Fast Forward to April :
The classroom is already loud when I walk in.
Chairs scrape across the floor, bags drop onto desks, and voices overlap everywhere. Some kids are laughing, some just looking around, trying to figure out where to sit.
I take a seat near the window.
"Hey, I'm Kaito," a boy says nearby, leaning over a desk. His arm stretches farther than it should to grab a pencil case without getting up.
"Shin," another boy replies, watching it. "That's… weird. But cool."
Kaito grins. "Yeah, still getting used to it."
A girl a few seats ahead raises her hand and a small flame flickers above her fingers. "I'm Yuna," she says, like it's normal.
Someone behind her leans back. "That's real fire?"
"Relax," she says. "It's not that big."
Across the room, a pencil case lifts into the air and spins slowly before dropping back onto a desk. The boy who did it smiles to himself.
Another kid pushes off the ground slightly, small wings on his back flapping just enough to lift him for a second before he lands again.
Near the back, someone kneels and presses their hand to the floor. The surface softens under their palm like it's not solid anymore, then turns normal again.
"Did you just—"
"Yeah."
"How did you do that?"
Everyone's doing something.
Not big things. Just enough to show they can.
Nobody's really introducing themselves properly. Just names here and there, quick greetings, small reactions.
I sit still, watching.
Some of these quirks are better than I expected. Not just strong, but controlled. That spinning pencil case didn't shake at all. The floor changing like that and going back instantly.
It's been a few years since I figured out what my quirk can really do.
I know how it works. I know how far I can push it.
I could show it.
But there's no reason to.
Being noticed doesn't matter. Not here. Not like this.
What matters is where I end up.
Rankings. Results. Performance.
That's what decides everything.
Before this… I didn't have anything that could get me there. I was average at best. Easy to overlook. Replaceable.
Now that's different.
Now I actually have something that can move me up.
So there's no point wasting it on a first impression.
If I show too much now, people remember it. They expect it. They watch for it.
That just makes things harder later.
Better to stay normal. Let them underestimate me if they want.
That works better in the long run.
A boy walks past my desk. "Uh… I'm Kenji," he says awkwardly to no one in particular.
"Emi," a girl nearby replies, spinning a pen between her fingers without touching it.
Kenji watches it. "That's… cool."
She shrugs like it's nothing.
I look around again.
Then I notice her.
Green hair. Sitting a few rows away.
Her hand separates from her arm.
Not stretching. Not breaking. Just… coming apart cleanly. The piece floats for a moment, then drifts back and reconnects like nothing happened.
I pause.
I've seen something like that before.
Or… close to it.
I just can't remember where.
The feeling sticks for a second, like something I should know but don't.
Then it fades.
I look away.
The room keeps moving.
"Did you see that?"
"Wait, I can do it again—"
"No way, try it!"
A loose paper lifts into the air from a small gust and spins before landing. Someone reaches out and catches it.
Another kid stretches too far trying to grab something and almost falls, making a few people laugh.
Everyone's trying to show something. Trying to figure out where they stand.
I rest my hand on the desk.
I'll stay quiet.
Watch how they move. What they rely on. What they lack.
There's no rush.
Climbing isn't about the start.
It's about where you finish.
And I already know I'm not staying at the bottom.
The door slides open, and the room slowly quiets down.
Not instantly. A few kids keep talking for a second too long before noticing.
The teacher walks in, calm, not rushing.
"Good morning," she says.
"I'm Ms. Takeda. I'll be your homeroom teacher."
Some kids respond. Some don't.
She doesn't mind.
She sets her things down and looks around the room, taking in the scattered energy.
"I can see you've already started getting to know each other."
A small pause.
"That's good. You'll be together for a long time."
She turns and writes her name on the board.
Takeda
"This is still school," she continues, turning back. "You'll learn reading, math, writing—all the usual things."
A few kids relax a little hearing that.
"But," she adds, "you also have quirks."
Now the attention sharpens.
"We won't be doing anything dangerous. No fighting. No training like heroes."
A couple kids look slightly disappointed.
"But you will learn how to understand your quirk. Small things. Control. Awareness."
She gestures lightly.
"Things like not breaking objects, not hurting others, and knowing your limits."
That makes more sense.
Then she nods toward the class.
"Let's start simple. Say your full name and what your quirk does."
The first student stands.
"Kaito Sakamura. I can stretch and reshape my arms."
He keeps it small this time. Just a slight movement.
"Good. Next."
"Shin Kobayashi. My body stretches like rubber."
"Yuna Hoshino. I can make small flames."
A tiny flicker appears, then disappears quickly when she glances at the teacher.
One by one, they go.
No one tries anything big now.
Just enough to show.
I listen.
Not just the quirks—but how they use them.
Some already have control.
Some don't.
Some are trying to show off, even a little.
It's obvious.
Then—
"Setsuna Tokage."
I look up.
"My quirk lets me split my body into pieces and control them."
Her hand separates for a second, floating before reconnecting like it's nothing.
Smooth.
I've seen that before.
Somewhere.
I just can't remember where.
She sits like it didn't matter.
The introductions continue.
Then it's my turn.
I stand.
"Ren Hiroshi."
A few eyes turn.
"My quirk lets me push things."
I don't show it.
No reason to.
I sit back down.
Ms. Takeda nods once everyone is done.
"Good. That's enough for today."
She folds her hands lightly.
"You don't need to prove anything yet."
That makes a few kids shift in their seats.
"You're here to learn. Not compete."
Not yet.
"We'll have small activities sometimes to help you understand your quirks better," she continues. "But most of your time will be normal class."
Math.
Reading.
Writing.
For now.
I lean back slightly.
That's fine.
No pressure to move early.
No need to stand out.
Climbing up doesn't start with showing everything.
And right now
I will stay behind everyone.
For now.