By the time Kaito Arisaka turned fifteen, the concept of "Fate and Destiny" had been officially replaced by the crushing weight of "Debt."
The transition wasn't cinematic. There were no tragic violins or rain-slicked funerals for his childhood ambitions. It was simply a Tuesday afternoon when he sat at the scarred wooden kitchen table and saw the stack of medical invoices Grandma Saki had been trying to hide under a pile of hardware catalogs.
The Arisaka Hardware Shop was a relic of a pre-Quirk era, a place that sold hammers and manual saws to a world that was increasingly learning to build things with telekinesis or pure energy. Between the dwindling sales and Saki's deteriorating knees, the math of their life no longer added up.
Kaito stood in front of his bedroom mirror, tugging at the lapels of a cheap, neon-striped polyester vest. The logo on the chest read FamilyMart. It was a far cry from the majestic, flowing capes he had once envisioned himself wearing back when he was a delusional eight-year-old.
Instead of being the King of the World, he looked like a guy who was legally obligated to ask if you wanted your oden in a plastic bag.
"You look very professional, Kaito," Saki said, leaning heavily on her cane in the doorway. Her voice was thin, but it carried that same warmth that had kept him grounded for fifteen years.
"But you're already doing so much here. Taking the night shift on top of school and the shop… it's too much for a boy your age. You should be out with friends, or practicing for the UA entrance exams like the others."
Kaito adjusted his name tag, making sure it was perfectly level. "UA is for people who can fly or breathe fire, Grandma. I'm a guy who knows the difference between a Phillips and a flathead screwdriver. Besides, I have the metabolism of a trash compactor. I'll be fine. The night shift pays a twenty-five percent premium. That's the only 'power' I need right now."
It was a lie. His eyes already had the faint, bruised shadows of chronic fatigue. But in his head, the only math that mattered was the 950-yen hourly wage for student part-timers.
As he walked toward the convenience store, the city of Musutafu hummed with the chaotic energy of the new Hero Age. In the distance, searchlights swept the sky. Ten years ago, Kaito would have climbed a telephone pole just to get a glimpse of a hero. Now, he didn't even tilt his head.
"Don't look at the sky," he reminded himself. "If you look at the sky, you might see a hero. And if you see a hero, you might get caught in the collateral damage. Collateral damage leads to hospital stays, and hospital stays are not in the budget."
He clocked in at precisely 10:00 PM. The store smelled like a combination of bleach, fried chicken, and the despair of people who had run out of cigarettes. His manager, a man named Sato whose face looked like a crumpled piece of parchment, grunted at him.
"Register one is yours, Arisaka. Stock the refrigerated drinks between customers. And remember: if a villain comes in, give them the register, give them the safe, and give them a free slushie if they ask. Do not try to be brave. My insurance doesn't cover bravery."
"Trust me, Sato-san," Kaito said, pulling on his thin plastic gloves. "I'm the most unbrave person in this building."
.....
The first four hours were a blur of mechanical repetition. Kaito moved through the aisles like a ghost, his hands working with the terrifying efficiency he had honed at the hardware shop.
He didn't just stock the milk; he rotated the inventory so perfectly that the expiration dates formed a descending numerical sequence. He faced every label outward with the precision of a drill sergeant.
Around 2:00 AM, the "Normal" people disappeared, replaced by the "Regulars" the night-dwellers of the city.
The bell chimed, a cheerful electronic ding-dong that felt like a mockery of Kaito's soul. An old man shuffled in, his back curved into a permanent question mark.
This was Tanaka-san. He came in every night for a single can of warm sake and a pack of salted squid.
"Back again, Tanaka-san?" Kaito asked. He didn't wait for the man to reach the counter. He already had the sake in his hand, checking the temperature.
"My legs... they're heavy tonight, boy," Tanaka wheezed, his breath smelling of old sea salt. "The dampness in the air... it gets into the bones."
Kaito looked down and noticed the old man's shoelace was trailing on the floor a death trap on the freshly mopped linoleum. Without saying a word, Kaito stepped around the counter and knelt.
"Hold onto the counter for a second," Kaito said. He tied the lace into a tight double knot. "There. We can't have the neighborhood's best fisherman taking a dive. It would ruin my floor-mopping stats."
"You're a strange one, Arisaka-kun," Tanaka muttered, tapping his cane. "Most kids wouldn't even see an old man, let alone bend down for one. They're too busy looking for their big moment."
Kaito stood up, wiping his hands. "Big moments don't pay for physical therapy, Tanaka-san. That'll be 480 yen."
As the old man shuffled out, Kaito felt something, dull warmth all over his body. It felt like heartburn, the kind you get from drinking too much canned coffee on an empty stomach. He ignored it.
He didn't know that every time he performed these small, genuine acts of service, something was shifting. He didn't know that Tanaka-san's silent, profound gratitude was being absorbed by his body.
His dormant Quirk, the dud, the doctor said was missing, wasn't missing at all. It was just a different kind of engine. It didn't run on physical energy or spiritual one; it ran on the quiet, collective trust and belief of the people he helped.
.....
3:30 AM was the "Dead Zone." The store was silent except for the low, aggressive hum of the freezers. Kaito was currently elbow-deep in the ice cream bunker, trying to organize the popsicles, when a woman stumbled in.
She looked like she had been through a war. Her hair was matted, her eyes were bloodshot, and she was clutching a crying infant to her chest.
She didn't look at the snacks. She ran straight for the baby aisle, her hands shaking as she scanned the labels.
"Aisle four, third shelf down, blue tin," Kaito called out from the floor.
The woman jumped, spinning around. "How... how did you—?"
"You've got that 'third pharmacy I've checked tonight' look," Kaito said, standing up and dusting off his knees. He walked over, grabbed the specific brand of hypoallergenic formula she was looking for, and walked it to the register.
"We're the only ones who keep this in stock after midnight. The manager thinks it's a waste of shelf space, but I keep it there for the 3:00 AM emergencies."
He scanned the tin, then paused. He looked at the woman's shaking hands. He reached under the counter, pulled out a bottle of room-temperature water, and popped the lid.
"The microwave is at 800 watts. Thirty seconds will get this to the right temperature. You want me to prep it while you pay?"
The woman burst into tears. Not the dramatic, sobbing tears of a movie, but the quiet, exhausted tears of a parent at the end of their rope. "Please," she whispered. "Thank you. I didn't know what to do. He won't stop crying and I was so scared..."
Kaito worked with a detached, professional speed. He prepped the bottle, checked the temp on his wrist, and handed it over.
"I'm just doing my job, ma'am. That'll be 1,200 yen. Do you have a loyalty card?"
As she left, Kaito leaned his head against the cool glass of the cigarette display.
He spent the rest of the shift dealing with a drunk man who tried to pay for a steamed bun with a button, and a group of teenagers who were trying to use their quirks to light firecrackers in the parking lot.
Kaito dealt with them all with the same flat, tired expression. He didn't lecture them. He just told them that if they blew up the trash can, he'd make them stay and scrub the parking lot until sunrise. They looked at his dead, tired eyes and decided to leave.
.....
By 6:00 AM, the sun was beginning to bleed over the horizon, casting a pale, sickly light over the city. Sato-san arrived to relieve him.
"Any trouble?" the manager asked, checking the till.
"Just a raccoon and some teenagers. The usual," Kaito said, pulling off his vest.
"You're a good worker, Arisaka. Even if you can't use your Quirk, but you've got a hell of a lot of presence. People like you. They feel safe when you're behind the counter."
Kaito didn't respond. He just clocked out.
He walked home through the early morning fog. He passed the park where a billboard of All Might was featured, his smile promising that "everything would be okay." Kaito looked at the billboard, then at the blisters forming on his own heels.
"Everything is okay as long as the electricity stays on and the shelves are stocked," Kaito thought.
He reached the hardware shop just as the open sign needed to be flipped. His shift at the convenience store was over, but his life as the Arisaka "Good Kid" was just starting for the day. He picked up the broom and began to sweep the sidewalk.
His body felt like lead. Every muscle ached. But as he watched the neighborhood wake up, as Mr. Yamamoto waved from the grocery store and the mailman gave him a thumb's up.
He wasn't a Hero. He wasn't a King. He was a 15-year-old kid with a graveyard shift and a grandmother to take care of. He had faced reality, and even though reality was exhausting, he was still standing.
"The path to a normal life is the hardest quest of all," he muttered, allowing himself one final, tired mumble as he pushed the broom. "And I'm going to finish this map even if it kills me."