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(9 Advanced Chapters)
-----
The gates of U.A. High School were a structural insult to Kaito Arisaka's current mental state.
To the rest of the world, these gold-trimmed, towering blue pillars represented the peak of human potential and the birthplace of national icons.
To Kaito, they looked like the entrance to a high-risk, low-yield startup that was trying to aggressively headhunt him for a position that offered zero work-life balance, a high probability of a shortened life expectancy, and a complete lack of a 401(k).
Kaito stood at the threshold, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his middle school trousers, fighting a physiological battle that would have baffled a neurosurgeon.
Every time his heart beat, Kaito had to consciously suppress the "Adapting" vibration humming in his marrow.
Since the "Snap" at the Ashita fire, his body had been trying to auto-update itself into a masterpiece. He didn't know what caused.
His skin wanted to filter out every pore; his eyes wanted to gain a cinematic sparkle that would make a shonen protagonist weep with envy.
Kaito chanted internally, a desperate mantra for calmness. 'I am a passerby from a budget 1990s anime. My face is just two dots and a line. My skin is dull. My hair is greasy. I am the human equivalent of a beige wall.
Inner peace. Inner Peace'.
"You look like you're about to have a seizure, Arisaka," Shota Aizawa noted, appearing from the shadow of the gate like a particularly gloomy, sleep-deprived ghost.
Kaito didn't jump. Jumping required an expenditure of physical energy that he hadn't budgeted for in his daily caloric ROI.
Instead, Kaito slowly turned his head, moving with the sluggish, uncoordinated grace of a teenager who had given up on life three years ago.
"It's called 'existential dread,' Aizawa-san," Kaito replied, his voice a flat, practiced monotone.
"It's a common side effect of being summoned to a school that costs more to heat for one hour than my grandmother makes in a year. Why am I here? I have a shift at the hardware store in ninety minutes, and unlike the Pro-Hero industry, the retail world actually has a functioning clock-in system that respects labor laws."
Aizawa didn't answer. He just gestured for Kaito to follow.
As they walked through the pristine, cavernous halls of U.A., Kaito saw the "Hero Course" students in the distance. They were leaping through the air, shooting fire, and striking poses for invisible cameras.
'Look at them,' Kaito thought, his cynicism reaching a fever pitch. 'High visibility. High insurance premiums. A forty percent chance of permanent spinal injury before age thirty.
They're running toward a career that treats them like disposable batteries. I'm the only one here who realizes that the most powerful person in this building isn't All Might—it's the guy who manages the procurement contracts for the support equipment.'
-----
The "interrogation" began in the Principal's office, a room that felt less like an educational workspace and more like a high-tech bunker.
Principal Nezu sat behind a desk that likely cost more than Kaito's entire residential block, pouring tea with the terrifying precision of a creature that could solve a Rubik's cube with its mind while reciting the tax code.
"Kaito Arisaka," Nezu chirped, his dark eyes sparkling with a predatory level of intelligence. "The boy who doesn't exist. Fifteen years of being a 'Dud.' Fifteen years of being so perfectly average that you've managed to avoid every single statistical outlier. That's not luck, Kaito-kun. That's a masterpiece of suppression. Aizawa tells me you're a master of being unremarkable. Are you ready to join UA?"
"It's a specialty of mine," Kaito said, sitting down in the guest chair. He sat carefully that his weight was perfectly distributed to avoid cracking the leather sofa.
"Which is why I'm confused as to why I'm here. I'm a hardware clerk. I deal in physical constants. Bolts. Screws. Plywood. I am the antithesis of a hero. Heroes create chaos. I organize bins."
Aizawa didn't pull out a high-tech holographic scan. He reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out a grainy, handheld printout from a news blog—a screenshot from Hideki's shaky, amateur footage.
It showed a blurry, soot-covered figure stumbling out of an alleyway seconds after the "Snap" had erased the Ashita fire. The figure was completely unidentifiable, just a smudge of a boy in a dirty uniform.
"This footage from that reporter, Hideki, is the only lead we have that hasn't been scrubbed by the HPSC," Aizawa said, his eyes narrowing. "Logic suggests it's a lead worth following. A guy who happened to be at the exact center of a localized miracle? You were in that alley, Arisaka. You were the only person within fifty meters of the epicenter who didn't lose consciousness. You already know it. I showed you the other time. We wanted truthful information."
Kaito looked at the blurry photo. It was so low-quality it looked like a Big Foot sighting or a grainy UFO leak. There was no way anyone could connect his face to it.
"I saw smoke, Aizawa-san. And I saw an opportunity to not die," Kaito lied, his voice a perfect, cynical baritone.
"I'm a FamilyMart clerk. I was carrying supplies for the store when the fire hit. If you're looking for a hero, you're looking at the wrong guy. I'm the guy who was hiding behind a dumpster praying for a functioning sprinkler system. If you want a witness statement, I can tell you the alley smelled like burnt rubber and regret. Other than that, I'm useless to you."
"The HPSC is breathing down our necks about anyone present at the scene," Aizawa continued, ignoring the denial. "They think anyone in this video could be a 'Catalyst' or a witness. Nezu is offering you a way out. The Hero Course.
We can bring you in under a special recommendation, 'train' you, and give you the legal protection of a UA student. It's the only way to keep the Commission from snatching you off the street for questioning."
Kaito let out a short, bark-like laugh. The sound was so resonant that the tea in Nezu's cup rippled.
"The Hero Course? You want me to jump into the middle of the most scrutinized, televised, and dangerous career path in the country?" Kaito shook his head. "That's not a 'way out.' That's a target on my back. If I'm in the Hero Course, I'm on TV. I'm in the Sports Festival. My face is beamed to every villain in Japan. My grandmother's safety is compromised. And for what? A chance to wear spandex and get punched by a villain for a mediocre salary?"
Kaito stood up, his gaze as sharp as a laser-cut blade. For a split second, the sheer intensity of his refusal caused his meditation to flicker. His skin smoothed out, and his posture straightened into something far too commanding for a fifteen-year-old.
"I refuse," Kaito said.
"I refuse the recommendation. I refuse the entrance exam. I have a plan, and it doesn't involve being a child soldier for the state. I am going to graduate from a bottom-tier vocational high school—somewhere so boring and dilapidated that the HPSC won't even bother to check the attendance roster. I'm going to spend the next three years learning how to fix industrial air conditioners and weld pipes."
Aizawa rubbed his tired eyes. "You're fifteen. You should be dreaming of saving the world, not calculating your retirement."
"Saving the world doesn't pay for Grandma Saki's physical therapy or the rising cost of electricity," Kaito replied.
"A stable nine-to-six job does. I'm going to spend my twenties working in the shadows. I'll do blue-collar labor. I'll build a resume so mundane, so bureaucratic, that I become invisible to the narrative. I'll hop from job to job. I'll even work clerical or janitorial roles in Hero Agencies just to pad my CV with 'industry experience.'"
Nezu let out a genuine, high-pitched laugh. "You want to be the background character so badly that you're willing to spend ten years in the trenches of the mundane just to prove it. You're sacrificing the glory of your youth for the stability of a desk."
"It's called a long-term investment, Nezu-san. I'm sacrificing the 'Heroic Narrative' to ensure I have a peaceful middle age," Kaito said, turning toward the door.
"You want to 'monitor' me? Fine. Send Aizawa-san to buy lightbulbs from my shop once a week. But I am not joining your circus. I'm going to go learn how to file tax returns. HPSC? They can monitor all they want."
-----
The walk home was a victory march of cynicism. He had successfully subverted the "Hero Academy" trope.
Kaito wasn't a hero student; he was just a kid with a vocational track and a very bright, very boring future. And besides, it's too late. The whole world knows how dreadful 'Hero X'. It's better to just graduate highschool and find job to support his remaining family.
Kaito stopped by the FamilyMart to pick up some discounted oden. The steam from the broth clouded his glasses—cheap, non-prescription ones he wore just to make his face look less 'perfect.'
The clerk, a new guy who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, barely glanced at Kaito as he reached for the tongs.
"Forty-seven yen for the radish," the clerk muttered, bored out of his mind.
Kaito sighed in relief. This was the dream. Total anonymity. No one looked at him, no one associated him with anything other than a hungry teenager.
He paid with exact change and stepped back out into the cool evening air.
-----
Kaito arrived at the Arisaka Hardware Store. Kimiko-san, the manager Grandma had hired to handle the heavy lifting while her joints ached, barked at him the moment he stepped over the threshold.
"Arisaka! You're ten minutes late! I don't care if you were at the fancy school or the moon! Get to Aisle 4. The shipment of 12mm hex nuts spilled, and it's a mess."
"On it, Kimiko-san," Kaito said, pulling on his worn work vest.
As Kaito knelt in the aisle, his fingers moved with a blur of efficiency. He didn't even have to look at the nuts; he could feel the weight and the thread of every piece of metal. It was a god-like power being used to organize a hardware shelf.
'This is it,' Kaito thought, a small, cynical smile appearing on his face as he tossed a nut into its correct bin. 'Middle school is almost over. Then vocational high school. Then the grind. I'll build the most boring, bulletproof resume in history.
If I have to fix a few accidents as "unpaid overtime" in the shadows to keep the world from ending, fine. But I am getting that desk job one way or another.'
The sacrifice was real.
Kaito was fifteen, and his Alter Ego was already a god in a world of heroes.
But Kaito would rather spend every day for the next decade fighting that godhood, just so he could one day sit in a quiet office, drink lukewarm coffee, and watch the clock hit 5:00 PM.