Just after class ends, I have to attend remedial classes for the provisional license.

But before I leave, I help Selene carry some boxes to the storage area.

And I take the opportunity to learn more about the notes she has been taking, especially about me.

"So what does your statistical analysis depict? Is the class improving as a whole?" I ask her. She nods. She tells me that overall, yes. Individually, it varies. So I question her about who is progressing the quickest, the slowest, surprisingly, unsurprisingly. I wait to hear my name in any of those categories.

She stops in her tracks and narrows a glare at me. "I know what you are doing, and you are not very subtle about it. We've played this game before. You want the report of your progress, right?" She glances around before searching the file on top of her box. "This kind of information is confidential, and I would charge money for giving it, but just this once friendship makes this free. Hand it back once you're finished."

I take the paper from her. There are notes about my special moves, strengths, and weaknesses. Charts about my duration, magnitude, and endurance. Personally, I think the students should be allowed to see these reports, so they know where they're doing well and what they need to work on. Thanks to my photographic memory, I memorize every word and pattern on the paper. When I'm about to return the report to her, my hand hovers in midair.

Selene is looking at the bulletin board. Specifically, a flyer on the bulletin board. My gaze follows hers. It's about a writing and drawing competition. There will be a new theme every month for four months, and the participant has to write an essay and submit a work of art about said theme. Individuals, partners, and groups are allowed. The prize is a cheque of a few thousand yen and a trophy. A QR code and URL are provided at the corner of the flyer for registration. A forlorn look clouds her eyes.

I reach out and touch her shoulder. "Hey! Everything all right?"

"Oh! Yes. Everything is fine. We should go. You said that you had extra lessons? That sounds similar to cram school." Selene doesn't meet my eyes as she takes the paper and places it back in the file. She doesn't make eye contact with me either. My eyes alternate between her retreating figure and the flyer, trying to make sense of her reaction. On a whim, I take a picture of the flyer on my phone before following her.

She was right.

Remedial lessons really were like cram school, but more physical and sweatier. I was glad I got to see my progress report before going there.

When I get back to the boarding house, all I want to do is wash all the grime and perspiration coating me. The hot water feels like heaven. I head to my room when I finish, intending to write a letter to Mom, finish my homework, and then talk to Selene about the competition. She wasn't subtle, either.

By the time I finish the first two tasks, the sun has long set. I go over to her room and knock. No response. I knock again. Same thing. I'm just about to text her for her whereabouts, when a hunch hits me. If I have learned anything about her in the one year I've known her, then my hunch might be right. Acting on it, I return to U.A. school building.

My suspicion was right.

Despite the late hour, Selene is in the school library, on a quest for books.

Predictably, she's in the fiction section. I watch her pull one book after the other and set them on a table. Based on the height of the tower, my estimate is twenty-five books. She stretches on her tip-toes for a novel way up high. I sneak my way behind her and pull it down for her, the instant she sees my shadow and whips around.

"Oh! Good evening. Did remedial lessons go smoothly?" she gasps, caught off guard.

"I don't know because my attention was on analyzing your reaction to the writing competition flyer," I reply. Her face falls, and she averts her gaze. "Look. I'll come straight to the point. I know you're hiding something from me. And I'd like to know what's going on."

Selene sighs and glances around. "Can we talk somewhere in private? Outside the library? Perhaps the gazebo?"

We make a detour to the boarding house to drop off her horde of books before I beckon her to lead the way.

"So," I drawl as I dip my feet into the pond water. "What's going on?"

Selene occupies the space next to mine and swishes her feet slowly in the water. She stares up at the night sky and wrings her hands. "To answer that question, I would have to reveal another secret. And that secret might change our friendship forever."

My caution rises. "Knowledge is power and ignorance is bliss," I copy her words from a long time ago. "I choose knowledge."

Selene turns toward me and breathes audibly before speaking. Her hold on herself tightens subtly. "It was never my dream to become a Pro-Hero." I don't say anything, waiting for her to elaborate. "My coming here was a business strategy. My adoptive father … he wanted to invest in the hero industry, and I was just the means to do that. Bribe for recommendation letters, pass the entrance exam, attend U.A., and woo all the teachers and children of notable Pro-Heroes. The more that were amiable toward me, the more likely they were to partner with Hanada-sama.

"I have a chronic, autoimmune disease, and I am crippled with a cane. That was enough of a reminder to not imagine the impossible. It was impossible for someone like me to become a savior, let alone a hero. Any aspirations I may have had as a child were crushed. All I had was my sharp mind and a debilitated body. People pitied me and gave me meaningless condolences. Their pity was my biggest weapon, and I used just that to garner their trust.

"Shouto-kun, us meeting each other, befriending each other … as much as I would love to say that it was fate or a miracle, really it was just the power play of our families. I was nothing more than a pawn. My stunt during the Mock Battle was to make a memorable first impression on the teachers. My performance at the Sports Festival was to entice thousands of spectators. Even my abduction by the League garnered sympathy from the public." She unclasps her hands to grasp mine. The action is desperate. "But please believe me when I tell you that I did not approach you with hidden motives. Truth is, I was afraid of you when we first met. The night before the exam, I had a dream about you. A very vivid dream. Then when I saw you in real life … I did not know how to react. My plan was to be friendly with others but never become friends with anyone. You changed that. Because when we met again during the first day of school, I was elated to see you. I used to think that attachment would bring me nothing but sorrow, but I found happiness and solace with you. I know I encouraged you to be more selfish, but when you extended the hand of friendship, I was overjoyed unselfishly. That makes me hypocritical, I know. I'm sincerely sorry."

I scrutinize her. Her story … it should surprise me. Appall me, offend me, anger me. Really, I should be ashamed of her just accepting that she's weak and going along with what her father orders her to do. But I don't. I don't feel any of that. An unrelated part of me is awed that the same night I had a dream of her, she had one of me. Coincidence or connection? Distantly, I realize that I've been quiet for too long, and Selene is taking my silence as a rejection. Slowly, her grip on me loosens. Her fingers slip from mine. No. I grab for them, clutching them closer than she did mine. "I'm not upset. Frankly speaking, I am not even shocked. Deep down, I suspected as much."

"Y-y-you did? H-h-how? I was … I was so careful about concealing it," she stammers.

I shrug. "The signs were there from the start. You took the lazy route during battles: standing by and making a spectacle. Like a cat, you never approached others but let others approach you. You got on uneasy terms with Aizawa-sensei and All Might-sensei. Whenever the class was hyped about some hero activity, you were notably quiet and occupied in something else. The villainous hero name, the schemes, the detachment from everyone … even your feelings toward the League of Villains. You don't despise them as much as everyone else. Selene, you never seemed that passionate about actually being a hero than simply attracting heroes. And the disease and cane factors only support that behavior even more."

Her cheeks burn with shame and embarrassment. "Ironic, isn't it? The girl who never cared to be a hero became the most spoken about having the potential to become one. But does potential matter when you do not have the will. I understand if you do not want to keep any sort of relations with me after this revelation. I will not-"

"Stop right there," I interrupt her. "We've had a conversation like this before. More than once, actually. And it ended really badly once. Stop blaming yourself for everything, and have more trust in me. You said you had faith in me that I would become an awesome Pro-Hero, right? Well, have the same faith that my feelings for you are not so fickle." She looks at me with questioning eyes. Shoot! I almost confessed that I love her! "I mean, have confidence that I won't end the sentiments of camaraderie and comfort I sense with you.

"I understand why you did what you did. I know that your father abused you. From what you've just told me, he still is." She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. "Don't deny it. I may be clueless with my emotions, but I'm not stupid at making logical deductions. It was either do as he said or risk the consequences. I get that not everyone can cope with their trauma like I do, by rebelling and shouting at my abuser. Sometimes, the fear of the repercussions justifiably crushes all notions of defiance." Her mouth closes, affirming what I said. I can feel the muscles of her fingers contracting and relaxing, itching to wrap around themselves again. So I drop my grip from her hands to her forearms. Slowly, I trail the length of her upper arms, stopping just below her shoulders. She wants to fold into herself. Bury all the secrets and fears deep inside her until it starts rotting her from the inside. But I can't let that happen. I won't. God knows how much she's endured. She doesn't deserve any more pain. An old flare of resentment ignites brightly inside me toward her father. My fingers skim her collarbones, the skin of her neck, and finally her cheeks. I cup them and lift them so her eyes meet mine. So she can see the conviction in mine. "I vow to keep this a secret just between us," I whisper. "The one thing I never want to do is hurt you because of my actions. While I do want to know what has happened to you, it's not my place to pry. But thank you for being honest with me. I won't lie that I'm not slightly disappointed. I am. But not because you don't want to be a hero. It's because you don't recognize your own worth.

"You're infinitely more than a pawn, Selene. You're the girl who taught a pervert a lesson he will remember even on his deathbed. You're the girl who showed others not to underestimate you just because of a walking stick. You're Lucifer, the girl whose tongue sings like a whip, ready with witty retorts. You're the girl who saved me. Time after time. Again and again. When my thoughts became my own enemy, you were always there to help me face them. You had unwavering belief in me. I want you to feel the same in yourself."

Tears stream from her silver eyes. I'm guessing no one ever told her that. Someone should have. I'll tell it to you every day and every night. If only you could see yourself the way I see you. Then you would know just how brilliant you are. That you are my hero.

She covers my hands with her gloved palms and sniffles, "Th-th-thank y-you. I think … I think that's the kindest compliment I've ever received."

"I meant every word," I murmur as I brush her tears. "Tell me something. If not heroism, what would you like to do?"

She ponders the question for a while. Understandable, because she did mention that she stopped having ambitions of her own out of terror of her father. I wonder what she would have done after graduation. Would she still be used as a tool? She wouldn't be happy at whatever agency she would work for, that's for sure. Her mental state is already fragile. It would only deteriorate drastically from there. Would we see each other? Would I be able to be there for her? Or could things be worse? That last question kindles a wildfire in my mind. The worry is all too possible. I don't want her to disappear after graduation. I don't want to vanish from her life, either. At those thoughts, I force those worries to extinguish. A new wildfire burns, incinerating the timber of vindication and determination. Selene will never ask for it, but I vow to find a way for her to escape the manacles of her father's cruelty. I thought my dad was horrible, but hers takes the trophy. And I won't idly sit by as my best friend continues to suffer.

My mouth opens the same moment Selene answers my question. "Perhaps writing. Writing brings me tranquility. I like the idea of forging my ideas into words onto paper. Writing is creation. In another life, I'd like to create instead of destroy."

I smile softly and laugh a little. "Even destruction is creation. It means rebirth. And I think destroying a lock around your heart was necessary to create an opportunity of rebirth. Selene, let's not ponder about another life. Let's do it in this one. Participate in the writing competition. With me. You write. I draw. And we win. What say?" Hope fills her to the brim, but so does concern. I can almost see the storm of worries raging in her mind, fears about what taking this step might mean.

"But with your remedial studies, it will become too much. I don't want to burden you," she says, trying to dissuade me.

But I won't be dissuaded. Not now, and not from what I'm planning in the future. I untangle a blue iris from her hair and inhale its subdued fragrance. "I have faith in you. You'll do amazing. And don't worry about me. My job is much easier than yours, since I have to take your creativity and put it into shapes and colors. I'll find the time. But this competition is for you to shine. And I wish for you to. Not because some trash bag of a father who abuses his authority wants you to play his game." She snorts at the insult, and from her reaction, I do, too. "It's never too late to start dreaming, Selene. Give yourself a chance."

I pull out the picture of the flyer on my phone. "Here," I say as I pass the phone to her. "Go to the website, and put in our names."

She looks up at me, scared. "Does it have to be me?"

"Yeah." I nudge the phone toward her. "It has to be you."

With shaky fingers, she pulls up the website. She hesitates at the part where it asks for contestants' names. I'm not going to urge her; she has to summon the will herself. And despite her protests, I know she has an abundance of willpower.

I almost hug her when she types in the kanji and presses submit.

She lets out an audible gasp.

"Thank you for giving me that push," she murmurs as her eyes take on a new, vivacious gleam.

I love it.

"Thank me when we win."