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.

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“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.