You know what nobody tells you about hero school? It's still school. Like, yeah, we get to punch robots and learn how to save people, but we also have to sit through Modern Literature at 8 AM while Midnight drones on about the symbolic importance of capes in hero society.
Kill me now.
"The cape, as we see in Golden Age hero memoirs, represents both authority and approachability—"
I'm face-down on my desk, trying to absorb knowledge through osmosis or maybe just die quietly. Either works. Around me, my remaining eight classmates are in various states of consciousness.
Tanaka's actually taking notes, the overachiever. Kishimoto's building tiny crystal sculptures on his desk. Sato's straight-up asleep, and honestly? Respect.
A paper airplane hits the side of my head.
I crack one eye open to see Nejire grinning at me from two seats over.
I unfold the plane.
Written in her bubbly handwriting: You look dead. Also, your hair is sticking up weird.
I pat down my hair and scribble back: That's just my natural state.
The plane returns: Drama queen. Pay attention, this might be on the test!
What test?
THE test. You know. The one that determines our futures?
Pretty sure that's every test here.
She sticks her tongue out at me. I roll my eyes. This is apparently what passes for academic discourse in Class 1-A.
"Mr. Torino."
Shit.
I sit up so fast I get dizzy. Midnight's standing right in front of my desk, arms crossed, looking decidedly unimpressed.
"Since you're so engaged with our lesson, perhaps you'd like to explain the significance of Crimson Riot's decision to forgo a cape in his later years?"
My brain scrambles for literally any information about Crimson Riot. Come on, manga knowledge, don't fail me now...
"He, uh..." I clear my throat. "He said capes were a liability in close combat. That true heroes didn't need symbols to project strength—their actions spoke for them."
Midnight blinks, clearly not expecting an actual answer. "That's... correct. Though next time, try absorbing that information without using Miss Hado as a study partner during class."
Nejire makes a small "eep" sound. I sink lower in my seat.
"Both of you, see me after class."
Great. First period and I'm already in trouble. Grandpa's gonna love this.
—
"I can't believe we got detention," Nejire moans as we trudge to our next class. "On a Thursday. Do you know what this means?"
"That we should pay attention in class?"
"No! Well, yes, but also—" She spins dramatically in the hallway, nearly taking out a Support Course student. "We'll miss the new episode of Hero Hour! They're doing a special on underground heroes!"
"Pretty sure detention is only an hour. You'll survive."
"Easy for you to say. You don't appreciate good hero media."
"I appreciate not failing Modern Lit more."
She pouts. It's unfairly cute. "You're no fun."
We slide into Hero Law just as the bell rings. Surprisingly, it's one of my better subjects. Turns out, years of obsessing over hero society from the outside gives you a pretty good grasp of how it actually works.
Our teacher, Snipe, tips his hat as we settle in. "Alright, partners. Today we're covering quirk usage laws in emergency situations. Open your tablets to page 247."
The next hour is actually interesting. We go through case studies of heroes who broke standard protocol to save lives, when it's legally justified, when it's not, and the very gray areas in between.
"Question for y'all," Snipe drawls. "Hero spots a villain robbing a bank. Civilian's caught in the crossfire. Hero's quirk could save the civilian but would definitely level half the building. What's the legal call?"
Hands shoot up around the room. Kishimoto gets called on.
"Property damage is acceptable if lives are at stake," he says confidently.
"Partially correct," Snipe nods. "But what if that building's got folks living in it? What if your quirk causes a gas line to rupture? Real world ain't as clean as the textbooks make it sound."
This leads to a surprisingly heated debate. Tanaka argues for minimal force, Sato insists saving the immediate victim takes priority, and Yoshida suggests calling for backup with a more suitable quirk.
"What about you, Torino?" Snipe asks. "You've been mighty quiet."
Everyone turns to look at me. Great.
"I think..." I choose my words carefully. "You do what you can with what you have. Save the civilian, minimize damage where possible, but accept that perfect solutions don't exist. Then deal with the consequences after everyone's safe."
Snipe's expression is unreadable behind his mask. "Pragmatic. Your grandpa's influence, I reckon."
"Something like that."
"And if those consequences include losing your hero license?"
I shrug. "Better than losing a life."
There's a moment of silence before Snipe nods slowly. "Interesting perspective. Let's explore that further..."
—
By the time we hit Math, my brain feels like mush. Who decided heroes needed to know calculus anyway? What villain's gonna wait while I calculate the optimal trajectory for my lightning bolt?
"Psst. Shinra."
I glance over. Nejire's holding up her notebook, where she's drawn a surprisingly detailed sketch of me fighting the zero-pointer. Lightning bolts and everything.
When did you even draw this? I mouth.
She grins and flips the page. There's another drawing—this one of us during yesterday's team exercise. She even captured the moment I did my partial transformation thing.
My stomach drops. She noticed. Of course she noticed.
"Miss Hado, Mr. Torino," our Math teacher—a perfectly normal human who probably wonders daily why he works here—sighs. "Would you like to share your artistic endeavors with the class?"
"Sorry, sensei," we chorus.
Two classes. Two call-outs. We're on a roll.
—
Lunch can't come fast enough. The cafeteria is packed, as always, but we manage to snag our usual table. Tamaki's already there, poking at what looks like an entire aquarium's worth of seafood.
"Big plans?" I ask, sliding in across from him.
He mumbles something that might be "training" or might be "dying." Hard to tell with Tamaki.
"He's trying to expand his repertoire," Nejire translates, sitting way closer to me than necessary. Not that I'm complaining. "Different seafoods give different properties, right Tamaki?"
He nods miserably. "Octopus for tentacles. Crab for shells. This is... sea cucumber."
"What's that do?"
"I don't want to find out," he admits quietly.
Mirio chooses that moment to appear, thankfully clothed. "Friends! How goes the educational journey?"
"We got detention," Nejire announces cheerfully.
"Already? Impressive!" Mirio beams like she just said we won the lottery. "What for?"
"Passing notes in Modern Lit," I supply.
"Ah, a classic! I once got detention for accidentally phasing through the floor during English. Turns out, teachers don't appreciate sudden nudity during conjugation exercises!"
Tamaki looks like he wants to phase through the floor himself. "Can we please have one lunch without nudity stories?"
"But they're my best stories!"
"That's the problem," Tamaki mutters.
—
The afternoon brings double-period Science with Ectoplasm. Because apparently, we need to understand the biological mechanics behind quirks. Which, okay, is actually pretty fascinating when you're sitting in a room full of people who break physics daily.
"Today, we're examining quirk heredity," Ectoplasm announces. "Can anyone explain the current understanding of quirk inheritance?"
Tanaka raises his hand. "Quirks typically manifest by age four, often showing traits from one or both parents. Though mutation-type quirks can appear without family history."
"Correct. Though as we've seen"—Ectoplasm's masked face turns toward me—"there are exceptions. Late manifestations, while rare, do occur."
Everyone's looking at me again. I resist the urge to sink into my chair.
"Torino, would you be willing to share your experience? For educational purposes."
Fuck. "Um, sure. I just... woke up one day and had lightning powers. Not much to tell."
"No warning signs? No gradual development?"
Well, there was the magical fruit from another dimension, but that seems like a bad thing to mention.
"Nope. Just zero to lightning in one night."
"Fascinating," Ectoplasm muses. "Class, this is why we can't assume rigid rules about quirk development. Evolution is unpredictable."
He moves on to Mendelian genetics, and I've never been so grateful for science in my life.
—
"You okay?" Nejire asks as we pack up. "You got weird when Ectoplasm brought up your quirk."
"I'm fine. Just don't love being the class example of 'biological anomaly.'"
She bumps my shoulder. "Could be worse. You could be the example of 'what not to do,' like when Kishimoto accidentally crystallized his own hand last week."
"True."
We head to our last class of the day—Hero Art. Yes, that's a real subject. Apparently, designing your hero costume and brand is important enough to warrant its own curriculum.
Today's assignment: sketch potential costume upgrades based on our quirk development.
I stare at my blank page. What do you design when your powers are from a completely different fictional universe? When you're not even sure of your own limits yet?
"Ooh, what if you added more lightning bolt designs?" Nejire leans over, practically in my lap. She smells like vanilla and ozone. "Or maybe something that helps channel your electricity better?"
"I have the gauntlets already."
"Right, but what about full-body conductors? Like, threads woven into the fabric that could direct your lightning more precisely?"
That's... actually not a bad idea. I start sketching, trying to ignore how her hair keeps brushing my arm.
"And you?" I ask, glancing at her paper. "What're you adding?"
"Stabilizers!" She shows me her design proudly. "See, if I add these to my wrists and ankles, I can control my wave output better. Plus, they look cool."
They do look cool. Everything she does looks cool.
Fuck, I've got it bad.
—
Finally, mercifully, the school day ends. We trudge back to Midnight's classroom for detention, where we find her grading papers with a glass of something that's definitely not standard teacher coffee.
"Ah, my delinquents," she says without looking up. "Sit. Write a two-page essay on the importance of focus in hero education. Due before you leave."
We sit. We write. Well, Nejire writes. I mostly stare at my paper and contemplate existence.
The importance of focus in hero education is... important. Very important. Without focus, heroes would be unfocused, which is bad.
Nailed it.
"This is torture,"
"This is consequences," Nejire whispers back, somehow already halfway done. "Besides, it's not that bad. We're here together."
I look at her, bent over her paper, tongue poking out slightly as she concentrates. Hair falling into her eyes. Completely absorbed in her work.
Yeah. There are worse places to be.
"Stop staring and start writing," Midnight says without looking up.
I snap back to my paper, face burning. Nejire giggles quietly.
Two pages have never taken longer to write. By the time we're released, the sun's already setting. We walk out together, comparing our definitely-not-last-minute essays.
"'Focus is like a laser, concentrating hero potential into targeted excellence?'" Nejire reads from mine. "Did you just make that up?"
"All good essays are made up."
"That's definitely not true."
"Prove it."
She laughs, shoving me lightly. "You're ridiculous."
"You still hang out with me."
"Someone has to keep you humble."
We reach the school gates, where the paths to our trains diverge. Neither of us moves to leave.
"So," I say. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Well, yeah. We have school."
"Right. School. That we go to. Together."
"Are you okay? You're being weirder than usual."
I'm probably in love with you and it's driving me insane. "Just tired. Long day of being a delinquent."
She smiles, soft and fond. "Get some rest, then. Can't have my favorite delinquent falling asleep in class again."
"I'm your favorite delinquent?"
"Only delinquent, but still counts."
She heads for her train, waving goodbye. I wave back, standing there like an idiot until she's out of sight.
My phone buzzes. Grandpa: Heard you got detention. We're having a talk.
Great. The perfect end to a perfect day.
But as I head home, I can't stop thinking about Nejire calling me her favorite. Even if it comes with qualifiers.
Yeah, I'm absolutely, completely, utterly fucked.
And somehow, I'm okay with that.