— — START — —
The five minutes passed quicker than either of them wanted.
"Back."
There was no countdown or warm-up, only rules.
Tensei was already on his feet. The easy, older-brother air he'd worn earlier was gone, replaced by something sharper—heavier. This was the man the city knew. A Pro Hero standing on familiar ground, Ingenium.
And both teens felt it.
'Cool...' the two thought simultaneously.
"You," he said, pointing at Tenya, "no burst acceleration. No straight-line initiations. You move when it matters—no sooner, no later."
Tenya's posture snapped rigid. He nodded at once.
"And you." Tensei's gaze slid to Sorashi. "No clouds for balance. No passive correction. If you use your quirk, you do it consciously."
Sorashi blinked. "What if I fall?"
Tensei didn't hesitate.
"Then you fall. Simple as that."
The words settled. Quiet. Absolute.
"If either of you breaks a rule," he continued, voice even, "we stop. We reset. As many times as it takes."
Grass whispered underfoot as they stepped back into position.
Tenya drew in a breath. His engines hummed, low and restrained—too restrained. Like a coiled spring held down by force.
Sorashi rolled his shoulders. The absence was immediate. His clouds hovered close, familiar yet forbidden, refusing to do what they'd always done. It felt wrong and awkward.
He felt like he was standing barefoot on a rocky road.
"Begin."
Tenya moved—
And checked himself.
The pause was brief. Almost invisible. But it was there. His foot lifted, engines flared—
—and cut.
The moment slipped past him.
Sorashi reacted on instinct, stepping in to take advantage—
His footing failed, and he slipped slightly.
Just barely, but without the quiet correction he'd grown used to, it was enough.
He stumbled, staff, biting into the grass as he caught himself late. The clouds tried to catch him, surging without permission, but he forced them down.
Sorashi's jaw clenched.
"Reset." came a demanding voice from the sidelines.
...
They'd lost count of how many times Tensei had made them reset.
Tenya hesitated at the start—just a fraction of a second too long. He shifted his weight, reconsidered, stepped back instead of through. When he finally moved, the moment had already passed.
Again.
Another reset came when he tried to circle first, engines humming without committing, waiting for an opening that never formed. His foot lifted. Lowered. Lifted again.
Too late.
Sorashi fared no better.
Twice, his heel slipped, and instinct took over—clouds swelling at his ankles before he could stop them. Each time, he cut them off mid-form, balance snapping back too late, his staff scraping against the grass as a crutch of its own.
Reset.
He widened his stance the next time, forcing his legs to do the work his quirk usually handled. His calves screamed almost immediately, muscles trembling under the unfamiliar strain.
As they clashed again, it was messier now. Less clean. Less practiced.
It was more like cockfighting, where one was constantly second-guessing himself, and the one who seemed to forget how to use his limbs properly.
Tenya moved a beat too late, committing only after Sorashi was already there. Sorashi, in turn, overreached—thrusting his staff farther than his control liked, clouds lagging behind instead of responding instantly.
They broke apart, both breathing harder than the exchange warranted.
"This is stupid," Sorashi muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. His signature smile couldn't be seen anymore.
Tenya shot him a sharp look, his temper rising. "You're the one forcing it."
"At least I'm moving."
"At least I'm not relying on a crutch—!"
The word slipped out before Tenya could catch it.
Sorashi froze.
So did Tenya.
Neither of them had expected it to sound like that.
The silence that followed was heavier than the argument itself.
"Stop."
Tensei's voice cut through the tension, clean and final.
They froze.
He studied them for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
Tenya—overcorrecting, discipline strangling instinct.
Sorashi—pushing distance, chasing progress instead of building it.
'Different kids,' Tensei thought. 'Same mistake.'
'Alright, at this point, they'll take the entrance exam and still not see where they went wrong.'
He exhaled quietly.
"Tenya," he said, motioning him aside.
His brother obeyed instantly, posture straight, eyes focused—too focused.
"You're not wrong to hesitate," Tensei said, lowering his voice. "However, you're wrong to think hesitation is the same as thought."
Tenya swallowed. "I don't want to be predictable."
"Then think faster," Tensei replied. "Not slower."
He tapped Tenya's chest lightly. "Speed isn't the problem. Blind speed is. Don't cripple yourself trying to avoid it."
Tenya nodded, fists clenched at his sides. "Yes, Tensei-nii."
Tensei turned.
"Sorashi."
The boy stepped forward, staff resting against his shoulder, expression guarded but attentive.
"You're skipping steps," Tensei said plainly.
Sorashi opened his mouth—
"Because you're afraid of what happens if you don't," the hero continued.
That stopped him cold.
"You don't trust your body without your quirk," Tensei said. "So you're letting your quirk do the work for you. That's not control. That's avoidance."
Sorashi's grip tightened.
"I know unlearning bad habits is hard," Tensei went on, tone steady now. "That's why we start simple. Ingrain this first—when you move, legs before clouds. Always."
Sorashi looked away.
He continued, "When you learn to use your body properly, only then can we start incorporating your quirk again."
"If you don't learn your limits like this," Tensei added quietly, "something else will teach you. And it won't stop when you fall."
A beat.
"…I know," Sorashi muttered.
"Then do better."
The words stung.
Sorashi blinked hard, then scoffed, eyes suspiciously glassy. "Man, I'm starting to resent this Ingenium guy. Where'd Tensei Iida go?"
Tensei snorted at that before returning to the stoic, no-nonsense mask he was putting on.
The teens returned to the field.
This time, it still wasn't clean, but it was honest.
There were still mistakes, but Tenya moved only when he committed—engines flaring not out of habit, but certainty.
Sorashi stumbled again, but he was starting to correct with muscle first, clouds second. Sometimes, not even using his clouds at all.
The mist lingered at his feet, restless and unused.
Tensei watched them, arms crossed, eyes sharp, pushing down the smile that was forming.
'Good,' he thought. 'Let it be uncomfortable.'
Uncomfortable was how bad habits died after all.
— — END — —
Hrrm... Stones of power, I want. To give it to me, I plead with you. Hrrm.