At 3:15 AM, the convenience store hummed with a sound that Kaito had come to realize was the true anthem of the "Normal" world: the low-frequency drone of a dozen industrial-grade refrigerators fighting to keep milk from spoiling.
It was a lonely, expensive sound.
Kaito was currently engaged in a high-stakes battle with a shelf of instant ramen. In his previous life, he'd imagined himself mastering the blade; in this life, he had mastered the "Face-Out" technique, where every Cup Noodle was aligned so the logo hit the customer at the exact psychological angle to induce hunger.
"If there was a Quirk for retail organization, I'd be in the Top Ten," Kaito thought, standing up and popping his back. The sound was like a string of firecrackers going off. "But there isn't. There's just me and my failing lumbar support."
The automatic doors slid open with a weary hiss.
In walked Sato-kun, not the manager, but a regular Kaito had dubbed "The Wheelchair Warrior." Sato was about nineteen, with a build that suggested he spent more time in the gym than Kaito spent at both his jobs combined. He was also in a high-tech wheelchair that looked like it had been designed by someone who watched too many sci-fi movies but had never actually seen a curb.
"Arisaka," Sato greeted, rolling toward the counter. He sounded like he'd just finished a marathon.
"Sato-kun. You're late," Kaito said, already reaching for the specific brand of protein shake and the extra-large pack of wet wipes Sato always bought. "Traffic jam in the hallway?"
"Worse. The city decided to 'beautify' the sidewalk three blocks down," Sato growled, slamming his hands onto his lap. "They put in these decorative cobblestones. They look great for the tourists, but for a wheelchair, it's like trying to navigate a minefield. One of my front casters is rattling like a spray-paint can now."
Kaito leaned over the counter, squinting at Sato's chair. The front left wheel was wobbling with a rhythmic, sickening click-clack.
"That's a 125mm high-impact caster," Kaito noted, his brain automatically pulling data from the Arisaka Hardware inventory. "Titanium housing, probably a silicon-carbide bearing. Whoever sold you that chair overcharged you. Those bearings aren't meant for cobblestones; they're meant for hospital hallways and flat carpets."
Sato blinked. "How do you know the bearing type just by looking at the wobble?"
"I spend my days counting washers and my nights counting change, Sato-kun. You develop a sense for things that are about to break," Kaito said. He checked the store's CCTV Manager Sato was in the back office, likely snoring.
"Roll over here."
Kaito stepped out from behind the counter, carrying a small pouch he kept on his belt. Inside wasn't a hero's gadget kit, but a specialized multi-tool and a small vial of high-viscosity machine oil from the hardware shop.
"What are you doing? This chair cost more than a mid-sized sedan. Don't touch it," Sato warned, though he didn't pull away.
"I'm not touching it. I'm fixing it," Kaito muttered, dropping to one knee. "A broken wheel is an insult to the road," he thought, but he kept the dramatic line to himself. Instead, he just wedged the tool into the caster housing.
"The hero 'Speed-Bolt' did a public demonstration on that street yesterday," Sato said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "He did a sonic boom to show off his speed. Shattered three windows and probably loosened the mortar in those cobblestones. But hey, the footage looked great on the news."
Kaito didn't look up. He was busy cleaning a piece of grit out of the bearing. "Heroes are great at the 'Big Picture.' They're not so good at the 'Five Millimeter Debris' picture. Hold the frame steady."
Kaito applied the oil, adjusted the tension on the axle, and gave the wheel a spin. It rotated in a silent, perfect blur. He stood up, wiping his hands on a rag that was probably more oil than cloth at this point.
"There. It'll hold until you can get it to a proper shop. But stay off the beautified streets. They're for people who can fly or bounce. For the rest of us, they're a lawsuit waiting to happen."
Sato spun the wheel himself, his eyes widening. "It's... it's smoother than when I bought it. Arisaka, why aren't you a mechanic? Or an engineer? You've got the hands for it."
"Because engineers have to go to university, and university costs three million yen," Kaito said, walking back behind the register. "I'm a clerk. I move things from shelves to bags. That's 1,450 yen for the wipes and the shake."
Sato paid, but he lingered for a moment. "You know, my brother works for a support-item company. They're always looking for people who actually understand how stuff breaks. I could give him your name."
"Does the job come with a graveyard shift and free expired bentos?" Kaito asked, deadpan.
"Probably not."
"Then I'm not interested. I like my misery consistent," Kaito replied.
Sato laughed, a genuine, loud sound that echoed in the empty store. "You're the weirdest guy in Musutafu, Kaito. But thanks. Seriously. I was going to have to call a specialized transport, and that would have eaten my food budget for the week."
.....
The rest of the night was a slow crawl toward dawn. He dealt with a woman who insisted that her Quirk allowed her to "predict" that the milk was sour (it wasn't), and a man who tried to return a half-eaten corn dog because it "didn't inspire him."
Kaito handled them both with the same flat, unshakeable patience. He was the barrier between the chaos of the world and the order of the store. He didn't use a "Shield Quirk." He just used the fact that he was too tired to be intimidated.
By 5:30 AM, he was mopping the floor for the final time. The sun was starting to hit the pavement outside. He looked at his reflection in the glass door. He looked... solid. Not muscular, exactly, but there was a sharpness to his features that hadn't been there a year ago. The "Dud" was becoming a man made of reinforced concrete and spite.
He clocked out, the electronic beep sounding like a victory bell.
As he walked home, he passed a group of UA aspirants jogging in their matching tracksuits. They were shouting encouragement to each other, their Quirks occasionally manifesting in small bursts of flame or static electricity. They looked like the future. They looked like the dream.
Kaito walked past them without a word, his heavy toolbox in one hand and a bag of discounted bread in the other. He didn't look at them, and they didn't look at him. To them, he was just a part of the landscape, a worker, a kid, a nobody.
But as he reached the hardware shop and saw Grandma Saki waiting with a cup of hot tea, Kaito felt a sense of power that those jogging kids wouldn't understand for years. He had fixed a man's mobility. He had kept a store running. He had earned his keep.
"Long night, Kaito?" Saki asked.
"The usual, Grandma," Kaito said, taking the tea. "Broken wheels and bad sidewalks. The world is falling apart, one bolt at a time."
"Then it's a good thing you're here to tighten them," she smiled.
Kaito sat on the front step, watching the sun rise over the district. He was exhausted, he was broke, and his chest felt like it was harboring a miniature sun. But as he took a sip of the tea, he decided that maybe, just maybe, being a passerby wasn't so bad.
After all, if the world was a machine, someone had to be the oil.