— — START — —
Sorashi paused in front of the bathroom mirror longer than usual.
The house was already awake—his parents moving softly down the hall, the clink of dishes from the kitchen—but this part of the morning belonged to him. A thin strip of sunlight cut through the window, catching on the glass and settling on his reflection.
Sixteen years old.
He didn't look like a child anymore, now standing at a modest 179cm—5'10ft.
His hair had grown longer, falling in soft, uneven layers that refused to stay neatly combed no matter how often he tried. It was pale blue—almost white—but not lifeless. When the light hit it just right, it looked airy, as if it might lift if he breathed too hard. He tied it back loosely, then undid it again. It never sat the way he wanted.
His eyes lingered on his face.
Same bright eyes. Same easy curve to his mouth, always halfway to a grin even when he wasn't smiling. His features were sharper now, angles emerging where roundness used to be, but the expression hadn't changed much.
There was something open about him—something unguarded. People often told him he looked friendly.
Sorashi leaned closer, resting his hands on the sink. He cupped his face and smiled confidently, "Looking good, self!"
...
The school hallway was crowded that morning.
Too many students moving in opposite directions, voices overlapping, bags swinging low and wide. The air felt tight with motion, like the corridor itself was being pushed from both ends.
Sorashi slipped through gaps without slowing.
His steps were light, almost absentminded. He didn't weave so much as flow, shoulders turning just enough to avoid collisions, feet finding space where it shouldn't have existed.
Someone bumped his shoulder from behind—
—and he didn't stumble.
A thin, instinctive press of air steadied him. Not visible. Not dramatic. Just enough resistance to cancel the force before his body could even react.
"Hey—sorry!" the other kid called, already moving on.
Sorashi waved it off without turning, momentum carrying him forward.
From behind him, Iida noticed.
He always did.
Later, once they'd reached their classroom and the noise had dulled into the usual morning hum, Iida stopped beside Sorashi's desk.
"Sora-kun," he said.
Sorashi looked up as he set his bag down. "Hm?"
"You didn't even brace yourself back there."
Sorashi shrugged, casual. "Didn't need to."
"That's not—" Iida stopped himself, drew in a controlled breath. He adjusted his glasses, fingers precise, deliberate. "You're doing it again."
Sorashi smiled faintly. "Doing what?"
"You let it move for you."
The words weren't sharp.
They were careful.
Concerned.
Sorashi tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. "It's faster."
Iida hesitated, mouth parting slightly before closing again.
When he spoke, his voice was quieter than usual.
"That doesn't mean it's better."
Sorashi didn't respond.
The bell rang, shrill and immediate, slicing the moment cleanly in half. Chairs scraped. Voices rose. The conversation dissolved into routine.
Sorashi sat down.
After all, he didn't think of it as relying on his quirk.
It was more like… listening to it.
The clouds had learned him just as much as he'd learned them. They moved when he moved now, answered shifts in weight before his muscles finished reacting. When he jumped down from steps too quickly, air thickened under his shoes. When he misjudged distance, mist brushed his palms, nudging him just enough to correct course.
Subtle.
Natural.
He landed cleanly more often than not.
That had to mean something.
That had to mean it was working.
During PE, they practiced short sprints with sudden stops.
The whistle blew, and Sorashi launched forward.
He accelerated fast — faster than most of the class — legs stretching into smooth, efficient strides. The floor blurred under him. The air rushed past his ears.
Then the whistle shrieked again.
Sorashi stopped.
Almost instantly.
Mist braced his center of gravity, firm but gentle, canceling momentum before it could pull him forward. His feet planted. His posture held.
Clean stop.
Too clean.
His legs barely burned.
Iida skidded to a halt beside him, shoes squealing slightly against the floor. He bent forward, hands on his knees, breath heavier than Sorashi's.
"That's not normal," he muttered.
Sorashi glanced at him, still upright. "It worked."
The dark blue-haired student recalled the words of his brother, "Don't let your body form bad habits, Tenya. You might think it's helping you train, but it'll only make learning tougher in the long run."
"Yes," Iida snapped — then immediately winced. He straightened, lowering his voice, and did a chopping motion with his hands. "But if you keep doing that… your body won't learn when to stop on its own."
Sorashi wiped sweat from his forehead. His heartbeat felt steady. Comfortable.
"That's what my training is for," he said.
For just a second, he remembered the first time his cloud couldn't keep up with his actions.
Jumping down two steps at school. Misjudging the distance. The cloud coming a fraction of a second late — just long enough for his ankle to twist before stabilizing him.
Iida stared at him, searching his face.
"…You sound like you've already decided," he said finally, letting out a slow sigh.
He didn't know how to hammer the idea into his friend that some habits are bad and are hard to unlearn.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how and why he'd manage to become friends with someone so stubborn.
Sorashi smiled.
Not cocky.
Not dismissive.
Just certain.
Sorashi didn't think he was doing anything wrong.
He was getting better afterall. Stronger. Faster.
The clouds obeyed him more naturally than ever.
If they corrected his mistakes before he felt them…
Well.
Wasn't that the point of having a quirk at all?
- - - - -
The following nights, training felt effortless.
Sorashi flowed from stance to stance in the quiet of his room, bo staff spinning smoothly in his hands. The motions came easier now, transitions blurring together into something fluid and practiced.
Mist coiled naturally along the staff's length, thickening when he struck, thinning when he repositioned. When his grip slipped, the cloud corrected it. When his balance shifted too far, air pressed back, guiding him into place.
He barely noticed when it happened anymore.
He only noticed the results.
Faster recovery. Cleaner movements. Less strain in his muscles.
He laughed quietly when a spin went wider than intended — the cloud caught it anyway, redirecting the staff neatly back into his grasp.
"See?" he whispered into the dark. "We've got this."
The cloud lingered longer than usual, slow to disperse.
Like it agreed.
...
Iida watched his friend with growing unease.
He didn't tell on Sorashi.
Hadn't in years.
That first day — seven years ago — when Sorashi admitted in a whisper that he trained after everyone slept, Iida had gone pale.
"That's— that's disobedience," he'd said, voice tight. "Your parents forbade it."
"I know," Sorashi had replied. "But I'm still going to be a hero."
Iida had hated that answer then.
The rule-following son in him recoiled at it. At the quiet defiance. At the risk.
But that changed now.
He'd seen the way Sorashi trained. The focus. The care. The way he never showed off, never bragged, never used his quirk to feel bigger than he was.
A conviction like that wasn't something rules could erase.
So instead, Iida watched.
And worried for his friend.
— — END — —
A/N: Our tenth chapter! I think it's fine now if I ask for stones? Also, please leave a review on the story if you can! It'll help bring in new viewers, which helps motivate me as well!