair, and one that had gone through several different planning iterations before Aunt Hayami had finally convinced Hiroshi and Kana to let her book a table at what I was starting to think was a very expensive restaurant. I hadn’t really understood it until Nanami had invited me to a sleepover for the first time, but it seemed to be the case that her parents weren’t nearly as well off as Aunt Hayami was—and that had been reflected in how uncomfortable they seemed to be with how much this dinner had cost her. Nanami seemed oblivious to it, or at least unaffected, because she was beaming around at everyone in the restaurant without any hint of discomfort. “Hayami—this feels like way too much,” Kana managed, “You didn’t have to go to this much trouble.” Kana trailed off as several waiters arrived with their orders—and Hiroshi seemed sheepish as a well-dressed woman placed a plate down in front of him. “It’s no trouble at all; I just wanted to do something nice for Nanami,” Aunt Hayami said, waving her hand to ward off the other woman’s embarrassment. “Besides, Hisoka wouldn’t have let me hear the end of it if I didn’t.” I was pretty certain I’d never mentioned anything about it to her, but I didn’t mind taking the blame if it made things easier for her. Nanami certainly seemed happy with how everything had turned out, kicking her feet beneath the table as the waitress placed her own plate down. Kana reached over and placed her hand on my shoulder, in what I interpreted as some kind of misplaced gratitude—I made sure to smile. “A birthday?” The waitress said, “Oh my, how old are you today, little miss?” “Ten,” Nanami said, preening at the attention. “How old are you ?” The question caused an odd round of amused reactions from everyone at the table, and I wasn’t quite sure why. I had once asked the very same question to a teacher, and she had been entirely unimpressed—Nanami just seemed way better at this kind of thing. “Me?” The waiter said, smiling now. “I’m twenty-nine.” “Wow.” Nanami said, impressed. “You’re old.” That caused another round of amusement and a sheepish laugh from Hiroshi—Aunt Hayami seemed entirely incapable of hiding her amusement, even through the use of her hand. “Nanami, you’re not supposed to say that,” Kana said, face flushed. “I’m so sorry—” “That’s quite alright, Ma’am.” The waitress said, still giggling. “Enjoy your special day, sweety.” “Thank you, miss.” Nanami said, beaming again. “Hisoka—how cool is this?” “Very cool,” I agreed. I listened as the adults spoke, the flow of conversation broken up between mouthfuls of expensive food, and when Nanami started to grow a bit rowdy, Hiroshi insisted that he was going to eat all of Nanami’s birthday cake if she didn’t behave herself. I was pretty sure it was a ruse, but Nanami seemed to take the threat far more seriously. At some point during the dinner, I found myself distracted by the array of odd people sitting at a table directly behind Hiroshi. The only thing they really shared in common was the expensive-looking business suits they were wearing, each one a different, dark shade of colour. Two women and three men, all shapes and sizes, represented amongst them. The first person stood out purely because of his ridiculously bushy moustache and his noticeably short stature. This man’s facial hair was entirely wild, and it stuck out to both sides, covering most of the bottom of his face while ensuring that the expression of his mouth was truly unreadable. Despite sitting indoors at night time and with relatively low light in the room, he was wearing a thick pair of sunglasses over his eyes. The second person I could see was a woman with bright pink hair that reached all the way down below the table and far out of sight. Her mouth had clearly been affected by her quirk because it was pulled into a permanent, face-stretching grin with a series of sharp, perfectly interlocking teeth. The third was a mammoth of a man with dark skin and angular sunglasses perched on his nose, an overlapping series of tattoos visible on his hands, fingers, neck and face. I’d never seen anyone quite as large before, and I was certain that if he’d stood side by side with All Might, he would have dwarfed even him. The fourth was a teenager, short, with tanned skin and a pixie cut coloured in dual tones of gold and black, the split occurring straight down the middle. Unlike the others, the sleeves of her suit had been scrunched up to her elbows, and it was clear that despite being the second smallest person at the table, her arms were lined with definition. The fifth was a tall man with exceptionally sharp eyes. He had his arms crossed over his chest as he sat, slumped back in his seat with a bland smile on his face. The most startling thing about him was that his skin was actually blue. It was the first time I had seen something like that before, and as I continued to study him from the point of view emerging from my neck, I noticed that he had a pair of serrated fins striking out of his elbows, angled behind him and passing through a custom hole that had been stitched into the suit. As I watched them, I began to notice that they were also watching us. Although I couldn’t actually tell who they were looking at, the most likely reason was that they had spotted Aunt Hayami—this wouldn’t be the first time that someone had recognised her in public. I turned my head for the first time to look at the group with my real eyes. In an odd display of timing, the blue-skinned man glanced over, catching my gaze. The two of us stared at each other for a very long time, and neither of us looked away— “Hisoka?” Nanami said, “ Hey —stop ignoring me, dummy.” I broke eye contact with the narrow-eyed man and turned to face her, putting the other group entirely out of my mind. “Sorry, Nanami,” I said, “What did you say?” # Beach, Musutafu. “It feels like forever since I’ve actually been to the beach,” Uncle Sajin said, “I’d forgotten just how much the proximity to so much sand improves my range—everything feels so effortless down here.” I nodded in agreement as Uncle Sajin waved his hand in an arc, and a wave of sand twisted up before solidifying into a hyper-detailed mess of overlapping buildings—a cross-section of Musutafu rendered in miniature scale, with a tidal wave looming high over it all. I attempted to match it, but while the flat rectangular faces of the buildings were easy to manage, the addition of so many little details was still beyond me. “You’re getting better,” Uncle Sajin said with interest. “You’ll get there in a few years—it’s just practice at this point.” The sand tsunami crashed down onto the city, burying it in an instant, and nothing was left behind except a flat expanse of sand. I tried to copy the manipulation, bringing the wave up to crash down onto the city in slow motion, but the timing was off, and all of the buildings fell apart before they got hit by anything. Uncle Sajin gave a happy laugh at the sight of it and then set out to create a series of increasingly complex scenes for me to attempt. I managed to mimic most of them, but each of my attempts grew worse as he stepped up the complexity of his own until I was forced to send a tidal wave crashing into his latest one in quiet protest. We ended up creating a pair of humanoids to fight it out right there on the beach, but it was a lopsided battle—my rough, stilted and blank-faced mannequin was unable to make much ground against the perfect-to-scale replica of All Might. Eventually, I let my badly damaged figure fall to the ground in defeat while his own stood triumphantly over it, smiling wide in its stolen pose. “Are they usually this late?” Uncle Sajin asked. “They have been late a couple of times,” I said. “But not this much.” “I’ll have to tell Hayami to buy you a phone,” Uncle Sajin said, pulling at his moustache in thought. “You don’t know their number, do you?” I lifted my hand up until my palm was facing the sky and then used my sand to write the sequence of memorised numbers out in the air. Uncle Sajin nodded at my efforts in acknowledgement before bringing out his phone. He tapped the numbers in and then pressed it up to his cheek— “Instant voicemail,” Uncle Sajin said, eyeing it for a moment. “They are probably just driving; I’ll try again in a couple of minutes.” “Okay,” I agreed. There was a beat of silence before Uncle Sajin lifted his own hand up, and the words ‘ strength and perseverance ’ wrote themselves out in the air—the raised eyebrow was all the encouragement I needed to try and replicate it. “It’s like clockwork, huh?” Uncle Sajin said, “All these holidays that she’s going on—Hayami seems happier, so I can’t really fault her.” That really had been the agreement that they had come to. Aunt Hayami wanted to take some time for herself, and Uncle Sajin was willing to help out more to make it happen. From what I had gathered, he had been forced to pull back on his work hours to look after me whenever she went away—he had never said anything about it, but I had a feeling that Uncle Sajin was more upset about the loss of work hours then he really admitted to. “Sorry, Uncle Sajin,” I murmured. “If I was older, I could look after myself, and you wouldn’t have to spend so much time away from work.” Uncle Sajin reached out and put his hand on my shoulder before shaking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hisoka.” Uncle Sajin said, “I should have been around more after your parents died, and that’s on me, not you—you’re a kid; you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” I wasn’t really sure how to respond, so I stayed silent and continued my efforts to write out the Higawara family motto. “Katashi was my brother too, so I shouldn’t have left taking care of you entirely up to Hayami—that was selfish of me,” Uncle Sajin said, “But I’m here now, and I don’t have plans of going anywhere, okay?” “Okay,” I agreed. “Good,” Uncle Sajin said, “I’m going to try calling them again.” It had been a few minutes since the last attempt, but they still didn’t pick up, and Uncle Sajin was frowning now. “They might have forgotten about coming,” I said. “They would have still answered the phone if that was the case,” Uncle Sajin said, “Who’s number is this?” “Kana,” I said. “Do you know their landline?” Uncle Sajin asked. I did, but it simply rang out without an answer and brought us no closer to figuring out why they hadn’t shown up. “I know they drive that little silver car,” Uncle Sajin said, eyeing the mostly empty parking space nearby. “Do you know their address—then let’s go see if they’re at home.” # Higawara Manor, Musutafu. Hiroshi, Kana and Nanami hadn’t been at home, but their car had been parked in the driveway. Neither Kana nor Hiroshi had answered their mobile phones over the course of the next two days. I hadn’t really understood how big of a problem it was at the time. At first, I had assumed that they had done what Aunt Hayami always did and that they had gone on a holiday, just without telling anyone first. I had also assumed that they would return whenever they were finished doing whatever people did on those—but that wasn’t what happened. Hiroshi Kureta, Kana Kureta and Nanami Kureta were officially declared missing on the 17th of March, and an investigation into their whereabouts soon started. I found this out on the same day after Uncle Sajin had picked me up from school and then explained to me that Aunt Hayami would be cutting her trip short. We sat in the car for a long time after that as he explained everything that he had learned from the police—namely that absolutely nothing had been found. There were no cameras or footage showing them walking anywhere. There were no neighbours witnessing them leaving the house. There were no packed bags, missing clothing or vanished toiletries to indicate that they had gone somewhere. The two mobile phones, their wallets, and the keys to the car had all been inside the house. There were no notes to indicate where they might have gone and no signs of forced entry to the house. Nanami had been at school on Friday—I knew because I’d had lunch with her—but she hadn’t returned to school after the failed trip to the beach. The three of them had simply vanished without a trace. Nanami’s absence had been noticed, and the news had already made its way through the school. I’d already overheard several nasty comments about ‘ the psychopath ’ having done something to her—something which heralded the first time I could remember feeling angry. The social ostracization, the unfair accusations, the lack of any new information about their whereabouts—and worst of all, there was no Nanami to talk to about any of it. All of it was starting to build up inside of me, and instead of breaking my promise to Aunt Hayami and Principal Kazu by lashing out at someone, I went to Uncle Sajin. Our quirk practice and my Muay Thai lessons became much more frequent—an outlet that only resulted in sore legs and a beaten-up bag of sand. It did nothing to dispel the anger; instead, it just left me feeling tired and lost. When Hayami finally returned from her aborted holiday, I’d cried again, and she had joined me. # Higawara Manor, Musutafu. An entire month had passed since Nanami had vanished, and nothing new had been learned about the situation. Aunt Hayami was acting strange, talking to me more frequently, asking me how I was feeling at any given moment, and requesting that I spend more time with her doing things like watching movies or going to hobby groups. In turn, my practice sessions with Uncle Sajin increased in frequency once again, and my best guess was that they were attempting to fill the space I usually spent with Nanami with something else in an effort to distract me. My days at school were spent in silence, no longer interacting with any of the other students unless the class required it, and I’d begun spending my nights looking up anything that I could find about missing persons on the internet. I’d learned many facts about both abductions and the victims of the crime, but the one that seemed most relevant was that in the last fifty years, there had been more and more of them occurring. The primary causes of those missing persons were dementia in the elderly; the second was custodial battles over children, where one of the parents illegally removed the child from the legal guardian somehow. Neither of those seemed applicable to Nanami’s specific case, but the third and fourth most common reasons—quirk trafficking, and human trafficking respectively— might have been. Nanami had a useful quirk and one that many people had said was amazing, it was therefore possible that someone had taken her for that very reason. As soon as I had realised it, I had gone to Uncle Sajin to tell him and he had assured me that it was the very first thing that the police had looked into. He had also told me that I should be focusing on my schoolwork and that, as a child , this kind of detective work wasn’t something I should be trying to get involved in. I had felt silly for all of ten minutes before it occurred to me that Uncle Sajin had known the most likely reason for Nanami’s disappearance for some unknown amount of time, and he hadn’t made any attempt to share it with me. Though I understood that he had probably avoided saying anything in order to protect me, I couldn’t stand the thought of being denied access to the same information that everyone else had. I didn’t stop looking, and if anything, I started devoting more of my time to working out exactly what else they might have discovered and what I might not be aware of—and through it all, that anger continued to fester. # Higawara Manor, Musutafu. When I returned home from school, I found that Aunt Hayami was lying half on the kitchen table, her face pressed into her arms as she cried. Uncle Sajin was seated beside her, his linked hands resting against his forehead; he sat up when I entered the room. “Hisoka, we have some things to tell you, and you aren’t going to enjoy them,” Uncle Sajin said, voice gentle. “Please, come sit down.” The tone of voice was enough for me to realise that something had gone wrong, and while Aunt Hayami did sometimes cry, it hadn’t ever been like this . I sat down beside him, studying his face in an attempt to preemptively discover what he might say— “Five days ago, Hiroshi Kureta was found washed up on a beach several hours away from here at a small port city,” Uncle Sajin said, “They are still investigating, but it’s believed that he died in the middle of March—the cause of which was drowning.” I stared at him without comment, fists clenched tight as something horrible inside of me shifted in response to the words—there were so many questions passing through my mind, and I was having trouble bringing myself to ask any of them. “The police, along with multiple heroes, have been searching the area since he was found. Four days ago, they located the body of Kana Kureta; she was—in a similar state,” Uncle Sajin said, voice careful. “The search is continuing, and Nanami’s body has yet to be found but—I’m sorry, Hisoka.” Hiroshi and Kana were dead, and that meant that I would never be able to hear their voices again, see their faces, or watch them scold Nanami for her bad manners. Hiroshi and Kana were dead—but Nanami was missing, and that meant that she was still alive. “How did they get there?” I asked. “We don’t know,” Uncle Sajin said, “They didn’t drive, and there are no transactions on any of their accounts to say they bought anything on the way, no tickets for boats or any other form of transit.” Aunt Hayami, still crying, pushed herself up, half-lunged-half-stumbled in my direction, and then wrapped her arms around me. I didn’t move; my hands still fisted beneath the table, and though I clenched my jaw tight, it did nothing to stop the stinging in my eyes. “It’s going to be okay, Hisoka—” Aunt Hayami managed, “ It’s going to be okay .” “The search is going to continue for another week at most,” Uncle Sajin said, “If Nanami isn’t found in that time, the team handling it will disassemble, and she will be declared officially deceased.” Aunt Hayami shuddered against my back, but her hold on me only seemed to tighten. I couldn’t understand how they could possibly declare that without finding her first. Without her body, they had absolutely zero proof that she was dead— so how could they give up after only a week of looking ? “Who did this?” I asked. “We don’t know; there is nothing to indicate how they ended up where they were found, nor was anything learned from the bodies that would explain why,” Uncle Sajin said, sounding genuinely frustrated. “The case is cold, and unless we can find Nanami—no, even if we do find her, it’s unlikely that we will be able to catch the ones responsible.” That sounded a whole lot like they were going to stop trying , and I couldn’t think of a single thing in my entire life that I hated more than the idea of giving up on Nanami. # Park, Musutafu. Uncle Sajin’s prediction of the outcome of the investigation had been exact, but for the first time, I found myself wishing that he had been wrong. The investigation had continued for almost the entire week, and a lot of it was publicised. There was footage, articles, and everything else in between spread across the news, the internet, and even the radio. A tip line had been established, and the extensive news coverage—along with the reward that Aunt Hayami had posted—had resulted in tens of thousands of people calling in. Almost all of the tips had been useless, according to Uncle Sajin, who had remained entwined with the case all the way to the end of it. Nanami’s body hadn’t been found, and the investigation had been brought to an abrupt finish. The state of the two bodies that had been found was bad enough that they had never even reached the cemetery. Aunt Hayami had helped pay for the funeral out of her own pocket, and all three of us had attended. There had been far more people at the funeral than I had realised would be there; Hiroshi and Kana had been well-liked in their respective social circles, and what must have been half of Musutafu Elementary was in attendance. I had never expected to see so many people crying at once or in one place, but it was just further evidence that Uncle Sajin was correct. In the aftermath of the funeral, I’d had my first real argument with Aunt Hayami. I told her that she had made a mistake, and as I had expected, she hadn’t taken it very well. That was a conclusion I had managed to arrive at long before I had decided to say the words, but this time, I felt like I had to say them. It was true that there were times when I didn’t need to point out a mistake when I saw it, and there were times when it was okay to let people think the wrong thing, even when I knew the truth was different. But there were also times when I couldn’t stand the thought of allowing it to go unsaid. I’d made her cry again, which wasn’t something that I had wanted, but it was something I had expected. Watching her cry hadn’t helped soothe the anger or quell the pain; it had only enhanced it by adding another layer of pressure on top of everything else. Rather than witness the pain I had caused her, I had run away from the house, entirely on my own and long after dark—something that was definitely against the rules. There was a high probability that I would find myself grounded for doing it, but right now, I couldn’t seem to find a reason to care because a month inside my room was now no different than a month outside of it. Nanami was missing , and just like the police, the news reporters and the public at large, they had given up on her. I didn’t care that there wasn’t any evidence to show that she was alive. I didn’t care that the most obvious conclusion to this entire thing was that Nanami had drowned in the ocean alongside her parents. Nobody had seen her body, and so nobody knew that for sure. Nanami wasn’t dead, and so Aunt Hayami had made a mistake—there should have only been two headstones at the cemetery, but instead, there had been three. # Park, Musutafu. The park was different at night, drenched in the light of the moon and by that contrast, it sent shadows twisting about—Nanami wouldn’t have liked it like this, I was sure. But I would have gladly accepted any amount of tears if it meant that I got to see her again. Nanami wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t here either. She was somewhere else , and nobody was looking for her. None of it made any kind of sense to me. Almost everyone who had been at the funeral had been crying, and that had to mean that almost everyone missed her. So how did anyone expect her to come home if they didn’t keep looking? Hiroshi and Kana wouldn’t have stopped looking, I was sure, and if someone had asked me a month ago, I could have said—without even having to stop and think first—that Aunt Hayami wouldn’t have either. It only took Uncle Sajin fifteen minutes to find me, which might have been an expression of his skills as a hero, his understanding of me or perhaps just a testament to how few places held any meaning for me. I felt the sand he was using to enhance his mobility like a beacon in the night before he slid to a stop on the grass at the edge of the park. I didn’t turn to look at him, my entire focus on my next attempt to bring some semblance of Nanami back to life—there was something off about the way her hair fell around her face, and it bothered me that I couldn’t remember exactly how it had sat before. I should have brought the picture with me. “You’ve been practising a lot,” Uncle Sajin said, “This is much better than last time.” Uncle Sajin was now leaning against the legs of the swing set, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. Some ingrained instinct almost caused me to turn around to face him while he was speaking, but I didn’t want to take my eyes off Nanami, so I simply watched them both from two different points of perspective. “It’s still not right,” I murmured. Uncle Sajin pushed off the metal frame and came to sit on the swing beside me—it was an odd sight, seeing such a large man in a swing that was usually reserved for kids. We sat in silence for several minutes as I attempted to fix the mistake I’d made, and in which he made a few quiet suggestions on how to improve it. “Hayami is very worried about you,” Uncle Sajin said in the same casual tone. “Running off in the middle of the night is a dangerous thing, Hisoka—especially after what just happened.” I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that he was right and that I was putting myself at risk by going off alone like this—but I just couldn’t get the image of the headstones out of my mind. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” I murmured. “It was a mistake.” “Hisoka, the problem here isn’t that you said something; you’re allowed to express what you are feeling,” Uncle Sajin said, “Arguments are going to happen, and nobody is perfect, but running off like this isn’t a good solution to the problem.” “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you are, but you’re still just a kid,” Uncle Sajin said, turning his eyes up to the sky above. “There’s going to be more moments like this as you get older.” Moments like this ? Arguments, tears, or people vanishing from my life without explanation? Moments like standing in a cemetery on a warm, sunny day with strangers in black clothes and unused umbrellas? Moments like watching my Aunt Hayami’s face twist in hurt as I told her she had given up on Nanami too quickly. Moments like sitting in an empty, worthless park without the only thing that had given it any meaning? Uncle Sajin had never said it outright, but it was clear to me now that he had never believed that Nanami was coming back. “Uncle Sajin,” I said, voice quiet. “Do you ever make mistakes?” “Of course I have, Hisoka,” Uncle Sajin said, “I’ve made so many mistakes over the years that I’ve stopped keeping count.” Uncle Sajin seemed to take the question as something else entirely because when he spoke up, it was something I hadn’t expected. “I ran away from home a lot when I was a teenager,” Uncle Sajin said before letting out a quiet laugh. “Hayami ran away once , but it was a whole dramatic kind of thing—just like her, right?” “Aunt Hayami ran away?” I murmured. Uncle Sajin smiled at the interest. “Hayami, me, and your dad grew up outside of the big cities, and it took a while before we managed to acclimate to everything after we moved here,” Uncle Sajin said, “The very first day of big-city high school and Hayami gets into a massive fight with a pair of older girls—I can’t remember their names now, it was two decades ago at least.” I could remember Aunt Hayami standing in the principal’s office, with her hands clenched into fists and her skin washing grey as her quirk activated beneath her fury—even then, it was hard to imagine her actually fighting someone. “Hayami got suspended for throwing the first punch, and she ended up getting an earful over it from our parents,” Uncle Sajin said before smiling again. “Your dad thought it was hilarious at the time.” I had some vague memories of my parents, but most of them had already faded, and I couldn’t quite remember what they were like. “Hayami lost her temper, screamed at everyone, and then locked herself in her room for the rest of the day,” Uncle Sajin said, “Lo and behold, she didn’t answer the door when we were sent to get her for dinner, and when we finally got inside—Hayami was gone.” “Where did she go?” I asked. “We never found out, and she never told us,” Uncle Sajin admitted, “She came waltzing back in the next morning, looking way too pleased with herself.” “Do you think that will work for me?” I wondered. “It’s like clockwork, huh?” Uncle Sajin said, smiling. “Hayami is more worried than mad, so you two can just hug it out and then everything will go back to normal.” I fell silent at the words—the idea that Aunt Hayami wouldn’t be mad at me forever was a reassuring one, but the notion that everything would be back to normal was nothing more than a thinly veiled deception. I returned my attention to the statue, and for a long minute, the two of us sat in silence. “Hisoka,” Uncle Sajin said into the silence. “I’m going to ask you to promise me something again.” It might have been because my mind had already been shifting through all of the possible outcomes of my decision to run away since I’d arrived at the park, but I had been waiting for something like this—and for the first time in my life, I felt distinctly uncomfortable with what he might ask of me. “A lot has happened recently, and I know how overwhelming it can be, but all of this is only temporary,” Uncle Sajin said, “I want you to do your best to put all of the bad stuff out of your mind, and try to focus on your school work—can you promise me?” It wasn’t that far removed from all of the other promises that he had asked from me over the years, and it wasn’t even that difficult of a request. It even matched quite well with what Takeda Yasunari had been telling me to do during our sessions at school. Put all of the bad stuff out of my mind, focus on school work and let everything just return to normal. It sounded like good advice—except for the fact that Nanami was still gone, and moving on would mean that there was nobody left who was actually looking for her. I watched him for a long moment, studying his face in the moonlight—and then I let the imperfect statue of Nanami Kureta fall apart. “Yes, Uncle Sajin,” I said. “I promise.” Uncle Sajin reached out and clapped a hand on my shoulder, a smile coming to rest on his face like it always did when I agreed to his promises. I wouldn’t realise it until years later, but this was one of the most defining moments of my life—it was the first lie I could ever remember telling, but it would be far from the last.

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### Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Higawara Manor, Musutafu. “It depends on where Hisoka wants to go,” Hayami insisted. “Stop trying to convince him—one way or another.” “Obviously, it’s his choice on where to go,” Sajin said, shaking his head. “I’m just saying that you don’t have to get caught up in the media storm—Shiketsu High School is just as good of a school as U.A.” “If you’re not trying to convince him,” Hayami said, eyeing him. “Then why haven’t you brought up any of the other schools a single time?” “Because they aren’t on the same level—Isamu Academy High School is small, new, and doesn’t have much in the way of funding— Seijin High School might actually be some kind of cult,” Sajin said, “Seiai Academy is probably on the same level as the big two, but the last time I checked, Hisoka was a boy .” “It’s—not a cult,” Hayami said, clearly picking her battles. “What about Ketsubutsu Academy?” “The only defining trait of Ketsubutsu Academy is that all of the students wanted to go U.A,” Sajin said in a clear attempt to needle her. “There are only two realistic options here.” Hayami looked incensed by his breakdown of the school before she flapped her hand at him as if to ward off his words. “Hisoka, are you certain you want to be a hero?” Hayami tried, bringing the conversation right back around in a circle. “It’s your choice, of course, but it is a dangerous career, and you could do well for yourself by focusing more on the arts—” “ Now who is trying to convince him?” Sajin accused. As interesting as it was to watch them both attempt to argue for their own preferences while also not directly forcing me to take any of them, it was all a rather futile venture because my choice of career and the school that would help me get there was made a long, long time ago. “I would like to enrol at U.A High School,” I said. Sajin slumped back in his seat, anguished that I hadn’t chosen to enrol at his old school and deliberately exaggerating the motion for great effect—but it was clear to me that he was not actually upset. Hayami was less certain about his choice, but that stemmed from the fact that she did not want me to put myself in danger, and the life of a hero would be nothing but. “If you’re sure—it’s settled then,” Hayami managed. “Sajin, when are we expected to contact the school?” “Applications aren’t sent out until the end of the year, and he’ll get them first from his homeroom teacher,” Sajin said, “The upside is that I have the rest of the year to upsell you to Shiketsu.” Sajin caught my gaze over the kitchen table and then sent me a fractional wink to show that he was only joking. He seemed to be more focused on stirring up his sister than actually trying to convince me, although that had been the case for the vast majority of this conversation. I was well aware already that they would be happy with my choice, no matter what I decided to do. “Oh, stop it, you buffoon,” Hayami said with a sigh. “U.A. is on the complete opposite side of the city—how long will the daily commute be?” I smiled at the topic, having been waiting for it to come up, although I hadn’t been sure if it would be during this specific conversation or one in the coming months. “I have no idea because I went to Shiketsu,” Sajin said offhand. “That’s much closer to here, in case you were wondering.” Hayami sent him a look of long-suffering, and I took the moment to speak up before the topic could shift away and the opportunity closed. “It’s an hour and a half from here by train,” I said, “Three hours a day is a lot of time to waste on a train, but I’m willing to do it to attend my dream school.” Sajin whistled at the comment, but he didn’t seem too surprised; Hayami was outright frowning at the number. “That is a lot of wasted time,” Sajin said, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment. “Maybe it’s time we sell the old family home and move you two into a shack across town?” Hayami sucked in a startled breath at the idea and then sent him a look that was entirely scandalised, visibly upset that he would even suggest such a thing. I was staring at Sajin out of the side of my neck, wondering if he had somehow uncovered my intention already or if my attempt to guide them towards the idea of moving closer was actually successful. “We can’t sell the manor,” Hayami cried, “Don’t you know how old this place is?” Sajin’s moustache shifted as he attempted to hide his amusement, but she seemed to catch it anyway—Hayami’s attempt to spill her glass of water on him was intercepted by the mass of sand that rose up from his arm. “Keep the manor then—I yield, I yield,” Sajin said, still laughing. “How about renting him a place closer to the school? There’s plenty of apartment buildings on that side of the city.” “An apartment?” Hayami said, sounding unsure. “That’s—he would be living on his own.” That was something I had considered asking for and then discarded because I had thought it entirely unlikely to succeed—but I hadn’t expected that someone else would be the one who suggested it. “He’s a hell of a lot more mature than we were at that age,” Sajin offered, “It would instil a bit of independence in him as well.” Being able to gauge both of their reactions to the question without being the one to make the ask or even being the one to suggest the idea of moving in the first place was a priceless opportunity. As it stood, Sajin had come to the idea himself and was now arguing for it on my behalf—I almost couldn’t believe how well this had gone. “But—” Hayami started and then paused. “We can’t leave him on his own .” “We already do that, just to a lesser extent, and he’s shown that he can look after himself while we’re both gone,” Sajin said, “Hisoka would be at school for most of the day anyway, and we can start doing weekends together to make sure we get to see each other.” Sajin was right because the spontaneous trips that seemed to call Hayami away every couple of weeks hadn’t slowed down over the years, and as I had grown older, the normal level of supervision had gradually lessened as I grew more capable of looking after myself for short periods of time. Now, at fourteen, Sajin only really had to do a single checkup every day to ensure that I was safe, that I had eaten, and that nothing had gone wrong. Beyond that, I had a phone on me at all times, through which to call him if I ever needed anything, which was something I hadn’t had to use a single time. It was clear by her body language that she was hesitant about the idea but not outright against it, and her responses showed that the entire thing was novel to her. Hayami hadn’t had time to build up a real defence against any of the arguments being made or even to really come to terms with whether or not she actually liked the idea. It was also clear that I could very easily tilt her further in this direction without much persuasion on my part, namely because there was a visible benefit for everyone involved. Hayami would enjoy the time to herself, and it would increase the time by which she could feel safe leaving me alone. Sajin would be freer to return to his work, less restricted by his need to only patrol inside Musutafu whenever Hayami left. The obvious benefit they would associate with my side of the equation was that I wouldn’t have to spend three hours on a train every single day, and while that was exactly what I was looking for, it wasn’t for the reasons they probably had assumed. Because three hours a day, every day, when averaged over the span of a year, was four hundred hours that could be better spent elsewhere. The time that would be lost every day on account of enrolling in U.A High School could be justified only by the potential of receiving the single best hero education in Japan and, through that, an investment into advanced and necessary training. “I think that may be the best solution to this problem,” I said, speaking up. “It wouldn’t be much different to our system now, and I would be able to spend those three hours doing studying at home rather than doing nothing on the train.” Hayami turned to look at me, visibly torn, but I had long since discovered which levers to press in order to bring her the rest of the way. “However, I know that it would be expensive, and I don’t want to financially burden you any more than I already have,” I said, intentionally misconstruing her non-verbal response. “I’m more than willing to take the train if that is what you would prefer, Aunt Hayami.” Hayami had been obscenely wealthy long before she had taken me in, the combination of her part of the Higawara inheritance, her world-class talent with art, and all of the fame and opportunity that had come along with it. Indicating that I was experiencing negative thoughts about the cost associated with taking me in and then providing for me for all of these years would be a catalyst with a very narrow range of responses. All of which would poison her own foundation for arguing against the idea. It would invariably come to an attempt at reassurance, and it would, in turn, lock her into a course of action she hadn’t really had the time to think through enough to come to a better solution. Beyond that, I would affirm that I was happy with the idea, and she would have to fight through a resistance in order to retract it—one which would suggest that I was, in fact, a financial burden after all. It was a calculated move, and I didn’t feel at all good about using it on Hayami, but I also knew that it would be extremely effective—and with its success, I would be one step closer to finding Nanami Kureta. “You are not a financial burden to me, and you have never been—I wouldn’t even notice the cost of an apartment, Hisoka,” Hayami managed, sounding stricken by it all. “If you would like to try, then you can ; you’ve already shown us that you are more than ready for a responsibility like this.” I ducked my head at the words, uncomfortable at how effective it had really been, but before I could respond in any way to her agreement, Sajin spoke up. “Both of us are just a phone call away at any rate, so it’s not like he’ll be stranded or anything,” Sajin said, “We’ll have to work out a shopping schedule unless you just want to get everything delivered like lazy bones here.” “I’m not lazy; it’s simply more efficient to have it delivered,” Hayami said before clearing her throat. “Hisoka—would you like to try living on your own for a while?” “I think I would like to try,” I murmured. “Thank you, Aunt Hayami.” Hayami rose from her seat, and I found myself pulled into one of the infrequent but appreciated hugs that tended to crop up every now and then. “You’re a good boy, Hisoka,” Hayami said, voice a bit shaky. “We will talk about this in more detail once we get a bit closer to the application date, but is there anything else you think you might need?” Hayami was already over-providing for me in every single aspect of my life, and this outcome was far more than I had initially set out to obtain—but there was one more thing I thought I might want. “Can I have some more of my birthday cake, please?” I asked. “It’s really good.” “Of course you can,” Hayami said. “I’m glad you like it so much.” “It’s like clockwork, huh?” Sajin said, smiling now. “Can I get another piece too?” # Higawara Manor, Musutafu. The body of Hiroshi Kureta had been found in the Inouzawa River in the port city of Shimoda. Kana Kureta, however, had been found further away, at Suzaki, right near the diving centre. Both bodies had been bound at the hands and legs by duct tape. The obvious commonality was that both bodies had been located in water and within one-point-five kilometres of a heavily trafficked shipping route. The bodies had both been damaged badly, both by the water and the rocks. It had been determined that Hiroshi had died at least two hours before Kana had, and though his body had sustained multiple blunt force wounds while he was still alive, the cause of his death had been drowning. The prevailing theory before the case was closed was that he was attacked by an unknown assailant, restrained, beaten and then dumped in the ocean while his legs were still tied. It had been discovered that while Kana had also been dumped in the ocean while still restrained, she had died long prior to the event from cranial bleeding—something that had been inside of the report but had not made it to the news, was that she had also been the victim of sexual assault. The DNA that had been discovered matched no known or existing entry and could not be traced back to a source. I hadn’t found any of this information out until years after the case had already been closed, and only because I had discovered an online blog that dealt specifically with maintaining an archive of unsolved criminal cases around the world. Whoever was updating the website had far more access to the files than the greater public, and it was through that information that I had begun my search. The current point of focus for my search was that of the shipping route and the vessels that had been in the area. The shipping route from Shimoda led to a series of small islands—all of which had already been searched during the initial search and rescue—before circling back to Tokyo Bay, after which point, it branched out into a whole slew of places. It stood out to me that the killer had taken the three of them from their home in Musutafu all the way to Shimoda in the first place. If the culprit had wanted a body of water to hide the bodies, they could have accomplished that in Suruga Bay. That meant that they either didn’t want the search to take place in Musutafu—unlikely because the victims of the crime had been from there, so it would be the first place that would be checked—or that there was a specific reason to go to Shimoda that outweighed the risk of taking three captives all the way there. Shimoda had a population of 78,900 as of the year 2147, and it had been trending slowly upward for the last century. It was a port city, and it had once been—a long time ago—at the forefront of a debate on national seclusion policy. Its economy was entirely based on tourism and commercial fishing. It lay claim to several beaches that were popular spots for people all over Japan and even international visitors. I had spent years thinking over all of the things I knew about Shimoda, but such a broad scope left me without an answer as to why it was special. Why had the killer taken three people all the way there first before disposing of two of them when there were closer and easier options available? Nobody had seen Hiroshi, Kana or Nanami making their way to Shimoda, and their car had been at the house. They hadn’t used public transport, and that would have been impossible if they had already been captives at that point. Nobody had seen them leave the port either, but there had been thousands of people leaving via the shipping route on that day and hundreds of ships. The study of the currents made it clear that Hiroshi Kureta had been brought back into the mouth of the Inouzawa River, meaning that he had been out in the bay, and the movement of the ocean had dragged him to where he was found. The location of Kana’s body had been determined to have come from even further out in the ocean, and that only further proved that all three of them had been on one of those ships that had left from the port. All those people at the docks, and somehow, not one person had seen anything suspicious. How would a person get a family of three captives—alive at this point, according to the rough timeline of events—onto a ship without being seen? Why take the risk of being seen trying it if it wasn’t absolutely necessary? The timeline implied that Hiroshi had been dumped first and then Kana second, both at different places, which meant that the ship they had been on was following the shipping route. The rough time of their deaths—as reported by the police—presumed that whatever vessel they were on had left Shimoda sometime after six o’clock at night. Out of the dozens of ships that had left via the shipping route during that time, one of them had been carrying Nanami Kureta—and I was going to find it. # Pasana Middle School, Musutafu. “This is your final year at our school, and I expect you all to conduct yourself appropriately,” Ide Yogi said, “Just because you will be leaving at the end of it does not mean there won’t be consequences for any misbehaviour—do you understand?” There was a murmur of agreement from the class, and I made sure to contribute my own answer to the chorus. “Perfect, now, in saying that, it’s best that you start thinking about which schools you will be applying for now rather than the end of the year,” Ide said, “It’s always better to make a calm and rational decision in advance than to scramble with only a few days yet—are there any of you who expect to enrol into a hero academy?” Almost everyone in the class raised their hands, which was expected, but I made sure to leave my own down because it was obvious that the man was going to make a point. I had long since learned my lesson about drawing too much attention to myself, and I didn’t want a repeat of what had happened at Musutafu Elementary. It was far easier to simply remain quiet and allow the rest of the students to take on the spotlight—it also allowed me far more time to observe them. “I see,” Ide said with interest. “Who of you will be trying for U.A. High School?” A third of the hands remained up, a few of the most confident or perhaps the most hopeful of those in the class withstanding the attention to stake their flag in the sand. “It’s important to aim high,” Ide said, nodding. “I will be expecting all six of you to test far above the rest of the class.” There was some nervous laughter at the comment and the revelation that it had all been a trap in order to force them all to study more— “Akito,” Ide said, “Where do you intend on enrolling?” Akito was one of the three students who hadn’t raised their hands, and the boy sighed before pulling himself up out of the lazy slump he had affected upon first sitting down. “I don’t really want to be a hero,” Akito said, “I like making things, though, so maybe a trade school?” “Very good,” Ide said, apparently impressed. “I suggest you pay attention to engineering, woodcraft and metalwork—those will be specifically useful for your future.” “Thanks,” Akito said. “You may sit,” Ide said, “Now, I hope my point has been successfully made and that each of you will actually look into this—I will be extremely unimpressed if you come to me in the last week of school having not done so.” The girl with blonde hair and tanned skin, who was sitting directly behind me, let out an audible sigh of relief as she managed to escape without being included in the interrogation. I couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment because I had assumed that Ide’s searching gaze would fall upon me next and that I would have had to reveal my intentions to enrol at U.A. after all. # Pasana Middle School, Musutafu. I stood up in response to my name, eyes shifting across the foreign words on the page, before speaking up. The words came easily enough; the long hours of practice and the quiet conversations with both Aunt Hayami and Uncle Sajin allowed me to develop a strong foundation for the other language. “Very good, Hisoka; I can see that you’ve been working hard,” Ide said, pleased. “You may take your seat again—Akito, the final passage is yours.” Akito gave a sigh at the words, but he clearly couldn’t find the energy to argue the point or risk the strict man’s wrath by asking for leniency. The boy flipped the book open, found the page, and opened his mouth—a long green line, thick, rounded, and notched with rings of toughed material—passed through the window on the left side of the building. It pressed the glass inwards, the sharp, angled tip breaking through without slowing. It struck out across the room, extending without limit until it struck Ide Yogi in the shoulder, the man’s pacing having placed him directly in its path. The sharp tip punctured the man’s skin, passed through the other side, and then dragged him up off the floor by the sheer force of the impact, carrying him backwards across the room. He passed through the sliding door and into the hallway before the bamboo shoot finally stopped, lodged in the wall. It left Ide hanging off the ground, his hands wrapped around the shoot as he let out a pained cry. “Get down.” Ide cried out, “Everybody on the floor now—” That was all it took to penetrate the frozen stillness that had taken the entirety of the class, and a wash of screaming rose up as the tension broke. All at once, two dozen kids were on their feet, desks and chairs screeching across the floor in their rush to throw themselves to the floor—and I understood, as two more of the green spears came through the other windows, that whoever was attacking our school building hadn’t finished. Dozens more began to reach the building, each of them slamming into the walls, tearing straight through it and sending glass, bricks, and wood fragments scattering across the room—and I found myself on my feet, my hand outstretched towards the incoming assault as a massive wall of sand washed up into the air. I could feel the impacts increasing as the attack grew more focused, and I pushed —sand began spilling out of the windows and passing down the side of the building in a growing waterfall, the shield expanding to cover the next two floors as well. The generation of so much sand brought with it a sudden increase to my visual acuity, and I could now see everything outside of the building—there was a single man standing out on the grass near the entrance to the school. He was surrounded by a field of green spears, his arms raised up and pointed to the school as countless green lengths of sharpened bamboo emerged from his hands in an unending flurry. No longer able to penetrate the thick mass of sand, he adjusted his aim towards the other floors—now that I could see him, the optimal solution would be to force him onto the defence and prevent him from targeting the school further. But I wasn’t allowed to use my quirk to hurt people; that had been made clear to me many times, and even though this was a unique circumstance, I did not have access to a hero license—I couldn’t attack, but I could defend. I started multiplying the sand in response, moving to cover the entire front of the school building, and Ide’s voice called out from the hallway. “Everyone—out of the room,” Ide managed, voice pained. “Stay low , and move as quickly as you can.” I sent a tendril of sand bursting across the room and into the hallway; it spiralled around the length of bamboo, pinning him to the wall, surrounding it entirely—and then it shattered beneath the force of my grip. I caught him before he could fall to the ground and settled the bleeding man on his feet. The force of the bamboo increased as the man stopped holding back, and the small, thin lengths of bamboo grew thick until they were almost as wide as the light posts that ran the length of the road behind him. I stepped towards the wall of sand, seeking a better position through which to use my quirk— “ Hisoka .” Ide managed, watching me from the hall. “ Don’t go out there —” I fell apart as I made contact with it, emerging from the mass of sand that was now coating the roof of the building, and then absorbed the view of the school with my real eyes. I widened the defence into a curved mass, building up an impenetrable dome around the entirety of the school and reducing the targets he could aim at—and then, as expected, the man spotted me for the first time. The next attack came faster, larger and now aimed directly at my position on top of the dome. The sand spiralled into its path, forming a series of thick shields that intercepted, deflected and broke the attack as they approached—the man’s hands came together for the first time, and a single, massive spear emerged from his palms, moving so quickly that if I hadn’t been watching it from a thousand different angles, I might not have been able to react in time. I combined all of the smaller shields into a single mass a moment before impact—the spear kept on coming, my last-minute defence not quite enough to stop it entirely. More sand rose up around it, spiralling around its length as it pressed forward—the massive length of bamboo broke through. The tip of it crashed into my shoulder and chest, tearing my arm off as it went. For a moment, I couldn’t move, the pain too bright, and my mind froze amidst it—and then I fell apart. The pain vanished, but in its place was an anger that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. The dome surged upwards as I multiplied the entirety of it at once, rising into a tidal wave of sand twice as tall as the school building—the massive bamboo spear snapped as it was forced upwards at an angle, and I watched the man stare up at it with an open mouth as it fell upon him. There was a last-minute attempt at creating a cage of bamboo around himself, but by then, I already had him within my grasp. The interlocked bamboo posts did nothing to stop the sand; it simply passed between the gaps, seeking the man inside and filling all of the space within. The moment the man realised his defence had failed, he attempted to fight his way out, more bamboo erupting from his palms from inside the cage—the sand spiralled around his arms and legs, then further up his body, encasing him in a solid, skin-tight shell of sand. The bamboo pressing outwards from his palms couldn’t generate the force to bypass the sand, and I tore apart the cage of bamboo by shifting the mass of sand around him. I pulled it all back, allowing the dome to fall apart and the mass of sand to vanish. It left the man standing amongst the mess, bound by sand and with only his head left uncovered. There were bamboo shoots everywhere now, sticking out of the ground: the building, the cars in the parking lot, and the walls of the gymnasium. There were so many of them sticking out of the main school building that I could see nothing but green, and of the hundreds of windows that had existed only minutes ago, only three of them had survived unscathed. I looked down when the wind caught on my uniform and stared at the missing sleeve. Though the pain was gone, and the injury had already been fixed, the clothing had not, and now the surrounding material was soaked red with my blood. I wondered if that pain was what Haru had felt all those years ago after I’d broken his arm. I could hear sirens. # Police Station, Musutafu. The waiting room was empty and silent, the only source of sound coming from the quiet conversation between Sajin and the officer behind the desk. This wasn’t the first time I had been inside a police station, and it wasn’t even the first time I had been in this one in particular. Sajin, in his professional capacity as a hero, worked hand in hand with the police, and he did so far more than the average hero, either as a protective detail or a first responder to escalating situations. He was well-known here and well-liked. There was a clear benefit in maintaining a good relationship with the police, and there may come a time in the future when I would need to work alongside them—the main one was that they maintained a wealth of resources regarding criminals, villains, and missing persons, which I intended to make good use of as soon as I could find a way to do so without being caught. Sajin was comfortable and visibly at ease despite the situation that had brought us here, and I wondered if that came from spending more time in buildings like these than his own home. The villain that had attacked Pasana Middle School hadn’t done so for any real reason, and his choice of target had been spontaneous—it wasn’t even the first attack of the day; he had destroyed a shopping mall before moving on to the school. Most of the heroes had been responding to a fire on the other side of the city at the time, and the ones who had been available hadn’t had the correct powers needed to stop the man. The man’s rampage had ended with hundreds of injuries but a surprisingly low amount of deaths for the sheer scale of the damage—six at the shopping mall and three at our school. Sajin turned at the sound of a door opening before nodding at the woman behind the desk again. He made eye contact with me, and I rose to my feet to follow him, the two of us reaching the door at almost the same time. Sajin placed his hand on my shoulder and steered me through the door to the room beyond—a simple wooden table and four empty chairs greeted us. “Take a seat,” Sajin said, “It should only be a couple of minutes until he gets here.” I did as instructed, choosing the seat facing away from the door without issue, and then watched as Sajin moved to lean against the wall to my left. “How mad was Hayami when you spoke to her?” Sajin asked. “Furious,” I said in answer. “Leaving the classroom was a mistake.” “It was,” Sajin agreed. The sand I had left in the waiting room was more than enough to maintain a visual of the area, and I caught sight of a man in a dark suit approaching the door of our room. He paused just outside of it, checked his watch once, and then opened the door. “Marcus,” Sajin said, pushing off the wall. “This is Hisoka, my nephew—you weren’t here the last time I brought him, were you?” “I wasn’t,” Marcus agreed, “It’s nice to meet you, Hisoka.” “Good morning, sir,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you too.” “With the sheer scale of the casualties and property damage, this has become a very difficult situation to navigate,” Marcus said, folding his hands on the table. “I’ve been conducting interviews since it happened—so many, in fact, that I might well be able to recite the entire sequence of events by memory alone.” The man shook his head at the words and sent a glance of commiseration over at Sajin for a moment before returning his gaze to me. “The portion of the attack that was centred at Pasana Middle School has been the most difficult part—children really have no place being exposed to things of this nature,” Marcus said with a deep sigh. “School was tough for me, but I can’t say that I ever remember being attacked during class.” Sajin gave a hum of agreement at the words. “I have read through the transcript of the interview you gave the first responders on the day of the attack, and it’s quite harrowing,” Marcus said, “Though it is greatly unfortunate to greet your heroism with chastisement, there are several things we must discuss today regarding the events that took place.” “I broke the law,” I said. Marcus nodded at the words before linking his hands together again on the table. “You used your quirk liberally, in public, and to engage a villain in direct combat, and you did so without the required license, nor did you receive permission from someone who could temporarily gift it,” Marcus said, “This is a serious breach of the law, and I know that this is taught in schools as part of the mandatory curriculum.” I was well aware of this already, both from the same warning that all of the teachers were required to give us at the start of every school year and from outside of it. While it was not illegal to use your quirk in public, it was frowned upon to use it in a way that was disruptive or inappropriate. I had gone far beyond that when I had used it against the villain, and because I hadn’t undergone the training necessary to do so safely—that of a hero curriculum, as taught by schools such as U.A High School—I had put everyone present at risk. “The villain in question has killed over twenty people to date and injured a great many more—more than anything else, you have put yourself at risk by attempting to subdue him,” Marcus said, “While there were no heroes active at the scene during the battle, you did not know that for certain, and you could have potentially disrupted their efforts to deal with the situation.” Sajin crossed his arms again, returning to leaning against the wall, a frown now visible on his face. “I am not saying any of this to make you feel bad or to scorn your efforts to protect your classmates, but simply because I need you to understand just how serious this is,” Marcus said, “This could have ended very differently, and in a way that was far worse for everyone involved—there is a reason why heroes must go through so much training before they can obtain their licenses, and there is a reason why you cannot do something like this again.” Marcus fell silent after that, simply studying me from across the table, and there was a very clear expectation for me to speak up to acknowledge what he had just told me—and this was likely my greatest opportunity to help avoid any further punishment, so I took a moment to gather the best response. “I understand, sir. I should have stayed with my teacher and the rest of my class,” I said, studying his face. “Leaving the classroom to fight him was a mistake.” “Sajin has spoken well of you, and now I can see why,” Marcus said, nodding at the words. “You will not be required to pay the fine, and there will be no mark on your record—I couldn’t justify doing so when your actions saved the lives of those children.” “Thank you, sir,” I said. “Which brings us to the second reason we’re here today,” Sajin said, speaking up. “Marcus?” “Your actions—despite their infringement upon the law—directly contributed to the capture of a very dangerous villain,” Marcus said, nodding in supplication. “It is because of this and the media coverage of the event that you have received six different recommendations for enrolment at U.A High School.” “One of those was me,” Sajin admitted from his place by the wall. “I know that you had your heart set on Shiketsu, but this was the best I could do.” “If you are unaware of what that means, it will grant you the opportunity to take place in the U.A. Recommendation Exams at the end of January,” Marcus said, “It will take place precisely one month before the standard exams, and you will be able to choose whether or not you would like to participate.” I had heard absolutely nothing about its existence prior to this moment. “Does failure preclude me from taking the standard exams?” I asked. “It does not,” Marcus said. “But if you pass, you won’t have to participate in the standard exam for enrolment.” “I’ve heard that the structure is fairly similar to the standard one, and there is some kind of obstacle course involved,” Sajin said, reaching up to touch his moustache. “There will be far less kids involved as well.” I had been preparing for the standard exam for most of the year, and while I had absolutely zero intention or expectation of failing it, this would only serve to improve my chances. If I could join the earlier exam and secure my place at the school a month earlier than expected, then there would be no reason not to go through with it. Stolen novel; please report. “I would like to attempt the Recommendation Exam,” I said. “Sir, is there anything I need to do before it takes place?” # Higawara Manor, Musutafu. There was absolutely nothing on the internet about the U.A. Recommendation Exam, nor was there anything on the website that the school maintained. It seemed completely unnecessary for it to even exist when anyone could take the standard entrance exam—not everyone would get in, of course, but anyone could apply . The standard enrolment process wasn’t complicated, but it did have multiple layers that would most likely act as barriers to entry. The first was the social pressure that existed for those who would express their desire to join the greatest hero school in Japan. The mockery, competition, and doubts from your peer group would stop a lot of potential applicants before they so much as picked up a form. The application was the second layer; you needed to fill out all of the questions, attach all of the relevant school history, and then submit it, knowing that it would be viewed and then judged by an unknown panel of individuals. Some students were stopped here, sorted out by poor grades, poor performance, poor attitude or disciplinary issues. Those who passed would then encounter the third layer: the vaunted and infamous U.A. Entrance Exam —the contents of which changed every single year. There would be a written exam and a practical moderated by a point system. If you failed either of those, you would be quietly removed from the pool of candidates for consideration. The final layer was a judgement rendered by a panel of the school’s teachers who would be investigating your application and your overall performance in the exam to decide whether you would be a good fit for U.A. High School. It was all publicly stated and available for review for any student who would seek to prepare for it—which left me with a single question. What was the purpose of the Recommendation Exam ? Why not attach a recommendation straight to the application for the standard exam for consideration by the final panel if the student made it through all of the other layers? The small primer I had received in the aftermath of the Pasana Middle School Incident told me that it existed outside of the normal system and took place at a different time, but it also possessed a written exam and a practical one in a clear mirror of the standard exam. The only difference seemed to be how selective it was, the additional requirement of participating in an interview with a teacher and a method for acquiring a recommendation in the first place—I had obtained six recommendations without meaning to, five of which had been from unknown heroes that had presumably seen my defence of Pasana Middle School in the news. The pool of participants was lower, with only fifty students being involved in the more selective exam, compared to the standard exam’s pool of hundreds. That meant less competition for entry, which directly increased the probability of securing a place at U.A. dramatically, and that was nested within it already existing as an additional chance of gaining entry to the school. Those who were able to obtain a recommendation unmistakably possessed a higher chance to become a hero—and perhaps that was where the truth of its existence actually lay. I did not receive the recommendation because of my exemplary academic history, nor was I popular enough to warrant any extra attention—I had been recommended because I fought off a powerful villain. Those who had recommended me—with the singular exception of Sajin—had no idea if I was pursuing the career of becoming a hero. They had simply seen the strength I was capable of bringing to bear and then had decided that was where I should go. The function of the Entrance Exam was to test those who wished to become a hero, to see who could make it there through skill, determination and wit. The function of the Recommendation Exam was to find those who had powerful quirks but who might not necessarily want to become a hero and then funnel them into a career that would give them the training needed to control it—and perhaps to stop them from falling through the cracks, and becoming villains instead. I had broken the law in a very public way. I’d showcased the ability to overpower a dangerous villain without specialised training. I had shown that I had a predilection to become involved in dangerous events and to use my quirk without a license to do so. The Recommendation Exam wasn’t a reward for those in the spotlight; it was a system that had been designed to ensure that those who had displayed the potential to become threats in the future were subtly pressured into becoming heroes instead . It was an unfair advantage that thousands of the other candidates lacked access to, but it was also a structure that had existed in the world, irrespective of my thoughts on the matter. It didn’t make a bit of difference to me because gaining access to U.A. High School was a necessary step— fairness never really had a thing to do with it. # U.A Exam Room, Musutafu. The written portion of the Recommendation Exam was so closely aligned with the preparation materials for the standard exam that I was now absolutely certain it was the exact same test. That was a good thing because that meant it was something I had already completed a practice version of several dozen times—only a single question, out of the entire thing, had been something unique, and because I hadn’t prepared for it, it had actually given me some difficulty. It was a variation of the trolley problem that had been modified to include both civilians and heroes in its structure. In short, it described a situation in which you could make two choices: to let the train run over the three civilians and save a well-known hero in the process, or switch it to the other track to save the civilians and, in turn, doom the hero. I had spent more time trying to peel back the layers of that question than I had with completing the rest of the test in its entirety. The most obvious answer was to save the civilians because the hero had signed up for this job while being fully aware of his choice, and the civilians were innocent bystanders who shouldn’t have to die. The problem was that when I actually did a value calculation for it, the question became much more difficult to answer. A hero could save hundreds of lives across the span of a career—thousands, if it were someone half as competent as All Might, Endeavour, or one of the other top heroes—and what was three lives against those kinds of numbers? I’d thought the thought and thus recognised the heroes’ unmistakable potential for good, and with it, I’d locked myself into a spiral of thought. If I chose the obvious option, then I was knowingly dooming hundreds of people to their deaths because this specific hero was not there to save them. It wasn’t one life versus three; it was all of the potential for good either group could go on to do and which one had the most tangible benefit for society. There wasn’t anywhere near enough context to describe the trajectory of the path that the civilian’s lives would take to accurately assess that calculation—were they doctors? Killers? Teachers? How much good would those three go on to do? Would the benefit of a teacher outweigh that of a thousand lives saved? If they were exceptional, then they might play a pivotal part in teaching the boy or girl that would grow up to be the next Star and Stripes or the next All Might . The question was impossible to answer in an informed way, and so the only way to answer was to choose the obvious option: a hero would save the civilians no matter what the cost was. But there was a way to answer this question, one that existed outside of the structural constraints of the test and that had been how I had chosen in the end—a wager that would sacrifice a single point in the test in order to better appeal to the sensibilities of those who would be marking it. “That’s all for the written portion of the exam,” Present Mic said, beaming at them from the front of the room. “I hope you all remembered to actually sign your names at the top.” I watched the man as he crossed over to the podium at the front of the room—Present Mic, a pro hero and one of the publicly listed teachers at U.A. High School. He had been the one to greet us upon arrival and who would act as the instructor for the entirety of the Recommendation Exam. “You can leave your tests at the desk on your way out,” Present Mic said, clapping his hands together. “It’s finally time to get to the fun stuff—let’s get out of here.” The man gave a cheer and then spun on his heel, moving towards the door. He swept it open with a flamboyant rush of movement and then stood there, expectant. The class moved to follow the man’s directives with a cohesive mass of nervous energy. I placed my test paper down on the stack before following the rest of the candidates outside. The fun stuff that the man was referring to was something all of us had seen upon arrival because the massive obstacle course that loomed beyond the building couldn’t really be hidden from sight. The tiny orbs of sand I had sent to scout it out in advance were still in place across the length of the course, and it was through those perspectives that I had come up with a solution for the upcoming test long before the written exam had even begun. There were five distinct locations, all of which had been connected by a running track painted with arrows that would guide the participants along the course. The course started with a run up a steep incline, both sides of the pathway covered in unstable rocks that would likely fall to impede them. At the top was the first zone, a forest area where you needed to pick your way across the thick branches like stepping stones. The second zone was entirely vertical, a climbing wall that went up an artificially created mountain. The third zone was a series of four rope bridges that swayed dangerously in the wind and which had been designed with no railings; a river lay beneath it, one which the currents would drag anyone unlucky enough to fall all the way back to the start of the course. The fourth zone was a waterfall, with a series of pillars that acted as stepping stones with irregular gaps leading all the way to the bottom. The fifth and final zone was a minefield of water spouts that erupted from the holes in the ground at sheer angles, the output large enough and thick enough to toss the competitors around. Each of the five zones was connected by several hundred meters of pathway, and each one possessed a pair of gates at the start and end of each zone, the expectation of passing through both quite clear. “As you can see, the practical exam is an obstacle course, and the rules are really simple,” Present Mic said once everyone had gathered up at the start of the course. “You need to get to the finish line using any methods at your disposal—use your quirk a little, use your quirk a lot, or don’t use it at all; it’s completely up to you.” The man stuck his hand straight up in the air in a spontaneous and dynamic pose, guided by some invisible energy that I simply couldn’t imagine the source of. “This isn’t a course you can hope to beat just by running, and so long as you pass through the gates at both ends of the marked zones, you won’t be penalised for however you manage to do it—so go wild,” Present Mic said, beaming again. “We have cameras and sensors set up across the course, so we’ll know if you don’t pass through them.” I adjusted my plan to remove the running sections because the stated rules would mean that I could skip them entirely. “There is absolutely no fighting or deliberate interference allowed, and if you try it, you will be failed instantly— and if you decide to give up at any point, just sit tight, and we’ll come find you, so no coming backwards along the course,” Present Mic said, in a warning. “You’ll be taking it in groups of five, so there will be ten rounds before we are done. I’ll be calling your numbers, so when you hear them, I want you to head to the starting gate.” I glanced down at the number that was pinned to the chest of my shirt—the explanation for why they had been handed out to us was now clear. “Let’s get this party started, shall we?” Present Mic said, sweeping his hand out to the side. “Number seven, fourteen, twenty-five, forty-six and fifty—go ahead and make your way over to the starting line.” I stepped forward at the sound of my number, passing through the mass of students and then down the stairs. The other four participants were ahead of me, already halfway down—a girl with dark green hair and sharp teeth spoke up when she reached the bottom. “This is some obstacle course, huh?” The girl said, voice confident. “I hope you’re ready to lose.” “Not everything is a competition,” A boy said. “I’m just going to do my best.” “This is literally a competition,” The girl argued. “What’s your name?” “Iwaki Taro,” Iwaki admitted. “I’m Setsuna Tokage,” Setsuna said. “You need to be way more fired up than this.” The other two were quiet and looked even more nervous than Iwaki. I tried unsuccessfully to uncover the mechanics of their quirks through observation alone—none of them had any heteromorphic features that would give anything away, with the sole exception of Setsuna’s too-sharp teeth, but it wasn’t enough to discern anything about her greater skill set. There was a series of lights along the edge of the platform, all currently red but blinking steadily faster. “I hope you five are ready because round one is about to start,” Present Mic said from above and behind them. “Once all the lights are green, you better hoof it.” I took my place on the far left side of the track, standing before the white mark that denoted the starting line, my arms folded across my chest as I waited for the lights to turn green—Setsuna Tokage was falling apart, and I turned my head to look at her. Unlike my own ability to disassemble into sand, she was splitting her body into a multitude of smaller pieces—all of which were now hovering in the air. It was a fascinating sight because there was no visible explanation as to why her body continued to function normally; how could she breathe with her throat disconnected from her lungs? How could blood circulate from her head to her unattached limbs? How were the signals passing from her brain to the rest of her body? When I turned to sand, my consciousness was preserved, but none of the true functions of my original body continued. The fact that Setsuna wasn’t currently dying of asphyxiation, haemorrhaging, or simply being paralysed meant that her own quirk was somehow keeping every piece of her body linked together across empty space— “Hey, you should be focused on the test,” Setsuna said, flashing her too-sharp teeth into a smile. “What are you doing checking me out?” I stared at her disconnected head for a moment longer, wondering how she had enough air to form the words or if she no longer needed to breathe at all. “I apologise for staring,” I said, turning forward once again. “Your quirk is quite interesting.” “Well, enjoy the view while you can,” Setsuna said, “Because soon I’m going to be so far ahead of you that you won’t be able to see me at all—” The lights turned green, and Setsuna burst forward ahead of the others, the multitude of pieces passing through the air above the track, no longer constrained to the earth like the rest. Iwaki and the other two, whose names I hadn’t had the chance to hear, took off after her at a dead sprint that would probably leave them out of breath and stamina from the effort of trying to keep up with her. “Uh—number fifty?” Present Mic said, “Are you going to start any time soon?” I fell apart and then used the sand orb I had already moved to the first zone to reform before the first gate. The sensor on the gate lit up as I stepped through it towards the first of the interlocking branches. The trees were massive things, the branches wide enough that you could step on them without fear of missing a step. The foliage was everywhere, acting as a deliberate obstruction to anyone who would seek passage through the trees, and it made it difficult to see where it was safe to place my feet—I burst forward into a cloud of sand, passing through the mess by slipping between the gaps in the leaves before reforming at the other side and stepping through the exit gate, making sure that the sensor was triggered in the process. Once I was sure it had, I let myself fall apart again before reforming at the next zone, this time at the base of the artificially created mountain. I passed through the gate without pause. There was no need to use the staggered handholds that littered the walls. Instead, I just spiralled up into the air as a diffused mass of particles before rebuilding my body in front of the exit gate. I stepped through the checkpoint and then repeated the tactic once again, appearing at the third zone. The wind tussling the rope bridges wasn’t anywhere near strong enough to prevent me from simply passing straight across it and through the next gate. The solution to the fourth and fifth obstacles was identical: flying straight over them both and passing through the required checkpoints. I reformed myself at the finish line, snapping back into existence as I stepped across it, setting off the sensor and drawing the attention of Present Mic and the rest of the participants who hadn’t yet had a chance to complete the course. “Well—damn, that’s the fastest time I’ve ever seen,” Present Mic said, sounding baffled. “Number fifty takes first place, I guess.” “How are you finished already—” A girl near the back said, frowning, “Did you go through any of the checkpoints?” There were several more muttered comments from the group about cheating—but nothing I’d done in the test had gone against any of the listed rules. I’d passed through every single checkpoint, and I’d even made an effort to physically pass through the space within each of the obstacles. “Using your quirk is both expected and encouraged—it’s not cheating to do so,” Present Mic said to quell the talking. “Just to make sure, will I be able to see you pass through each of the checkpoints on the camera feed?” The fact that he had to ask suggested that he had no way of monitoring the camera feed while the test was taking place—that was most likely the job of whoever was going to be judging them. “Yes,” I said, “I also slowed down a bit to make sure I triggered each one.” “Slowed down —this is getting me fired up,” Present Mic said, thrusting his hand up into the air. “Who else has something like that up their sleeves? You all better bring your a-game, kids, because I want to see it.” The girl in the back still seemed upset, although I couldn’t quite understand why—did she expect me to perform the task slower than I was capable of doing it? If she possessed a quirk that allowed her to complete it in the same amount of time, I would have expected her to do so. This was a test to see how fast we could complete the obstacle course; it was what we were supposed to do. We were competing for a select number of recommendation slots—six of them in total, which was five more than I had originally assumed before coming here—so perhaps she simply hadn’t expected to experience competition on this level. It didn’t really matter, though, because the panel of judges would be the ones reviewing the footage, and statistically, I was unlikely to meet this girl again. I crested the stairs and then came to stand in the waiting area for those who had already finished, paying no more attention to the rest of the group—and seven minutes later, Setsuna Tokage came into sight, panting for breath, and no long split into pieces. Keeping it active for the entire length of the obstacle course must have been impossible to manage or simply tiring for her, but the lead it had generated had left the other three far behind. “Number seven takes second place with another crazy time,” Present Mic said, cheering as she crossed the line. “I hope everyone is paying attention because we’ve got an interesting bunch this year.” It didn’t sound as if the words had been directed at us, and I wondered if there was some kind of audio feed tracking the conversations in the waiting area. “ Seriously ?” Setsuna managed, staring up from the finish line. “Don’t tell me you were in front of me that entire time—I didn’t even see you.” The look on her face was fascinating to witness: shock, exhaustion, and a lingering challenge all mixed together into something that created something far beyond any of the individual components. It was clear that she had a large degree of self-confidence and that the unexpected loss wasn’t going to slow her down at all. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t think you were looking far enough ahead.” Setsuna let out a breathless laugh at having her earlier words returned to her, and that reaction joined the ever-growing pattern that was my understanding of communication. It had been a safe bet—because she had been willing to make friendly jokes at the expense of others within minutes of meeting them, and that was a predictor for being receptive to the same kinds of interaction being mirrored back. Setsuna pressed her hands against her knees until she was standing back straight and then drew in a long breath. “I’m Setsuna Tokage,” Setsuna said, planting her hands on her hips. “What’s your name?” “My name is Hisoka Higawara,” I said, “It’s nice to meet you.” # Interview Room, U.A. High School. The door opened less than a minute after I had first sat down, and the person who entered the room was unusual in appearance but entirely expected. “Good afternoon, Mister Higawara; I am Nezu, the principal of U.A. High School.” Nezu said, “I will be the one conducting your interview today, and I must say that it is a pleasure to meet you.” Nezu wasn’t the strangest person I had ever seen, but he was unmistakably unique, the nature of his heteromorphic quirk apparently having twisted his body far out of line with that of a normal human. He was short, covered in white fur, and possessed a thin tail. There was a single thick scar that bisected his eye at an angle, and that had miraculously left his eyesight somehow intact—but beyond the features that shaped him, Nezu was extremely well-dressed, having wrapped himself in a custom-fit black waistcoat. “Good afternoon, Principal Nezu.” I said, “It’s nice to meet you as well.” Nezu took his time to carefully climb up onto the chair across the table from me, entirely comfortable with the task. Once he was settled in place, he patted himself down to ensure his clothing remained unwrinkled before aiming a smile in my direction—I spoke up because there might not be another chance to ask questions once the interview had officially begun. “Sir, is it normal for the principal to be the one conducting the interview for the recommendation exam?” I asked, “The information package suggested it would be an acting teacher.” Nezu’s smile grew at the question, and he placed his paws on the table in front of him, completely at ease. “Not at all,” Nezu said, “Most often, it is the homeroom teachers that perform the interviews, but I wanted to conduct this one personally.” Nezu said nothing further to elaborate on why he would want to meet specifically with me, something that seemed highly unusual when this went against the normal process, and the two of us had never interacted before this moment. It was clear, by the confirmation and by his deliberate failure to expand upon the reasoning why, that he wanted me to ask why— “I understand,” I said. There was an odd pause in the conversation as I went out of my way to avoid asking the question. For a long moment, the two of us simply studied each other, but as the silence grew, so too did Nezu’s smile. “Fantastic, now, I have spoken to each of those who made recommendations on your behalf, and they were all very forthright as to why,” Nezu said, “The actions you took during the incident at Pasana Middle School were the source of each—as it so happens, I have seen the footage myself, and it was quite the spectacle.” The entire statement had been said in a positive and almost upbeat way as if to affect some kind of compliment—but the content of the words was entirely neutral. I remembered my first appointment after I’d gotten my quirk, where the woman had raised her voice in pitch every time she spoke to me, but not to anyone else. I hadn’t known what it had meant at the time, and when I had asked Hayami about it afterwards, the explanation had been an awkward one. In essence, she had been moderating her tone in order to better appeal to me. Saying things in a way that was nice or in a voice that was excited was supposed to endear her to me and, in turn, ensure that I remained happy to answer her questions. I’d seen many iterations of it in the years since that day, and what Nezu was doing right now was similarly deceptive. He was using the right tone of voice, the right pitch, and choosing his words carefully to convey a sense of safety, acceptance and friendliness—but despite what it sounded like, he wasn’t actually praising me for it. The greater context that this conversation was taking place within was that of an interview, which would decide whether or not I would receive the training to become a hero. This was an attempt to gauge whether or not I had learned anything from the results of that event, and he was likely going to prompt me towards expressing my thoughts on the matter—I spoke up before he could. “I do not regret protecting my classmates or my teacher,” I said, “But I wish that I had restricted myself entirely to defence; I infringed upon the law when I went beyond that.” It was the safest answer possible, showcasing that I had the desire to defend those who couldn’t protect themselves while also acknowledging that there were laws that I had to follow while doing so. “You are not the first to be recommended under such circumstances, nor the first to act in the heat of the moment.” Nezu said, “That’s why we have institutions like this one, to teach those in our care the skills needed to maintain control over themselves during difficult situations.” The insinuation that I had lost control of myself was unsettling—because there was a moment when I had been standing on the rooftop in which I had lost control—and nobody had ever suggested that I had failed to maintain control over myself, only that it was a mistake that I had left the building to fight the villain. I said nothing in response to the statement because attempting to defend myself would confirm that he was correct. “Now, I have some questions for you,” Nezu said, “Mister Higawara, why do you want to become a hero?” I wanted to become a hero because that was what Nanami had wanted for us both—the two of us were supposed to save the world together. But for that to happen, I needed to develop the skills necessary to locate her. I need training in search and rescue. I needed training in profiling criminals and in tracking them down. I needed a hero license to gain access to files and databases that I was currently unable to use. I needed the reputation that came with being a hero and the connections that brought with it. I needed to find the one responsible for killing Hiroshi and Kana—and then I would make them tell me exactly what they had done with Nanami. “I want to stop bad things from happening to good people,” I said, “It’s what my uncle does, and it’s what I would like to do.” It was a summation of the same answer I had included in the application process and one he likely expected to hear. “That is a noble goal, and you seem to have the disposition needed for this type of career,” Nezu said, “You also possess a quirk that is well suited for it—even if you are untrained and unqualified to use it.” A second attempt to probe at the same potential weak point, designed to elicit some kind of defence or argument as to why I had thought myself justified in using it in the past. I simply nodded in agreement, and the smile on his face grew in response. “It is standard practice to review all of the information you sent to us, so I am quite familiar with your academic history,” Nezu said, “You had some serious learning difficulties as a child, but your work has improved consistently since that time, and you now sit at the top of your class across all of the subjects.” I nodded in response, and he spoke up again. “It is quite a remarkable achievement,” Nezu said, “Tell me, what do you put all of this improvement down to?” It was spending hours out of everyday reading, writing, practising and studying. Years spent asking Aunt Hayami and Uncle Sajin a stream of never-ending questions. It was borne from simulating a million different outcomes and from working to understand the inherent bias of everyone around me. It was uncovering motivations, factoring in trajectories, and then predicting what came next to build up a pattern of thought that would allow me to successfully interface with the world—it was strength and perseverance . “Cheating,” I said. Nezu nodded in agreement with the answer, his smile growing once again, its existence entirely at odds with what I’d come to expect from standard communication—there were none of the peaks and dips that usually appeared. None of the momentary flickers in expression, the changes in posture, or the tonal shift that should have been there—it was simply there. “No, I didn’t like being the one who was always last or the one who didn’t understand what was being said,” I said, studying his face. “I wanted to be better, so I worked to change that—I would like to think that I have succeeded, for the most part.” “There was quite an interesting story linked to your first year at Musutafu Elementary involving a boy called Haru Sarada,” Nezu said, “Do you still find yourself having trouble relating to others?” What he was really asking was if I still found myself solving interpersonal problems by breaking people. I’d learned a lot from Haru and the consequences of acting without thinking, but I wished that it hadn’t clung so tightly to me—it was almost a decade after the event, and I was still dealing with the results of my mistake. “I’m significantly better at communication than I was back then,” I said, “My mistakes are usually limited to the occasional misspoken word.” I was, at this point, very used to studying the reactions of the people I was speaking to, and I usually did this through half a dozen or so perspectives at once to maximise exactly what information I was receiving. Nezu spoke like a human, smiled like a human, and gestured like one as well. In fact, he had all of the features I would expect to see. But the problem was that it hadn’t changed since he’d first stepped into the room. The smile had been in place right from the start of the interaction. It grew larger when he received an unexpected response and started to level out when the answer was something he expected. Spontaneous expressions fell away, or they faded over time, but Nezu’s smile was locked in place and entirely detached from whatever he was feeling. It was a smile that was familiar to me because it was something I had practised in the mirror many, many times. I was beginning to suspect that we may have had a lot more in common than I would have expected—it was that, or Principal Nezu was mimicking my affect in order to have me come to that conclusion. “This has been quite an interesting discussion, and I think I will have to start conducting the interviews more often,” Nezu said, “Thank you for being honest with me, Mister Higawara.” There was no indication of whether I had passed this portion of the enrolment process, but it was clear that it was over now, and he probably expected me to speak up now to ask about my performance. I could imagine that someone else would feel pressured now, in the final moments of the interview, either to make a good impression or to simply determine whether or not they had failed. There was a lot riding on the answer to that question, for me and for any other participant who had made it this far—rather than ask the expected question, I used the moment to test my hypothesis. “Thank you for having me,” I said, “My Aunt Hayami is waiting for me—are we finished?” Nezu’s smile widened. “Yes, we are, and I wish you the best of luck, Mister Higawara,” Nezu said, “The result of your examination will reach you one week from now—do look forward to it.” # Higawara Manor, Musutafu. I took the stack of mail back to Hayami’s house, the weight of it suggesting that there was something in the envelopes that was significantly heavier than paper alone—I discovered it a moment later: a solid circular disk sealed away inside one of them. Hayami was at the kitchen table when I stepped inside, her reading glasses dangling on the very end of her nose as she scrolled through the social media feed on her phone. I set the stack down on the table before shifting the heavier envelope out of the rest. I sorted the rest of the envelopes into the pile that had been addressed to her, and Hayami looked up as I slid them across the table towards her. It was a rare occurrence in which I actually received a letter for anything, and so she took immediate note of the fact. “Hisoka—” Hayami said. “Is that what I think it is?” “Yes,” I said, “It seems that my results have arrived.” The result of this letter would decide a lot of things in the future for both of us. If I was accepted, then I would begin living on my own, and Hayami would be restored an even larger portion of her long-sacrificed freedom. It would bring me one step closer to my goal and the training I needed in order to reach it—it was interesting that of the two of us, Hayami seemed far more nervous about the outcome than I was. I wondered if that was because her future was wrapped up in this choice or if she was simply worried about my reaction in the event that I had failed—I should find out now to avoid placing her under any more stress. “Well,” Hayami said, placing her phone down on the table. “Aren’t you going to open it?” I shifted the tip of my finger into sand, constructing a sharpened blade to slide beneath the fold of the envelope, and used it to pry the red wax seal open. The disk that I had felt through the paper was actually made of metal, and it was identifiable on sight as a projector, indicating that there would be a recorded message included. I placed it down on the desk, and the projection flashed into existence—it was rendered almost transparent in the bright room, but the faded figure that appeared could have been recognised in a room without light. “ I am here,” All Might said in greeting. “I have not come to this city solely to combat crime, as you might have thought—I have an ulterior motive.” There was an elaborate, sparkling backdrop behind the man, and instead of one of the many variations of the costume I was used to seeing him in, he was wearing a brilliant, golden business suit that I had a feeling very few people could have pulled off. “Right now, you are looking at the newest faculty member of U.A. High School,” All Might said, “That’s right—I am now an instructor at this fine institute.” “There has been nothing in the news about this,” Hayami managed. “Mister Higawara, I am pleased to announce that you have passed the Recommendation Exam with perfect scores in the written portion and that you set a record-breaking time in the practical portion.” All Might said, clearly reading the information off a sheet of paper in his hand. “That’s a fantastic achievement—well done, Mister Higawara.” “He said your name—wait, you didn’t tell me you did that well,” Hayami said, shocked. “Do you have any idea how worried I was?” I didn’t have much of a chance to respond because the message continued to play without consideration for my mistake. “I am happy to inform you that you have been accepted into U.A High School, and you are now a hero in training,” All Might said, teeth sparkling in the light. “Welcome, Mister Higawara—this is your hero academia.” All Might stretched his hand out towards the camera, fingers splayed in acceptance, and the projection paused at that moment before flicking off, the message now complete—Hayami was already around the table, and I found myself being crushed within her arms. “You did it, Hisoka—” Hayami managed. “ You got in .” I was now officially a hero in training at the premier school in Japan, and everything was falling into place—I just wished that Nanami was here to see it. # Higawara Manor, Musutafu. “It’s not exactly a surprise when he’s known about it for most of the year,” Sajin said, “You may as well give it to him now.” Hayami slipped her hand down into the back pocket of her jeans and retrieved a single silver key, dangling from a metal loop. It fell to dangle beneath the loop as she stretched her hand out to offer it with a smile. “You’re right,” Hayami said with a sigh. “Hisoka—this is for you.” I stretched my hand out to take the item from her, and she placed it in my hand before curling my hand around it. “I won’t ask you to look after it because I already know that you will,” Hayami said, smiling. “I just want you to remember that this isn’t permanent, okay? If you ever feel lonely or worried, you can always come back here at any time—you know that, don’t you?” “I do,” I said. “Good,” Hayami said, breathing out. “I’ll be calling you to make sure everything is fine, and if you need anything at all, you can always call me.” “I will,” I said. “Thank you, Aunt Hayami.” “I’ll make sure to drop by in the afternoons when my schedule lines up,” Sajin said before tossing a wary glance at Hayami. “Don’t worry, it will only be for a few minutes at most, so you’ll have time to hide your girlfriends in the bathroom.” Hayami looked alarmed at the idea, and Sajin started cracking up in response to it. “There will be no girlfriends in the apartment,” Hayami insisted, “Oh, for the love of—grow up, would you?” The key was a symbol of the freedom to move that I would soon possess, and the promise of support was encouraging—but the oversight it entailed was slightly less so. There were things that I wanted to do that the visits might interfere with, so I would need to schedule them around the visits. Sajin was a man of routine, and induction allowed me the foresight to know that he would likely tell me when he was coming, at least a few days in advance. He wouldn’t usually deviate from things like that without a very good reason, so as long as I was careful, I would be able to work around it. I would need to leave Musutafu at some point in the coming months, which was going to be difficult to manage, but an opportunity would eventually present itself. I just needed to be patient. It would take careful planning before I was comfortable with attempting something like that, and with attendance at U.A High School to consider, the time limit would be strict. If I were caught leaving the city, that would most likely be the last time I would have the chance to do so until I was an adult. “Don’t worry about moving any of your things yet; there are still a few weeks until we need to think about that,” Hayami said, “The last week of March is probably the best time—yes?” There was nothing I could attempt straight away in any case, and the new routine my life would fall into would take several weeks to get used to. “I understand,” I said. “Well, now that we have the apartment taken care of,” Sajin said, “What are you going to do about transport from there to the school?” I had overheard half a dozen conversations regarding the apartment over the last few months, so I was already aware of the general location long in advance. There were several options available, including a five-minute journey by subway or a fifteen-minute bus ride. I could walk or run as well if I needed to introduce some more exercise into my daily routine—I explained each of the options to them and then asked Sajin for advice without polluting his opinion by withholding which one I had already decided on. “The train is probably your best bet, and there will probably be a bunch of U.A. students on there,” Sajin said, “We had some pretty physically intensive days back at Shiketsu, so you should probably avoid tiring yourself out by running to school every day.” I nodded at the answer—coming to class tired and exhausted would give the impression that I couldn’t manage my time responsibly without adult supervision, something which could, in turn, have an adverse effect on my new living situation. “I will take the train,” I agreed. # Hisoka’s Apartment, Musutafu. “Well,” Hayami hedged, “It’s a lot smaller than you led me to believe.” Sajin had already moved on to putting away the groceries that we had purchased, which left Hayami and I to investigate the apartment. “I did say it was small,” Sajin said without turning around. “Sounds to me like Miss Mansion over here didn’t manage her expectations properly.” I took note of the wording; evidently, Sajin had been the one to actually undertake the inspection, which wasn’t something I had known. He did live a lot closer to the location than Hayami, so it made sense for him to be the one to handle it. Hayami wasn’t wrong about the size of it because the entirety of the apartment could have fit into my bedroom twice over—the kitchen more or less transitioned straight into the bedroom. I could see the door that would lead to the bathroom as well, and when Hayami opened it, I could see that it was quite compact. “I just—” Hayami began before pausing. “Hisoka, what do you think—is this too small?” It was possible that she was having second thoughts about allowing me to live on my own and that the size of the apartment could be used as an ample enough justification for revoking it. But considering that we were already this far into the moving process and that all of my belongings were taped up inside of the boxes that filled the room, it seemed unlikely for her to do something so drastic—still, I should attempt to distract her from the idea. “It is small, but I like it,” I said, “I might have some difficulty hiding all of my girlfriends when you come to visit.” Hayami looked startled at the unexpected joke, and when she realised that’s what it had been, she started to laugh—it seemed more than successful at drawing her thoughts away from anything negative. “The kid makes a valid point,” Sajin said, sounding impressed. “Maybe he does need a bigger apartment after all—” “Oh stop it—you’re a bad influence on him, Sajin,” Hayami said, but she was smiling now. “This might be for the best after all.” We spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking the boxes, a process that didn’t take all that long—a mixture of not bringing all that much and the liberal use of my quirk. When I actually got around to pulling back the curtains, I found that there was a window with a view of the street below. I could see dozens of people moving back and forth along the pathways in an intermingling of daily activities, either coming home from work or on their way to some other task—I would be one of them soon, walking the same pathway to reach the subway, and from there to U.A High School. I was certain that it would be odd to be living by myself. There would be things I hadn’t had to deal with before and issues that I would have to find the solutions to—but I’d been doing that all my life. I turned to watch as Sajin and Hayami quibbled over where to place one of the small angular sculptures she had made in preparation to decorate the apartment. Tonight I would be sleeping here on my own—and while it wasn’t the first time I’d slept in a house by myself—it would be the first time I would be doing so under circumstances like these. Hayami too, would be returning to the mansion by herself. I suspected that she would start organising her next trip within a week from now, and I thought that I might have liked that more than the idea of her staying in that big empty mansion all by herself. “Hisoka,” Hayami said, breathing out of her nose. “Tell your barbarian of an uncle that my sculpture isn’t going above the toilet .” # Hisoka’s Apartment, Musutafu. Hayami and Sajin said their goodbyes after night had truly fallen, leaving the last of the unpacking in my hands—it was a very strange feeling, sitting all alone in an unfamiliar room across the city from the place where I had spent every night for the last decade. I wasn’t sure what the feeling was exactly—some strange mixture of anticipation and a vague, aimless sense that I had done something wrong—but it lingered for a long time after their departure. It seemed to me that Hayami really was having second thoughts about it all, but by the time it had truly set in for her, it had been too late to easily unravel all the work they’d done to engineer it. I wondered what that meant and if I had misjudged the situation. I had thought that Hayami would be pleased and excited to release the tether from her neck and truly get back out in the world—but then she started crying. It had been a long time since I had made Hayami cry, and because of how unexpected it had been, I hadn’t known what to say to make it better. But once again, and like always, Sajin had known exactly what to say. He had managed to defuse the situation, to settle her pain, and then he’d taken her away. So now I sat on my own, in the freedom that I had engineered, and wondered why it didn’t feel nearly as satisfying as I had thought. “Strength and perseverance,” I murmured. The first day of school was approaching quickly, and this time, it wouldn’t be a regular school with regular classes. It would be my first day at a school that trained heroes. Of the fifty students who had taken the Recommendation Exam, only six had passed, while the rest had been strongly encouraged to take the standard Entrance Exam. Those six students had been split into two groups of three, with each group being placed into a different class—I didn’t know the identities of anyone who had passed other than myself because that information wouldn’t be revealed until the results of the other exam were finalised. I did know—thanks to the letter that had accompanied the projector—that I, along with two others, would be placed within Class I-A. A total of three members of my class would have entered through a means different from the other seventeen, and I wondered if that would cause any issues in the future. Being one of the three recommended students would stand out as noteworthy, and that was something that went against my usual strategy for integration. Standing out was something that usually caused problems. I knew this because every time I had stood out in my life, I had been met with a range of problems that scaled from ‘grounded for a month’ all the way up to ‘having to go to a police interview for breaking the law.’ The number of problems that had appeared downstream from those events lingered on to this day, with whispered conversations, disparaging articles, and a socially enforced distance from my classmates. The rest of the student body had been able to return to Pasana Middle School after the damage had been repaired, and so had I, but the increase in attention that I had received had been difficult to deal with. Unlike the aftermath of breaking Haru’s arm, the other students weren’t scared of me—instead, they had started seeking me out between classes, at lunch, with the goal of talking to me. I was used to the occasional offhand greeting from those whom I shared classes with, but now I had complete strangers coming up to me and starting conversations about all sorts of odd topics. I had never experienced so much positive attention before, and though it was uncomfortable at times, it was something that I needed to become accustomed to. Life in the spotlight was a requisite for becoming a hero, and it wasn’t something you could avoid entirely, so I would need to learn how to live with it—and if I couldn’t, then I would simply learn to fake it.

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