If the graveyard shift at FamilyMart was a video game, Kaito had long since stopped looking for a "Main Quest" and had settled into a rhythm of repetitive, high-efficiency grinding.
By three weeks into his new schedule, the 2:00 AM to 4:00 AM window had become his kingdom not a glorious throne, but a kingdom of fluorescent lights, the smell of slightly-too-old oden, and the quiet exhaustion of the city's night owls.
He stood behind the counter, his hands moving with a mechanical grace as he counted out change for a taxi driver. His internal clock was completely shattered; his brain now functioned in a state of perpetual, low-level static.
"Sleep is a luxury for people who don't have to pay for their Grandma's knee braces," Kaito thought, leaning his elbows on the counter as the door chimed.
The chime was followed by a heavy, uneven footfall.
Thump.
Drag.
Thump.
Kaito didn't need to look up to know it was Mr. Hashimoto. Hashimoto was a man in his fifties who worked at the local shipyard.
A Quirk accident years ago, some hotshot hero with a "Weight Displacement" power losing control of a falling crane had crushed his left leg, leaving him with a permanent limp and a deep-seated distrust of anyone with a "flashy" power.
"Evening, Hashimoto-san," Kaito said, already reaching for a high-protein bento box and a bottle of sugar-free green tea.
"Quiet night, kid?" Hashimoto grunted, leaning his weight against the counter. He looked gray, the kind of gray that comes from working ten hours of overtime on a body that's already broken.
"Quiet enough. A group of drunk salarymen tried to microwave a closed bag of chips earlier, but I caught them before the store smelled like a tire fire," Kaito replied. He watched Hashimoto reach for his wallet, his fingers trembling slightly from exhaustion.
"The stairs at the station are out again," Hashimoto muttered, his voice thick with frustration. "The elevator's been broken since the 'hero' fight last Tuesday. Some guy with fire breath melted the cables. Now I have to walk three blocks out of my way just to get home on this leg."
Kaito paused, his finger hovering over the register. He looked at Hashimoto's leg, which was visibly swollen against the fabric of his work trousers. In the anime Kaito used to watch, a hero would have flown this man home. In reality, the "heroes" were the ones who broke the elevator in the first place.
"Wait here a second," Kaito said.
He stepped out from behind the counter. He walked to the back of the store, grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, and wrapped it in a clean shop towel. He returned and handed it to the older man.
"Press that against the knee while you eat. It'll bring the swelling down enough for the walk home. And here," Kaito reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, handwritten business card. "That's for our hardware shop. Tell Grandma Saki that Kaito sent you. We have a pair of heavy-duty industrial crutches in the back that have been sitting there for years because they aren't 'stylish.' They're yours for the cost of a cup of coffee."
Hashimoto stared at the bag of peas, then at the card. He looked up at Kaito, his eyes narrowing. "Why? I didn't ask for a handout, kid."
"It's not a handout. It's inventory management," Kaito said, his voice flat and practical. "Those crutches are taking up space we need for new drill bits. And if you trip and fall in front of my store, I have to fill out a four-page incident report. I hate paperwork more than I like money, Hashimoto-san."
Hashimoto let out a short, rusty laugh. He took the peas and the card. "You're a cynical little brat, aren't you?"
"I'm a realist. That'll be 620 yen."
As Hashimoto limped out, he gave Kaito a sharp, respectful nod.
.....
The bell chimed again. This time, the entrance was frantic.
A young man, barely older than Kaito, stumbled in. He was wearing a makeshift mask made of a gray hoodie pulled tight, and his clothes were scorched. He was clutching his side, blood seeping through his fingers.
"Oh, great," Kaito thought. "A soon to be Vigilante. A wannabe hero without license. The most expensive type of customer."
The boy staggered to the medical aisle, knocking over a display of throat lozenges. He grabbed a roll of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic, slamming them onto the counter along with a handful of crumpled, blood-stained yen notes.
"I... I need these," the boy rasped. He looked over his shoulder, terrified. "Please. Fast."
Kaito looked at the items, then at the money.
"You're short two hundred yen."
"I'll pay you back! I swear! I stopped a mugging, but the guy had a blade Quirk and—"
"Two hundred yen," Kaito repeated, his voice cold.
The boy's face fell. He looked like he was about to cry. "Please. I'm trying to help people. I'm one of the good guys."
Kaito leaned over the counter. He felt a flash of genuine annoyance. This kid was out here playing "Hero" while Kaito was working two jobs to keep his grandmother from going bankrupt.
"Being a 'good guy' doesn't change the price of gauze, kid," Kaito said. He reached into his own pocket, pulled out two 100-yen coins of his own lunch money, and dropped them into the register.
He scanned the items with a violent beep. He threw the supplies into a bag and added a single, high-calorie energy bar from the 'Close to Expiry' bin.
"There. Now you're a customer, not a beggar. Now get out. If you bleed on my floor, I'm making you stay and mop it."
The boy stared at Kaito, stunned. "You... why?"
"I'm not helping you. I'm making a transaction," Kaito said, already turning back to the shelves. "Go. Before the police show up and start asking me questions I don't want to answer."
"Oh wait, go to hero school. And get a professional license. Stop being a vigilante"
The boy grabbed the bag and fled into the night. Contemplating what the store clerk has just said.
"I just lost two hundred yen," he grumbled, grabbing the mop. "That's twenty minutes of my life I'm never getting back. This 'Normal Life' is expensive."
.....
He finished his shift as the sun began to rise. As he walked home, every neighbor who waved at him, "Morning, Kaito-kun! Thanks for fixing that faucet yesterday!"
He was fifteen. He was a clerk. He was a grandson. He thought he was just a guy who was tired and broke. He didn't know that by being the only person in the neighborhood who actually did something without a flashy Quirk, he was becoming a different kind of legend.
He wasn't a hero. He was the guy who made sure the world kept spinning while the heroes were busy posing for cameras.