— — START — —
Tokyo moved fast.
Even in the quieter neighborhoods—where houses were packed closer together and trees lined the streets like tired sentinels—the city never truly slowed. Trains rumbled somewhere in the distance. Sirens passed like brief echoes of urgency.
The world kept moving, always forward, always louder than yesterday.
Sorashi Shirakumo loved it.
At eight years old, he ran through it as if it belonged to him, like a breeze that hadn't learned it was supposed to slow down.
"Hey! Sorashi—wait up!"
He laughed, turning just long enough to run backward, arms stretched wide as if balancing on an invisible line. "You gotta catch me first!"
He skidded to a stop just before the school gates, shoes scraping against the pavement. Other students streamed past him—some human-looking, some not quite. A boy with horns tucked under a carefully modified cap. A girl with fur-lined ears flicking as she walked. A kid whose tail swayed absentmindedly, knocking into a fence post.
"Don't run on school grounds!" someone shouted.
He turned around, grinning, hands raised in mock surrender.
"Run? I didn't see anyone running, Pres!"
A boy standing nearby adjusted his glasses sharply.
Tall for his age, straight-backed, posture impeccable. He looked like he'd swallowed a rulebook whole and decided to live by it. His neatly combed dark-blue hair didn't move an inch, even in the morning breeze.
"You were clearly running," the boy said, tone clipped. "School regulations explicitly—"
Sorashi smiled mischievously, "See? Not running anymore."
"But-"
A chorus of voices cut him off.
"Morning!"
"Hey, Sorashi!"
"Good morning, Sorashi-kun!"
Sorashi simply smiled and waved at all of them. He really wasn't good with names.
Someone returned his wave with a wing. Another bumped his shoulder companionably with an elbow.
And as he greeted everyone, they headed inside, leaving the strict boy behind.
...
Sorashi was popular. Not in the loud, domineering way.
He didn't command attention so much as invite it. He laughed easily. Shared snacks without thinking. He shared erasers. Lent pencils. Gave up his seat without being asked.
He didn't think twice about sitting beside kids others avoided. Didn't comment when a classmate's skin shifted texture when she got nervous, or when someone's eyes glowed too brightly in dim rooms.
He was particularly popular with those who stood out.
They liked Sorashi because he never stared.
That was why, during break time, he sat with three classmates whose quirks were impossible to miss.
One boy had beetle-like mandibles that clicked softly when he laughed. Another had smooth, stone-like skin patterned with faint mineral lines. The third—a girl with translucent fins along her arms—floated slightly off the ground when she got excited, toes barely brushing the floor.
Sorashi leaned back onto his chair as they talked.
Or rather—almost leaned.
The chair didn't tip.
Instead, it hovered at a subtle angle, balanced perfectly despite gravity's insistence due to a conveniently placed cloud.
No one noticed.
Except one person.
"That's against school rules."
Sorashi jolted, instantly snapping upright; the mist in his hair disappeared. The chair legs touched the floor with a quiet clack.
The tall boy stood nearby, arms crossed.
"Oh, hey Pres!"
"It's Iida Tenya," he added, pushing his glasses up with two fingers.
Sorashi blinked.
"You were using your quirk," Iida said. Not accusatory. Just factual, like the way kids pointed out spilled milk or math mistakes. "Quirks aren't allowed during class time unless permitted."
Sorashi scratched the back of his head. "Ah… yeah. Sorry. Habit."
"You shouldn't do that," Iida said, brows knitting together. "If everyone used their quirks whenever they felt like it, things would get messy. Rules exist so people don't get hurt."
Sorashi nodded immediately. "You're right."
Iida hesitated. That wasn't how these confrontations usually went.
"…Thank you," he said after a moment.
Sorashi smiled. "I'll be more careful."
He meant it...
He grinned.
Not really.
- - - - -
An announcement came after lunch.
Their homeroom teacher clapped her hands, smiling brightly. "Alright, everyone! Today we're doing a career activity."
Groans and cheers mixed together.
"You'll each get a sheet of paper," she continued, passing them out, "and I want you to write what you want to be when you grow up."
Sorashi stared down at the blank page.
What do you want to be?
His pencil hovered uselessly.
Around him, ideas spilled out.
"I wanna be a fashion designer!" someone declared.
"My mom says I'll take over her bakery!"
"My dad says I'll inherit the family dojo!"
"I'm gonna be a pro gamer and be a famous YoTuber!"
Sorashi's pencil hovered as an image rose unbidden.
A laughing voice. Goggles pushed up on a head. Clouds drifting lazily beneath bright skies.
It was a feeling from somewhere deep and familiar, like remembering a dream you weren't sure you'd ever had.
His hand moved before his thoughts caught up.
Hero.
The word looked big on the paper. Important. Heavy and light all at once.
When the teacher asked for volunteers, Sorashi raised his hand without thinking.
"I wanna be a Hero!" he announced proudly.
A ripple went through the class.
"That's cool!"
"Heroes are awesome!"
Iida's head snapped toward him. "A Hero?" he repeated, eyes widening.
Sorashi nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah!"
Iida stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"I—I want to be one too," he said, cheeks faintly red. "A really good one. The kind that helps people and stops bad guys the right way."
He paused, then added, more quietly, "Heroes are important. They make people feel safe."
Sorashi's grin widened. "That's exactly it!"
Something settled between them then. Not friendship yet, but recognition.
...
That feeling followed Sorashi all the way home as he practically skipped home that afternoon.
He burst through the door, paper held high. "Mama! Papa!"
His mother turned from the sink. "Welcome home, sweetheart."
His father looked up from the table. "How was school?"
"We had career day!" Sorashi said, bounding over. "Look!"
His mother wiped her hands and took it. She read it and her smile froze.
"…A Hero," she murmured.
The boy nodded eagerly. "Yeah! Isn't it cool?"
Silence stretched. His father's jaw tightened.
"No," he said flatly.
The word hit like a wall.
Sorashi blinked. "Huh?"
His father cleared his throat. "Sorashi."
"…Yes?"
"Being a Hero is dangerous," his mother said gently. "Very dangerous."
Sorashi frowned. "But lots of people do it."
"That doesn't make it safe," his father replied. "There are other ways to help people."
Sorashi's excitement dimmed. "But—"
"You can choose something else," his mother said quickly. "Anything else."
Her hands trembled slightly as she folded the paper. Sorashi noticed.
He didn't understand. But he felt it. "…Okay," he said softly.
That night, Sorashi lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling.
Outside, clouds drifted lazily across the Tokyo sky.
He didn't know why his chest felt heavy. Only that somewhere inside him, something important had been quietly, gently denied.
And it hadn't gone away.
— — END — —