Three years on.
"Gosh we're so nervous! We've read his file a hundred times, just what if he doesn't like us!" The woman nervously twirled her hair around her index finger.
Nami's hand paused on the doorknob. She turned back and smiled.
The couple were young. From the moment they'd stepped out of the car, they'd been trembling with nervous energy. When she'd shaken both their hands outside the main building a few minutes ago, Nami had felt their hands shaking.
"Mrs Tanaka, Mr Tanaka, there's no need to be so nervous. Takeru is a lovely boy, he won't bite." Nami said with a reassuring smile.
The couple looked at one another. Then, in almost perfect sync, they exhaled a heavy breath. The tremors in both their hands calmed down visibly.
"Thank you miss Nami, we're just so excited to meet Takeru." The man, Sora, interlaced his fingers with his wife's. The physical connection brought them both a sense of strength.
Nami smiled again. The orphanage's regulations required all potential parents to disclose any relevant personal history. She'd real the Tanaka's file. They'd lost their own son at just under a year old. His lungs had been underdeveloped, his small body simply wasn't compatible with life.
That had been nearly two years ago. Nami could see that the couple were still living with the effects of their loss. The way their hands squeezed tightly until their knuckles were white, as if they were afraid that letting go might mean goodbye forever.
The doorknob turned. Nami stepped out of the corridor and into the small room. The Tanaka's followed behind her. Their hands stayed locked tightly together.
"Takeru, some nice people have come to visit you!" Nami announced cheerfully.
The room wasn't large. The majority of the space was taken up by several filing cabinets and a desk. Nami seated herself behind the desk. The computer made a beeping noise as it started up.
Takeru stood next to the window. He'd been looking out into the garden as the door opened. He was eight years old now. His face was still soft with baby fat. His eyes were brown and calm.
"Hello, I'm Takeru." The little boy greeted the pair of unfamiliar adults. His voice was steady and friendly. He wasn't nervous in the slightest.
"H-hello! We-we're, I'm Aiko!"
The small face in front of her seemed to squeeze Aiko Tanaka's heart. She knew those eyes. They were the same gentle eyes her own baby had. The eight year old Takeru looked just like she had always imagined her own son would when he grew up.
"It's really nice to meet you Takeru. We-we brought you something!" Sora reached hurriedly into the bag he was carrying. He pulled out a rectangular object wrapped in cherry blossom paper.
Takeru smiled and took the gift from the nervous looking man, "Thank you. The paper's very pretty."
"I chose it!" The words leaped out of Aiko's mouth. Her eyes hadn't left Takeru for a second.
Since their son passed away, the Tanaka household had become much quieter. The room they'd painted and decorated for their newborn baby was empty. Aiko felt that same emptiness in her chest.
She knew that the little boy in front of them wasn't her son. He could never be the tiny fragile creature she'd brought into the world.
She knew that she couldn't have another baby. The heartbreak of losing their son, she couldn't bear to go through that again. But she had always wanted a family. And she knew her husband had too.
When they'd lost their own little boy, she'd been devestated beyond anything she'd ever thought possible. She didn't leave her bed for weeks.
The couple had both grieved. They still were. Sora had been the one to hold her while she cried. He'd brought her meals every day and sat with her, just in silence, for countless hours.
"Have you ever been to Sakura street? One of the older boys has a picture in his room. It looks pretty." Takeru asked. His small hands unhurriedly unwrapped the present.
Aiko felt herself laughing. It still felt unfamiliar to laugh, to feel joy, after what they'd been through. But it felt good to laugh. She'd built up high walls in her heart to protect herself. Now, she felt a piece of those walls crumbling away.
"Yes, we went for Valentine's day a few years ago. The cherry blossom trees there are beautiful." Aiko said. Her smile was wide.
The last piece of wrapping paper was peeled away. The object hidden inside was revealed.
Takeru's eyes scanned the gift. He grinned happily, "Thank you! I really like it!"
Sora and Aiko looked to one another. The corners of their eyes were both damp and threatening to spill out.
The weight he'd gotten so used to carrying lifted from Sora's shoulders. He smiled, "We're so glad you like it."
"Takeru's been a big reader his whole life!" Nami said proudly. She'd quietly watched the whole interaction.
The present the Tanaka couple had gotten for Takeru was a book. The blurb described the founding beliefs behind the Hero Public Safety Comission and the cover didn't picture a famous professional hero. It didn't look at all like a book a child would read.
Nami had spoken to the Tanaka's over the phone a week in advance of the face-to-face meeting. Potential parents always liked to bring gifts. It was a good ice-breaker for the children. When she'd told them to bring a book rather than a toy, they'd been somewhat taken-aback. The smile on Takeru's face showed that it was the right decision.
The meeting went on for nearly an hour. The Tanaka's found themselves laughing often. Takeru's replies were intelligent and well-put together. When the conversation became stiff or slowed down, he asked the couple questions about their lives.
Takeru wasn't a normal child. He had never tried to pretend that he was. He was proud of his unusual-ness. The newspapers regularly covered stories of babies who could bite through concrete or recite advanced mathematical theorems. The existence of an eight year old who was calmer and more mature than others his age was dull and uninteresting by comparison.
"Bye bye! It was nice meeting you! I hope you'll come again!" Takeru shouted.
The Tanaka's blinked and turned to the voice. The meeting had finished and they were both now sat in their car. They were still frantically trying to process everything that had just happened.
Through the open window on the second floor, Aiko saw a familiar small face smiling at them. They could just about see his legs standing on the desk.
Nami suppressed her urge to laugh. It wasn't appropriate for a caretaker to condone a child standing on the furniture. She tried her best to make her voice sound serious, "Takeru, get down from there!"
The telling off was clearly half-hearted. Takeru smiled and hopped down from the desk, "Yes auntie Nami, sorry."
"Go play, and don't jump on any more furniture!"
The Tanaka's both heard Nami's voice telling Takeru to get down from the desk. They recognised the tone of someone who wasn't really angry.
Aiko and Sora held their hands to their mouths. They both started to laugh through their fingers. After a few minutes, Sora wiped the happy tears from his eyes. The key turned in the ignition and the car pulled away slowly.
The couple drove in silence for nearly twenty minutes. Then, Aiko broke the silence, "He's wonderful."
Sora turned to her and nodded emotionally. He bit his lip slightly to keep himself from crying, "He really is."
Aiko reached over and placed her hand on her husband's shoulder. She squeezed it gently. She took a deep breath, "We should stop by the store on the way back. We'll need to repaint the room."
Sora's shoulders trembled slightly. It had been months since Aiko talked about the room they'd prepared for their baby.
He smiled. For the first time in a long time, he felt a sense of excitement for the future returning to his heart, "Yeah, let's do that."
When the Tanaka's opened the door to their house a few hours later, the atmosphere didn't feel quite so heavy. Over dinner, their conversations couldn't help but drift to the details if Takeru was going to become part of their family.
They spoke carefully. They didn't want to set their hopes too high. They'd only met Takeru once, they hadn't even filed any papework to request his adoption. But at the dinner table, they were both smiling more than they had in months.
The orphanage remained loud as always. The forest behind the main building was relatively quieter. Takeru enjoyed the peacefulness.
They were nice. I liked them, I think we'd get along well. Takeru thought to himself.
The caretakers at the orphanage were all kind people. The institution was a shining example of care done well. He got on perfectly okay with the other children, and the food was always nice.
The only thing this place is lacking is privacy. It'd be nice to have somewhere I could experiment with my quirk without an adult always watching me.
Over the years, Takeru had gained a better understanding of how his quirk functioned. The way he liked to think of it was as a low-grade form of reactive adaptation. When exposed to a stimulus, his body adapted to better handle the specific form of stress.
The process wasn't instant. He'd managed to trade a few weeks worth of allowance with an older boy in exchange for a lighter. It had taken weeks until the flames stopped burning his skin.
The adaptations were permaneant. And they affected his whole body. He'd experimented with the lighter only on his forearms, but his whole body had become fire-resistant.
Takeru had also noted that his powers appeared to function more rapidly in response to a more intense stimulus. While testing the effect of the lighter, he'd burned his arm and the skin had blistered. The next day he discovered that his progress in resisting the flames had leaped forwards a considerable percentage.
I wonder if I'm still technically human anymore? I suppose, not that it matters in a world full of quirks. I should be thankful my head hasn't turned into an orca's.
Takeru knew that he was still young, but his quirk was already showing clear signs of immense potential. He was confident that his physical strength was already on the same level as a grown adult.
He wasn't entirely sure how, and he hadn't discovered any gills, but he'd developed the ability to breathe underwater. Winter no longer bothered him either. Cold, as well as hot, temperatures no longer had any affect.
His skin was tougher than leather. The orphanage staff had eyes like hawks, it hadn't been easy to find a surveillance free moment to test his durability with one of the carefully monitored fruit knives. It had taken all of his strength just to barely break the skin.
Takeru's quirk seemed to view the whole world as a challenge. He'd become incredibly resistant to: hunger, thirst and tiredness. Every time he pushed his body further, it learned and adapted.
At first he could only go a day without sleep. Now, he could last a week.
I'm not a masochist. I want to be stronger, but I don't want to be in pain unless it's really necessary. Once I'm a few years older I can start with weight training. If this quirk reacts like it does to fire with weights then going toe-to-toe with All Might could become more than just a fantasy.
The future was exciting. After meeting the Tanaka's, Takeru's daydreaming began to include a room all to himself and a back yard of his own to play in.
He still wasn't sure what exactly he wanted to do with his life. The dream of becoming a professional hero was what lulled hundreds of millions of children to sleep across the world.
The Hero Public Safety Commission didn't release any official statistics on the mortality rate of professional heroes. Takeru could only judge by counting headlines and reading news reports. He estimated that 1-3% of professional heroes died in service every year.
Is it really safer to stay out of the spotlight? Without a hero licence, I'll only ever be able to train my quirk in secret.
Takeru sighed. He spread his arms and allowed himself to fall backwards. The impact sent up a cloud of dust. The fall didn't cause him any pain.
The sky was bright blue and cloudless. He stared idly at the sun for nearly a minute before starting to feel any pain.
I'm only eight. I've still got plenty of time.