No Glory For The Restless (SYOC)

by heartattak

"What are you willing to sacrifice for the sake of what's right? I think I'd sacrifice glory. See, not all heroes shine under the spotlight. Some work in the shadows, where no one sings your name. I know a place that will always choose justice over fame, who'd rather save a life unseen than bask in applause. So, tell me—are you ready to be forgotten?" (SYOC CLOSED!)

5. ON YOUR MARKS!

CHAPTER 1 - "ON YOUR MARKS!"

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OP - WHISPER WHISPER WHISPER - AZARI

By heartattak

𓇢𓆸

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Today was the day. First day of Haruboshi Academy. Or registration, at least. God, Hibiya wondered if it was too late to turn back around.

The acceptance letter was crumpled in his hand, the paper soft from being folded and unfolded countless times, creased with the nervous fidgeting of his fingers. He'd stared at it for hours, debating if this was even a good idea. Haruboshi Academy.

It still didn't feel right to him. It didn't feel real, it felt impossible, in fact. Could they have made some sort of error, a lapse in judgment? Maybe they'd confused him for someone else. Maybe he was never meant to be scouted in the first place. What if he'd gotten someone else's acceptance letter? Wait, no that wasn't right at all, it had his name on it! Everything was thorough, no amount of mental gymnastics will work in this situation. They picked him on purpose and for a reason. But why?! Hanae, of course she made sense, but him?!

Who the hell was responsible for scouting him in the first place?! How and why did they even perceive him?! When did it happen?!

He tried (and failed) to shake everything off. He needed to focus. The directions were meticulously detailed, each step leading him through a series of small streets and back alleys that twisted and turned like a labyrinth. "Turn left at the streetlamp. Pass three storefronts. Look for the graffiti of a single red eye." He read the lines over and over, whispering them under his breath like they were some strange incantation. He didn't want to get this wrong. Didn't want to show up late and get stared at. Hibiya hunched his shoulders, feeling the weight of invisible eyes already pressing in on him, as if every step toward the Academy made him more exposed.

He was wrapped in black from head to toe, almost monochromatic. His slightly oversized black jacket, worn over a long-sleeved shirt, draped around his thin frame like a shield, hiding him. Even his jeans and his shoes—a pair of sneakers with subtle blue outlines—felt like camouflage, like he was draping himself in shadows, hoping to blend into the background. Hibiya's cap was pulled low, and the mask covering his face wasn't just for the pollen. It was a comfort, a layer between him and everyone else.

The only color was the vivid blue of his eyes, peeking out through the messy tangle of black hair that hung in his face, half-concealing him. They were a piercing, unnatural shade, so bright they almost glowed, and he knew they drew attention, whether he wanted it or not. His sister always joked that they were "too pretty" for his own good, that he should lean into them, play them up. But that was the last thing he wanted. They were the kind of eyes people remembered, and he'd rather be forgotten.

He kept his gaze low, focused on his shoes, which scuffed against the pavement as he walked, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. As he turned another corner, he could sense the faint, jittery hum of other people's emotions bleeding through his awareness—a background noise he couldn't fully tune out. He could feel the vague cloud of nerves from a group of students nearby, the simmer of frustration from someone struggling with a heavy bag, even the faint tug of someone's excitement pulsing like a heartbeat in the distance. Hibiya clenched his jaw, tuning it out. He didn't want to feel all of this, not today. He just wanted to get to the school, blend in, and disappear in the crowd.

But then he saw it—the graffiti. A single, red eye painted on the brick wall, staring back at him like some strange, unblinking watcher. Hibiya gave it a long, deadpan stare, lips pressing into a flat line. Of course. The Academy was nothing if not dramatic. He sighed, moving past it, mentally rehearsing the next set of directions, just as he instinctively reached out with his Quirk, subtly fine-tuning the emotional wavelengths around him. It was a habit, one he barely noticed anymore—a way to soften any tension, make himself feel less exposed. The colors around him shifted and smoothed, blurring like a water painting, taking the edges off his anxiety.

That was when he felt it—a sudden spike of alarm, followed by a burst of panic, right as he stepped into the street without looking.

Headlights flared in his periphery. There was a flash of tires screeching, a burst of light, and then something solid, heavy, cold, and real slammed into his hip. The impact wasn't enough to throw him off his feet completely, but it was enough to send him staggering, stumbling to one knee, his letter fluttering out of his hand and landing somewhere in the gutter. Pain bloomed in his side, a dull, throbbing ache that pulsed in time with his heartbeat, spreading like a bruise under his skin. He barely had time to process it before he heard a woman's voice—high, panicked, and rapidly approaching.

"Oh my god, are you okay?! I didn't see you! I didn't—"

She was rushing over, her heels clacking sharply against the pavement, a blur of wide-eyed concern and guilt hitting him like a physical wave. Hibiya's face burned, a hot flush of embarrassment flooding through him that made him want to sink into the asphalt. He could already feel the eyes of other pedestrians turning toward him, people stopping to watch, murmuring, the hum of their emotions amplifying in his mind—concern, curiosity, annoyance, a flash of pity. He swallowed hard, his fingers clenching into fists, wishing he could disappear. This isn't happening, he thought, clenching his jaw, feeling his pulse spike with a new surge of panic. Everything is fine, everything is fine, move along, people, please, out of all days, I had to get lost in my own head. It's nothing, I swear—wait, more people are stepping out behind her. Is that… honking? Oh no. Oh nononono…

Please, just… don't look at me…

And then, without thinking, he pushed.

It was instinctive, like breathing. A sudden, desperate pulse of his Quirk, reaching out and bending the wavelengths around him, shifting the emotional currents until they softened, blurred, faded. The woman stopped in her tracks, her gaze suddenly slipping past him, her eyes scanning the empty street as if she'd lost something. She blinked, frowning, her hands still half-outstretched, but her focus…drifted, like he was just a shadow in her peripheral vision, something easily ignored. She turned in a slow circle, brow furrowed, scanning the area in confusion.

"Oh my god… he was just here…" She muttered to herself, twisting and turning as if he'd just vanished into thin air.

People around her were looking too, craning their necks, murmuring to each other. A few pointed, squinting into the empty space where he'd been standing. Hibiya felt the surge of their emotions—frustration, bewilderment, impatience—washing over him, but none of it was directed at him anymore. He had slipped out of their awareness, faded into the background noise.

The relief was immediate, like a cold balm over a burn, and Hibiya didn't waste a second. He straightened slowly, the pain in his hip flaring again, but he ignored it, gritting his teeth as he stooped to grab his letter from the gutter. His fingers shook as he clutched it, his entire body tense, his mind still racing with the adrenaline of the near-accident and the fear of being seen. Without another look at the woman or the gathered onlookers, he turned and slipped back onto the sidewalk, his pace brisk but careful, ducking his head to keep his face hidden beneath the brim of his cap.

Behind him, he could hear the woman's frantic voice as she continued searching for him, her voice rising in confusion. "I swear, he was right here! Did anyone see him? He couldn't have just vanished…"

Hibiya allowed himself a grim, humorless smile beneath his mask. If only she knew, he thought, his Quirk still humming at the edges of his consciousness, maintaining that faint, subtle shift in perception that made him blend into the crowd like a forgotten memory. His heart was still pounding, his side throbbing with each step, but he forced himself to keep moving, to ignore the pulse of pain and the lingering shame clawing at the back of his mind.

Great start, Hibiya. Perfect. He could still feel the flush of embarrassment simmering under his skin, but at least now he was alone, invisible, slipping through the streets unnoticed. He tightened his grip on the acceptance letter, his fingers smudging the ink slightly, but he didn't care. Right now, all he wanted was to reach the school, to sink into the background, to hide among the students where no one would pay him any mind.

As he rounded the next corner, the chatter of the street faded, the sounds of people's voices and footsteps merging into a dull, comforting hum, distant and detached. Hibiya breathed out, feeling his Quirk settle around him like a shroud, dampening his presence until he was barely there, a shadow in the corner of everyone's awareness. He could still feel the sting of embarrassment, but it was manageable now, like an old bruise instead of a fresh wound.

And as he walked, a wry thought struck him—an odd, dark sort of amusement at the irony of it all. First day at a school he didn't want to be at, and he'd already managed to make a scene before even getting there. If this was any sign of what Haruboshi Academy had in store…

Well. He'd better brace himself.

---

Kenio had seen a lot of things in his life, and at this point, the list felt like it was getting thin. But now, he'd officially added "watching someone get hit by a car" to that list.

He stood frozen on the sidewalk, orange hair whipping in the autumn breeze, mouth slightly open in disbelief. His mind couldn't process the scene in front of him fast enough—it was like his brain was buffering, the frames lagging behind reality. The kid had been just… walking. Head down, hands in his pockets, like a ghost drifting down the street. And then—bam. The car came out of nowhere, skidding to a halt with a sickening crunch as it clipped the kid's side.

A flurry of emotions flashed through Kenio's mind, wild and disjointed, like someone had smashed the buttons on a remote control and left him scrambling to catch up. He was seeing stars, flashes of color and sound, but all he could really focus on was that figure, crumpled against the asphalt, slowly pushing himself up. Holy crap, is he okay? His pulse pounded in his ears, his heart slamming in his chest with a painful rhythm as he watched the boy straighten, hands shaking, shoulders tense.

Then the woman—the one who'd been driving—was running over, her voice frantic, spilling apologies that filled the air with a tinny, high-pitched static. Kenio wanted to move, wanted to rush over and check if the guy was alright, but his legs felt like they were rooted to the spot. He was helplessly tethered, caught in an awkward space between I should do something and I have no idea what I'm doing. All he could do was stare, wide-eyed, as the woman reached out, her fingers almost grazing the boy's shoulder.

But then—just like that—he was gone.

One second the kid was there, standing on the sidewalk, his face hidden behind a low-brimmed cap and dark mask. And the next, it was like the shadows themselves had swallowed him up. The woman's hand hovered over empty space, fingers curling in confusion as she looked around, eyes darting frantically from side to side. She was talking to herself, something like, "I swear… he was right here…" Her voice was laced with disbelief, her tone teetering on the edge of panic.

Kenio's mind snapped into overdrive. Did he just vanish? No—there had to be an explanation. The logical part of his brain kicked in, scrambling to make sense of what he'd just witnessed. A Quirk, he realized. Some sort of invisibility or concealment Quirk. But what kind of person got hit by a car and then just… disappeared? He could feel his hands twitching, itching to do something, to help, even though he had no clue where the guy had gone. There was a sick knot of worry forming in his gut, gnawing away at his initial shock. What if he was injured, limping off somewhere, bleeding internally? Just because he'd disappeared didn't mean he was okay.

Without thinking, Kenio lifted his hand, his fingertips glowing faintly as he traced the outline of a little cartoon creature in the air—a small, bouncing blob with a single eye and tiny, exaggerated legs. It blinked to life, its eye swiveling to look up at him, waiting for a command. This was his comfort zone, the one part of himself he knew how to rely on. Alright, buddy, he thought, focusing on the image of the kid in his mind—dark hair, cap, that strange, ghostly way he'd walked. "Find him," he murmured to his little creation, and it bounced into motion with a comical squeak, darting down the sidewalk, its single eye scanning every nook and cranny as it went.

Kenio dug into his pocket as he jogged after the creature, pulling out his own acceptance letter and hastily unfolding it with fumbling fingers. He squinted at the map printed on the back, a scrawled pathway leading to Haruboshi Academy. His gaze darted from the map to the route ahead of him, his mind racing as he realized—that guy's probably headed to the same place. It made sense, didn't it? This wasn't exactly a bustling part of town, and new students would all be filtering through here today.

The creature bounced ahead, stopping every so often to peer into an alleyway or under a bench, its little eye scanning the area with cartoonish enthusiasm. Kenio followed, weaving through the sparse crowds, his hair catching the light like a signal flare, impossible to miss. He could feel his worry bubbling up into something close to panic, his thoughts ping-ponging between I hope he's okay and how am I gonna explain this if he's not? The last thing he wanted was to show up on the first day of hero school with an accidental manslaughter on his conscience. His stomach twisted at the thought.

And then—there. A flash of black disappearing around the corner, a slim figure with a familiar cap pulled low. Kenio felt a surge of relief so intense it was almost dizzying, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He picked up his pace, breaking into a light jog to close the distance, his letter still clutched tightly in one hand. "Hey!" he called out, his voice a little too loud, bouncing off the walls of the narrow street. "Wait up!"

The figure glanced over his shoulder—just a quick, darting look, barely more than a flicker of movement. Kenio caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes, startlingly intense even under the shadow of the cap, before the guy whipped his head back around and picked up his own pace, clearly trying to get away.

Kenio's mouth twisted into a wry grin as he sped up to match him. Oh, come on, don't be like that. He was still a few paces behind, but he could see the kid trying to do that awkward, fast-walking thing people did when they didn't want to break into a full run but also didn't want to get caught. It would've been funny if Kenio wasn't still half-panicked.

"Hey, wait! Are you going to Meiyo too?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them, his voice bright and a little too enthusiastic, the kind of tone you'd use when greeting a friend you hadn't seen in a while, not a complete stranger who'd just been hit by a car and subsequently vanished. He winced as soon as the words left his mouth, realizing his slip-up.

The guy slowed just a fraction, his shoulders tensing visibly. Kenio could practically see the cogs turning in his mind, the silent debate between ignoring him and acknowledging the weird orange-haired kid who wouldn't stop following him. Finally, he turned his head slightly, just enough to shoot Kenio a wary look over his shoulder.

"Haruboshi," Kenio corrected himself quickly, the word slipping out with a sheepish grin, though his heart was still hammering from the slip. "I meant Haruboshi, obviously. Just… you know, my nerves are all over the place today." He scratched the back of his neck, trying to play it cool, even as he felt a faint flush of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks.

The kid paused, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as he seemed to weigh Kenio's words, his gaze flicking between him and the little creature that was still bobbing cheerfully at Kenio's side. For a second, Kenio thought he might just turn around and keep walking, ignoring him completely. But then he let out a sigh, a barely-there exhale that sounded like he'd just resigned himself to a minor inconvenience.

"Yeah," he mumbled, voice muffled slightly behind his mask. "I'm going to Haruboshi."

Kenio's face split into a relieved grin, his bright orange eyes lighting up. He adjusted his grip on his letter, trying to stifle the urge to give a dramatic sigh of relief. "Phew! Thought I was just chasing down some random stranger who was about to call the cops on me." He chuckled, hoping his humor might ease the tension, even just a little. "Name's Nakamura Kenio, by the way. Or, uh, 'Keni-chi' if you're into nicknames."

The stranger gave him a blank stare, clearly unimpressed, but Kenio noticed the way his eyes softened just a fraction. There was a wary curiosity there, as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of the overly friendly kid with the wild hair and the cartoon companion.

"Kudzuruki Hibiya," Hibiya muttered, shifting his weight awkwardly, his eyes darting away as if trying to avoid making direct contact. "Nice to meet you, but, uh… I really need to get to the school." He turned his head, clearly hoping that would be the end of it, that Kenio would take the hint and leave him alone.

But Kenio wasn't about to let him slip away that easily. He jogged forward to close the distance, his creature bouncing happily beside him. "No worries, man! We can go together! Besides, it's probably safer with two of us. You know, just in case another car decides to come barreling through or something." He gave Hibiya a lopsided grin, his tone light and teasing, but there was an underlying sincerity to his words.

Hibiya bristled, almost like a cat. Kenio backtracked immediately.

"Joking, a joke! Sorry! Heh…" Kenio said, waving his arms frantically.

They fell into step together, Kenio's footsteps light and unhurried as he chatted away, the words spilling out of him like a nervous stream. He cracked jokes, made a few lame puns about hero school, and occasionally glanced over to see if Hibiya was laughing—he wasn't.

After a while, they finally spotted it.

The graffiti they'd been looking for—a single, red, unblinking eye painted on the wall of a nondescript alleyway. The eye seemed to watch them, the crude strokes giving it a strangely intense, almost lifelike gaze. Kenio squinted, head tilting as he took in the sight, and he let out a low whistle.

"This is it, right? The big 'red eye' you were talking about?" he asked, turning to Hibiya, who gave a small nod, his gaze fixed on the graffiti.

"Yeah," Hibiya replied softly, his voice barely above a murmur as he took a step closer, his hand reaching out as though to touch it.

Kenio watched curiously as Hibiya's usually neutral expression shifted, his brow furrowing with concentration. Kenio put his hand up next to his, but he didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. Confused, he gave Hibiya a questioning glance. "What is it?"

Hibiya hesitated, as if struggling to find the words. "It's supposed to be… a gate since the letter mentioned something about a warp point," he finally managed, his fingers lightly brushing the wall. And then, as if on cue, the wall shimmered, rippling faintly where his hand touched it, as though it were made of liquid glass.

Kenio's eyes widened, and he shot Hibiya a surprised look. "Wait. Hold on, that's the warp point?" He grinned, the realization sparking a gleam of excitement in his gaze. "Woah, so this is it? Yosh, this is so exciting, right?"

Hibiya's lips pressed into a tight line as he shrugged. "Sure," he mumbled, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. But he didn't pull his hand back. Instead, he pushed against the wall, watching as it gave way beneath his fingers, revealing a strange depth behind the red eye.

They exchanged a glance, neither quite sure what to do next. Kenio bounced on his heels, clearly eager, while Hibiya hesitated, anxiety flickering in his eyes.

"So, we going through?" Kenio grinned, nudging Hibiya with his elbow. "I mean, it'd be a shame if we came all this way just to stare at some creepy wall art."

Hibiya's expression didn't change, but he replied dryly, "Or we could, you know, not pass through a mysterious wall that could drop us into a black hole. Just saying."

Kenio scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You worry too much, dude. It's just a warp point, and it was mentioned in the letter, just like you said! Worst-case scenario, we end up… somewhere weird?" He shrugged, clearly undeterred by the potential dangers. "I've got this," he added, trying to sound reassuring. He took a deep breath, held it, and—before Hibiya could say anything more—stepped straight through the wall.

With a quiet whoosh, Kenio disappeared, leaving Hibiya blinking at the empty space where his friend had just been. Soon, however, Kenio's hand reached out, grabbing Hibiya and hastily pulling him with him.

They were plunged into darkness for a split second, a strange feeling like falling—and then, without warning, they were out. They stumbled forward, emerging from… a tree? Kenio looked around, wide-eyed, as Hibiya clutched at his jacket, catching his breath. They had somehow exited through the bark of an ancient tree, its branches towering above them like arms reaching for the sky.

In front of them, sprawled in all its grandeur, was Haruboshi Academy.

The campus stretched out like a small city, with sprawling lawns, gleaming white buildings, and towering structures that radiated wealth and power. Luxury cars lined the paths, dropping off students dressed in uniforms that were clearly tailored and expensive. A stream of teenagers—all looking a bit too polished and composed—flowed toward the main building, carrying high-tech tablets, designer bags, and an air of self-assuredness.

Kenio's jaw dropped. "Woah," he breathed, taking it all in. This was… way fancier than he imagined. And they're calling this a secret hero school?

Hibiya, standing beside him, was equally stunned, his eyes wide as he watched the students—many of whom looked like they were more prepared for a high-fashion photoshoot than hero training. "Are you sure this is… Meiyo Academy?" he asked quietly, as if the name itself was too secret to say aloud.

Kenio nodded slowly. "Yeah, it—wait, I mean, uh, what's… Meiyo Academy?"

"You already blurted it out not too long ago when you were tailing, I figured we'd just give it a rest with playing pretend if we're going to the same place." Hibiya said bluntly, giving Kenio a deadpan glance.
God, Kenio already sucked at this secrecy thing.

"Uh, then yeah, this is it," Kenio replied, sounding more sure of himself than he actually felt. "The hero training program's supposed to be, like, buried in the rest of this… whatever this is." He glanced around, trying to imagine what kind of hero school would be hidden in a place like this. "Kind of weird that they'd go through all this trouble just to keep it on the down-low."

Hibiya nodded absently, still absorbing the surreal scene in front of them. "It's… strange. All these kids… they don't look like they'd be interested in… hero work."

Kenio chuckled, leaning in close. "You'd be surprised. I hear some of these rich kids only want to be heroes because it's trendy." He smirked, giving Hibiya a playful nudge. "Who knows? Maybe you're the one who'll end up teaching them what real heroes are like, huh?"

Before Kenio could voice another complaint, someone slammed into him with the force of a battering ram. He was thrown off balance, his shoulder colliding hard against Hibiya's. The impact was brutal, like a punch in the gut, and he was left winded, spinning to confront whoever dared to shove him aside.

The culprit strode forward without a backward glance. A girl. Tall, lithe, and moving like she owned the place. Her presence cut through the crowd like a knife, silver hair cascaded down her back in two precise, symmetrical ponytails, each tied with large black bows that contrast starkly against her pale skin. She didn't turn around as she snapped over her shoulder, voice sharp as the crack of a whip as she only spoke one word.

"Move."

Kenio clenched his fists. He opened his mouth, words of anger rushing to his tongue. "What's your problem, you—"

But Hibiya's hand clamped down on his arm, pulling him back. "Let it go, Kenio," he murmured, his voice low but firm. "We don't need this. Come on."

---

Dumbasses. Taking up the walkway like that and they didn't see that coming?

Hajime stalked through the academy's polished hallways, her golden eyes darting left and right, cataloging every detail. So this is the secret hero school for underground heroes, she thought, her expression both scrutinizing and skeptical. If that's true, some of these kids don't look like they've ever thrown a punch in their lives.

Around her, a holographic AI, apparently named 'Miko-Chan', flickered in and out of view, energetically directing students to their destinations. The AI seemed to pop up everywhere, and they'd even made Hajime download some sort of weird app that placed the AI on her phone. She could only pray that this wasn't some weird spyware, though she knew better.

Miko-Chan chirped back and forth, directing the students like sheep as she waved them down the various corridors. "Exam takers, please head to the right! If you're here for the written exam, just follow me!" she chirped with artificial cheer, her image glitching slightly as she zipped around.

Hajime's gaze shifted across the other students, noting their varying expressions of nervousness, excitement, and oblivious enthusiasm. She could tell, just by looking, which ones had potential and which ones were dead weight. Her lips twisted into a faint, disdainful smirk as she thought, If they think they're getting into a hero academy like Meiyo, they're kidding themselves.

However, Hajime shook that thought out of her head as quickly as it came. No. She couldn't keep that mentality. That mentality was why she was here in the first place.

BLEP

Suddenly, a small, black cat leapt out of her bag with surprising agility, landing squarely on her head. Startled, Hajime froze as the creature paused, balancing effortlessly before locking eyes with her. It tilted its head as if examining her face with its round, unblinking eyes.

"The hell?" she muttered, brow furrowing in irritation.

Without warning, the cat gave a playful hop and launched itself off her head, landing on the polished floor. It took off in a sprint down the hallways—on two legs, no less—dodging around students and darting around a corner before she could even process what had happened.

What was that thing? Hajime scowled, rubbing her scalp as if to wipe away the insult. Probably some Lesser's p—I mean person's pet—though how it got in my bag, I have no clue. She clicked her tongue in irritation, straightened her posture, and continued down the corridor, finally reaching the exam room.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted. It was quieter here, the buzz of the hallways muted by the thick, soundproof walls. Rows upon rows of desks stretched out before her, each one equipped with a sleek tablet. Students filed in, taking their seats nervously, casting anxious glances at the front of the room where two figures stood side by side.

The first was Miko-Chan, smiling as she always did, her holographic form shimmering faintly. But it was the second figure that caught Hajime's attention—a tall, elegant woman with sleek, grey hair that fell in soft waves around her face. She was dressed in a business suit with a striking butterfly motif—a dark, clinging fabric with intricate patterns that mimic a butterfly's wings. Hajime's lip curled slightly as she looked the woman up and down.

That outfit is fucking hideous, she thought, rolling her eyes.

The woman stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the room. "Welcome, students," she began, her voice a smooth, commanding alto that cut through the silence. "I am Headmaster Ayane. Today marks the beginning of your journey here at Haruboshi Academy. A journey that will push you to your limits, test your resolve, and shape you into something greater."

Hajime's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the woman's every move. There was something about her that didn't sit right, but she couldn't quite place it. Still, she listened, feigning disinterest as the headmaster droned on about the school's history, its rigorous acceptance standards, and the importance of excellence.

"Haruboshi Academy is not a hero school," Ayane continued, "but its standards are no less demanding. We expect the best, and only the best will thrive here."

Hajime scoffed quietly. Sure. Whatever you need to tell yourselves. She slumped back in her seat, crossing her arms as she tuned out part of the speech, her mind wandering. If this really was the front for Meiyo Academy, then they did an impressive job at disguising it. For all intents and purposes, this place looked like a pretentious prep school with a god complex.

Miko-Chan took over seamlessly, giving a polished introduction to the upcoming exam. "The written test today will cover a variety of subjects—mathematics, history, strategy, and logic. You have one hour. Please do your best!" Her cheerful voice contrasted sharply with the stern look on Ayane's face.

As the tests were passed out, Hajime noticed the mix of reactions from the students around her—some were sweating, visibly nervous, while others looked determined, their eyes blazing with competitive fire. She took her own test packet, barely glancing at it before tossing it onto her desk.

Pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pit—

Suddenly, the black cat from earlier came bursting into the room, skidding to a stop as it leaped onto a vacant chair near the front. It stood up on its hind legs, reaching out with a tiny paw to accept a test packet from a startled assistant. The cat nodded, almost politely, before scampering off, clutching the test in its mouth as it vanished into the hallway.

Hajime blinked, slack-jawed. "What the fuck…?"

Miko-Chan's holographic face popped up directly in front of her, smiling sweetly. "Please, no inappropriate language during the exam!" she chimed before disappearing again without another word.

Hajime clenched her jaw, biting back a retort. She glared down at the test packet in front of her, flipping it open with a flick of her wrist. This better be worth it, she thought grimly, grabbing a pen and settling in as the clock on the wall began to count down.

---

Hm. Cat. Cute.

That was the first thing Hibiki registered when the small black bipedal cat skittered across his line of sight. It leaped effortlessly from desk to desk like a stray beam of darkness, its tiny paws barely making a sound. Hibiki's dull burgundy eyes flicked up from the paper before him, the faintest quirk of amusement curling at his lips. In a sea of tense, hunched shoulders and furrowed brows, the absurdity of a cat taking part in an entrance exam was the most interesting thing he'd seen since he'd walked into this stuffy room.

The cat paused briefly, looking around like it was lost, before making eye contact with him. For a moment, the two shared an unspoken acknowledgment. Hibiki's face softened—just slightly—but it was enough that if Nanashi were here, he would have teased him for it. It darted away just as quickly, vanishing into the crowd of students and leaving behind an odd, whimsical scent of catnip and… lavender?

He watched it go, the tension in his shoulders easing for just a split second. But the sight of the exam booklet in front of him quickly snapped him back to reality. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand and exhaled a shallow, barely audible sigh.

Right. Focus, Hibiki.

The questions printed on the paper were everything he expected and nothing he could've predicted at the same time. He scanned through them, biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a snort of laughter at the absurdity of some of them.

Question 1: If a civilian is in immediate danger during a villain attack but you are the only one in the vicinity with the speed to help, do you:

A) Prioritize your own safety

B) Call for backup

C) Engage the villain directly, ignoring the threat to your life

D) Use your Quirk as a diversion to ensure the civilian's escape

Classic hero school nonsense, he thought dryly, circling his answer without a second thought. It was clearly a trap question, meant to weed out those who didn't have the guts or the selflessness to make a quick decision. He could almost hear Nanashi's voice mocking it from a distance, a lazy smirk on his lips as he'd say, "These tests are for kids who dream of fame, not those who understand the true dirt under their nails."

But the questions that followed made him pause, his brow furrowing as he scanned further down.

Question 14: In an underground raid, how would you signal your partner without alerting the enemy?

A) Tap out a Morse code on the nearest metal surface

B) Use a silent hand signal understood only by you and your partner

C) Trust that your partner knows what you're thinking

D) Create a diversion to make noise seem natural

Hibiki's pencil hesitated. This isn't something they'd ask in any normal hero school. He glanced up, subtly scanning the room. No one else seemed to be reacting as he was, their heads bent over their tests with a focus that could have rivaled monks in meditation.

His heartbeat quickened slightly. These are Meiyo questions. There was no mistaking it now. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, as if confirming a suspicion he hadn't dared fully acknowledge until now. He glanced back down, running his thumb over the edges of the paper, feeling the weight of his choices.

Question 27: In a covert operation, a civilian discovers your true identity. Do you:

A) Eliminate the witness

B) Coerce them into silence

C) Offer them protection in exchange for secrecy

D) Use your Quirk to manipulate their memories

Eliminate the witness? He nearly scoffed out loud. His hand clenched around the pencil, the knuckles paling. The question felt like an echo of something Nanashi would have discussed over dinner, back when he was training him without calling it training, the lessons disguised as casual conversations.

He scanned the room once more, slower this time, eyes sharp and calculating. Were they all being asked these questions? Was this some kind of selective filtering? He squinted at a girl a few rows over, her face a mask of quiet distress as she scribbled furiously. A boy nearby was nervously tapping his foot, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

They don't look like they're handling it well. Hibiki let out a slow breath, keeping his face neutral. Maybe they're seeing something different on their papers.

Suddenly, a flicker of light materialized beside him, catching the corner of his eye. He didn't react immediately, but the presence was hard to ignore.

Miko-Chan, the school's AI assistant, hovered before him, her digital form shimmering like static in the air. Her eyes were narrowed playfully, lips twisted into a teasing pout.

"Hey," she chirped softly, just loud enough for him to hear. "You're not trying to cheat, are you, Hibiki-kun?"

He blinked once, slowly, as if he hadn't quite registered her question. Then, a slight tilt of his head and the deadpan delivery he'd perfected over years of dealing with Nanashi's antics. "If I were cheating," he said, voice completely devoid of inflection, "I'd be doing a much better job of it."

Miko-Chan squinted, her eyes narrowing into mischievous slits. "Hmm, you're too confident," she accused lightly. "I'll be watching you, then!"

And with that, she dissolved into thin air, leaving a faint, pixelated shimmer behind. Hibiki couldn't help but crack a tiny, amused smirk as she reappeared by the Headmaster—no, the woman who was supposedly the Headmaster, but who Hibiki knew must be someone else. Her laugh was like the tinkle of glass chimes, a sound too pretty and too practiced to be genuine.

The entire exchange lasted only a few seconds, but it left a trail of unease in Hibiki's gut. He knew this was all a setup, a carefully orchestrated act meant to deceive the uninitiated. He wasn't the uninitiated. He was here for Meiyo Academy's underground program, not this hollow facade they were selling to the public. But he couldn't let them know he was aware—not yet.

He leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment, the image of Nanashi flashing in his mind like an old photograph. His guardian's face, always lit with that sardonic smile, softened when it was just the two of them. He could picture Nanashi lounging at their tiny dining table, waving off Hibiki's concerns with a lazy hand.

"You're too serious, Hibiki. Learn to relax a little, or you'll burn out before you even get started."

He couldn't help the small, fond smile that tugged at his lips, the warmth that filled his chest despite the cold, sterile room around him. I'm doing this for you, Nanashi. He glanced down at the exam paper again, the text blurring for a moment as he blinked away the emotion. So you can see that your efforts weren't wasted.

He picked up his pencil once more, his expression hardening as he refocused on the task at hand. Whatever game they were playing, whatever illusion they were spinning, he was ready to see it through.

He sighed, slumping slightly in his chair as he flipped through the exam booklet. The pages whispering against his fingers like the opening of a story he was already too familiar with. The tension was mounting, but beneath it all, he felt the steady beat of his own pulse—unshaken, ready.

With a final glance at the students around him—some nervous, some blissfully unaware—he set his pencil to the paper, blocking out everything else. He had a job to do, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be.

---

Miko-Chan's Mini-Message!

Yoo-hoo! Friends and all new applicants!~

You've completed the written exam! Whew, what a brain workout, huh? Well done, everyone! I can already tell that each and every one of you put your heart and soul into those answers. And guess what?! You don't have to wait long for your results—I'm already grading them! I mean, who else but me, Miko-Chan, could handle this with such speed and efficiency?

With the help of our amazing team of specialist teachers and my state-of-the-art AI capabilities, your exams are being checked as we speak! It'll only take a few hours before the results are in. But don't just sit there nervously twiddling your thumbs!

Now that the exam's over, it's time for the real fun to begin! You're all free to explore Haruboshi Academy to your heart's content! Here's what you can check out while you wait:

Main Courtyard : A lovely open area with plenty of space to relax. Perfect for meeting your fellow students or just basking in the sunshine!

Library Hall : Home to countless books and cozy reading nooks. Whether you love adventure novels or academic texts, there's something here for everyone!

Cafeteria : Feeling a bit peckish? Head over to the cafeteria for a variety of snacks, drinks, and a special 'Exam Day Treat'! (*)

Recreation Area: Want to burn off some nervous energy? We've got a gym, an art room, and even a music studio where you can play around!

Observation Deck: One of the best views of this part of Kyoto. It's the perfect spot for reflecting on your future at Haruboshi Academy and snapping a pic! (Just tag me if you do! #HeyMiko)

And remember: This time is yours to enjoy! Explore, make friends, and maybe get a head start on discovering your favorite spots on campus!

Good luck, everyone! I'll be watching out for your smiles and happy faces! :D

---

Moka felt the lingering tension of the exam still coiled around her like a taut wire as she slipped out of the testing hall and into the embrace of the academy grounds. The light streaming through the windows was softer here, filtered through the late afternoon haze that bathed the school in a golden glow. It looked like a movie set. Picturesque. Perfect. Too perfect.

The air hummed with the murmur of students—some still buzzing with post-exam chatter, while others wandered aimlessly, their nervous energy bleeding out into laughter that rang a little too high. Miko-Chan's peppy message echoed in her mind, reminding them to explore the campus while the results were tallied. She smirked, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her oversized cardigan. "Explore to your heart's content!" It had sounded so cute, so inviting, but Moka couldn't help but feel like the invitation carried a certain weight to it. Like they were being given a chance to look, to see the glittering surface of this place—Haruboshi Academy, the pristine, polished veneer.

But Moka knew better. This wasn't just a fancy prep school for the wealthy elite. It was a front, a damn good one at that. She found herself walking slowly, eyes flicking over the immaculate landscaping, the meticulously designed buildings that looked like they'd been pulled from an architect's fever dream. The place screamed money.

And that's what made her uneasy.

Where the hell do they get the funding for something like this? The question twisted in her gut. It wasn't just expensive; it was extravagantly detailed, everything crafted to appear like an elite academy for the cream of the crop. Every brick, every manicured flowerbed seemed to shout, we have nothing to hide. But that was the trick, wasn't it? Hide everything in plain sight under a mountain of wealth and privilege, so no one would think to question what lay beneath.

She drifted through the courtyard, her gaze sweeping over clusters of students lounging on the benches, laughing, talking. Most of them fit the profile—designer clothes, shiny accessories, the kind of casual arrogance that came with never having had to worry about money. The kind of people she'd spent most of her life skirting around, blending in just enough to avoid notice.

But not everyone here was rich. She could see it in the way a few of them carried themselves, the small tells that most people wouldn't notice: the worn soles on their shoes, the slight hesitance in their posture when they approached the more ostentatiously dressed kids. Moka's eyes narrowed slightly, watching as one of them—a boy with unruly hair and a secondhand backpack—looked up, meeting her gaze for the briefest moment before quickly looking away.

There you are, she thought. You're one of them, aren't you? A Meiyo student, hidden among the crowd. Not everyone was here for the same reason. Some of them didn't even know.

Moka bit the inside of her cheek, her mind drifting back to the exam, replaying the questions over and over. Most of it had been standard—typical entrance exam material, designed to weed out the average from the exceptional. But there had been something else threaded through it, something subtle. Questions that didn't quite fit, that stuck out like tiny barbs if you knew what to look for. Meiyo Academy questions.

They were slipped in so carefully, almost imperceptibly. A line about combat strategy here, a question about moral philosophy framed in the context of Quirk usage there. Most of the students probably hadn't even noticed, hadn't given it a second thought. Or maybe some did, but she didn't notice. But Moka had picked up on them, that was what she was sure of. It was designed that way, she realized. A way to separate those in the know from those who were oblivious.

She had to give them credit—it was smart. Creepy, but smart. Having completely normal, non-hero training students here, blending them with the others. It made the whole thing look real. Genuine. A cover so thorough that even the parents sending their kids here would be fooled. It was a damn good camouflage, using the elite status of Haruboshi to mask the existence of something much deeper beneath. Meiyo Academy, lurking like a shadow in the folds of a golden curtain.

Moka found herself drifting towards the edge of the courtyard, away from the larger groups of potential students. The noise faded as she walked, the babble of conversation replaced by the rustle of leaves in the soft breeze. She let out a breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding, her shoulders sagging slightly. For a moment, the tension eased, and she could almost pretend that she was just another potential student here for the day of registration, just another teenager without a hundred secrets pulling her strings.

Her fingers itched to pull out her phone, to double-check the message from the recruiter, the one that had set her on this path. The one that had promised answers she'd been craving for years. Instead, she clenched her hand into a fist, nails digging into her palm. She wasn't here to indulge in curiosity. She had a purpose, and letting herself get swept up in the school's honeyed facade was a distraction she couldn't afford.

She glanced around, her sharp eyes catching on a trio of girls, all dressed in designer blazers, their laughter like chiming bells as they shared something on their phones. A group of boys, joking loudly, one of them tossing a basketball between his hands with an easy, confident grin. Moka rolled her eyes, feeling a familiar twist of irritation. It was all so normal. So disgustingly normal. It made her skin crawl.

But it was the kid standing off to the side that held her attention. He looked out of place, a little too stiff, his clothes neat but plain. No logos, no flashy accessories. Just a plain white shirt and navy pants, the kind you could buy at any department store. He wasn't poor, exactly, but he didn't fit the mold of wealth that the others did. He was watching the group, not quite a part of it, but not excluded either. Moka's lips curved into a small, knowing smile.

Another Meiyo kid. They were easy to spot if you knew what you were looking for. It was the way they carried themselves, the way they seemed to always be half a step back, watching instead of participating. It was the look of someone who had seen behind the curtain, who knew the act was just that—an act.

She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, letting the fabric of her cardigan swallow her up. The sun was starting to dip lower, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The whole place looked different now, the sharp lines and pristine buildings softened by the fading light. It almost looked... serene. Peaceful.

Moka's thoughts wandered back to her parents, to the café they ran together. The smell of freshly baked bread, the clinking of glasses, the quiet, steady hum of the espresso machine. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it was only last summer that she was standing behind the counter, her brother teasing her for misplacing the sugar again. She wondered what they would think if they knew where she was now, what she was trying to uncover.

A flicker of doubt curled in her chest, but she stamped it out quickly. She wasn't going to regret this. She couldn't. She had chosen this path, and she'd see it through, no matter where it led.

Suddenly, she felt a light tap on her shoulder, snapping her out of her reverie. Her body went rigid, every muscle tensing as she whirled around, her heart pounding hard in her chest as she heard the feminine voice.

"Hey!"

It took her a second to make out the girl's face, the shadows from the sun casting odd lines across her features. The first thing that stood out was her hair: two-toned, dark in the roots, and fading into a sun-bleached blonde that almost glowed. It was a deliberate kind of casual, the sort that took time to perfect—wild but curated, like an artist pretending to have accidentally spilled paint in the perfect pattern.

The girl tilted her head, a playful smile quirking at her lips as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a heterochromatic gaze. One eye was a deep slate of grey, almost stormy, while the other was a light, silvery gray that seemed to catch the sun just right, giving it an eerie glassy quality.

"Oh no, did I startle you?" The girl tilted her head, an apologetic smile flashing across her delicate features. "I didn't mean to. You just looked... I don't know, a little lost." Her voice was sweet, almost sugary.

Moka forced a smile, trying to swallow the discomfort clawing its way up her throat. "No, it's fine," she lied. Her hand twitched, almost moving to adjust her cardigan—a nervous habit she hadn't shaken off.

The girl's gaze dropped to the fabric, her eyes lighting up. "Oh my gosh, I love your cardigan! Where did you get it?" She leaned in, her tone suddenly infused with genuine curiosity, like they were two friends chatting in a café instead of strangers in a school courtyard.

Moka hesitated. She wasn't used to this kind of attention, especially not from girls like her—the kind who looked like they belonged here, who wore their confidence like a second skin. "It's, um, from a thrift shop back in my neighborhood," she admitted, her voice quieter than she intended.

The girl's face brightened, as if Moka had just shared the most fascinating secret. "No way! That's so cool. I love finding unique pieces like that. It's way more interesting than all the designer stuff everyone here wears, right?" She let out a laugh, a bright, ringing sound that seemed to draw the eyes of a few nearby students. Moka felt herself blush under the attention, caught off guard by the girl's warmth.

"I'm Ririya, by the way," the girl continued, sticking out her hand without a second thought. Her grip was surprisingly firm for someone so small, her palm warm against Moka's cool skin.

"Moka," she replied, her voice a little steadier now. "Nice to meet you."

"And this," Ririya said, turning slightly and gesturing to the figure standing a few paces behind her, "is my friend, Sanzen." The girl she pointed to stepped forward, and Moka felt her breath hitch.

Sanzen was tall. Much taller than Ririya and Moka, standing at what had to be close to six feet. She had a commanding presence, her long black hair cascading down her back in thick waves that looked almost wet in the fading light. Her eyes were a deep, unsettling amber, and they locked onto Moka with a predator's intensity. Moka had seen looks like that before—in the eyes of stray dogs, cornered and wary, but with a fight in them that made you step back if you had any sense.

Sanzen didn't say anything at first. Instead, she simply bounced a basketball against the pavement, the rhythmic thump, thump filling the brief silence that hung between them. She offered a small nod, more a flick of her chin than anything, but it felt like an acknowledgment nonetheless.

"Hey," Sanzen said, her voice deep and rough, like gravel grinding under a boot. There was a casual confidence in the way she held herself, the way she barely moved but seemed to occupy so much space. "Full name's Koiichi Sanzen."

"You guys know each other?" Moka asked, her curiosity slipping out before she could stop it. Had to know each other well if they're on a first name basis.

Ririya laughed, the sound light and breezy. "Oh, we've been friends forever, haven't we, Sanzen?" She glanced back at her tall companion, who gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, the corner of her mouth twitching up into the barest hint of a smile.

"Since the end of the test, but sure, forever," Sanzen replied, her tone neutral, leading to Ririya pouting and nudging her hard. She spun the basketball in her hands, the motion fluid and practiced, like she'd done it a thousand times before. "Something like that."

"So, how do you think you did on the test?" Ririya asked, turning her attention back to Moka. Her eyes were sparkling, the question casual, but there was a weight behind it that Moka couldn't quite place.

Moka shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant even as her pulse quickened. "I don't know. It was... fine, I guess." She hated how vague she sounded, but the truth was, she didn't want to give away how much she'd noticed. How much she'd picked apart the hidden threads woven into the exam.

"Fine?" Ririya echoed, her expression shifting into something teasing. "Come on, don't be modest. You look like the type who did really well."

"Yeah, right," Moka snorted, surprised at the small burst of genuine laughter that bubbled out of her. "You don't even know me."

Ririya leaned closer, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Oh, I think I know more than you realize."

The comment hung in the air like a challenge, and Moka felt her smile slip, unease curling back into her gut. Before she could respond, Sanzen cut in.

"I thought it was boring," Sanzen said, her voice breaking the tension like a rock thrown into still water. She bounced the basketball once more before spinning it on her fingertip. "I'd rather just... show them what I can do."

Ririya rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in the gesture. "Of course you would. But not everything can be solved by punching someone, Sanzen."

Sanzen's grin widened, showing the faintest glimpse of teeth. "Says you."

Moka couldn't help but smirk. The two of them were a strange pair—Ririya's bubbly, effervescent personality and Sanzen's dark, almost intimidating presence. They balanced each other in a way that made her curious, even as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prick up.

"So, Mitama-chan," Ririya said, pulling her attention back, "what brings you to Haruboshi? You don't seem like one of the usuals." Her tone was light, but the question felt pointed, like a scalpel carefully slicing through layers to get to the truth.

Moka hesitated. She could lie, spin some story about wanting a better education, but something told her that Ririya would see right through it. And Sanzen… well, she didn't know what to make of Sanzen yet, but she had the distinct impression that the tall girl didn't care much for pretense.

"Well… mostly, I'm here because it's the best non-hero school in the country," Moka said finally, her voice quiet but firm. "Didn't think I'd make it this far. I figured it was time for a change."

Ririya hummed softly, her eyes softening for a second before nodding. "I get that. Sometimes, you need a fresh start."

Sanzen's gaze flicked between them, and she gave a small, approving nod. "New places. New faces. Makes things interesting." She smirked, the basketball still spinning on her finger.

"Yeah," she agreed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Interesting."

Ririya clapped her hands together, her smile still as bright as ever. "Well, in that case, I think we're going to be great friends!"

Sanzen's laugh was low, almost a rumble. "Or something like that."

"Stop saying that, Sanzen-san!" Ririya barked.

Moka found herself smiling, the tension easing just a bit as she decided to hang with them for the rest of the day. Maybe she would be wrong about this place, about the people she'd meet here. Or maybe she was right, and they were all playing a game of masks and secrets. Either way, she had a feeling she was about to find out soon enough.

For the moment, however, she wasn't gonna stress over it.

---

Yanaihara Suou stood at the edge of the Haruboshi Academy courtyard, the morning sun casting long, golden rays over the pristine stone pathways. He took a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill his lungs before exhaling slowly. The taste of fresh beginnings, laced with the promise of disorder. His lips curled into a smile—charming, almost boyish if you weren't paying attention. But there was a sharpness there, the kind of edge that hinted at something more dangerous beneath the surface.

"Get a lay of the land, Suou. Even if you're a recommendation, don't get cocky. This isn't a playground. Yet." Shinon's words echoed in his head, the memory of his father's voice both a comfort and a challenge. He could still see the way he had looked at him before he left that morning, his sharp eyes softened by a rare flicker of something tender. Pride, maybe. Or pity. It was hard to tell with him sometimes.

The crowd of students surged around him, a wave of nervous energy and idle chatter. He let himself be carried along, feigning a casual interest in the grandeur of the academy's facade. It was impressive, sure—if you liked the kind of over-the-top architecture that screamed money. Haruboshi Academy was nothing if not a testament to the lengths the Public Hero Safety Commission would go to maintain their cover. Every brick, every meticulously groomed flower bed, was a carefully placed lie.

And Suou found it delightful.

His fingers toyed with the hem of his cardigan, a soft, cream-colored piece that matched his light-toned trousers. He looked almost ethereal, an image further accentuated by his pastel eyes that seemed to glow under the sunlight. If anyone noticed the slight twitch at the corner of his lips, they might mistake it for nerves. But in reality, it was excitement.

Suou pushed off the statue, slipping his hands into the pockets of his tailored, loose-fit pants. The school's air conditioning sent a pleasant chill through the halls, a stark contrast to the heat outside. He adjusted his thin, silver scarf—Shinon's latest gift—and smirked as he spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

Chikara Mizuki stood out like a sore thumb, her striking purple hair bouncing with each step. The oversized hoodie she wore, covered in patches of tech company logos, looked almost comically out of place against the backdrop of designer uniforms and expensive handbags. But she carried herself with a kind of confidence that made her seem completely at home. Mizuki wasn't just another student; she was one of the Big 3 of Meiyo Academy, a third-year legend known for her tech skills and that ridiculous mech suit of hers. One of the perks of the kind of work his dad did meant that he'd recognize faces like this a lot easier.

"Mizuki-senpai," Suou called out, lifting a hand in a casual wave. He grinned as she turned, her expression lighting up with recognition.

"Well, well, look who it is," she said, her voice carrying over the din of the crowd. She sauntered over, grabbing his arm in a firm grip before yanking him off to the side. "Yanaihara Suou, as I live and breathe. You know, I wasn't expecting to see you just wandering around like some lost tourist."

Suou feigned a pout, placing a hand over his heart. "Lost tourist? Senpai, you wound me. I was merely taking in the sights. You know, getting a feel for the place. Scoping it out, like my father suggested."

Mizuki raised an eyebrow, her golden eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, please. You can drop the act with me. We both know you're here to figure out the lay of the land for Meiyo. You're not fooling anyone, especially not me." She paused, then leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "Tell me, though—did your dad give you any hints, or is he leaving you in the dark on purpose? You're Jonquil's kid, after all. Expectations must be through the roof."

Suou let out a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know how he is. He likes to keep me on my toes. But I'd say I'm doing alright so far, wouldn't you agree?"

"Alright?" Mizuki's laugh was a sharp, bright sound. "You're more than alright. I'd say you've probably got half the teachers wrapped around your little finger, and you haven't even officially started yet. But that's not why I pulled you aside." Her playful smirk softened into something more genuine. "I wanted to make sure you knew—here, with me, you don't have to pretend. I'm in on it, too. I'm going to be working closely with Meiyo when I graduate. So let's cut the crap."

Suou's eyes widened slightly before his expression morphed into a sly smile. "Well, isn't that interesting? In that case, we might as well skip to the fun part, right? I've got a few ideas for some... 'adjustments' we could make around here. You know, to keep things lively."

Mizuki's grin turned wicked. "Oh? Do tell. I was thinking of starting small—maybe tampering with the security system to play creepy music in the hallways after midnight. Just a little something to spook the newbies."

"Creepy music is good, but how about this: We rig the dorm common room's lights to flicker like there's a power outage, but only when someone's alone in there. Pair that with a sound loop of distant footsteps, and you've got the perfect setup for a haunted house vibe."

Mizuki's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Now you're speaking my language, Yanaihara. I can't wait to see the chaos unfold." She held out a hand, and Suou shook it firmly.

Before their plotting could go any further, Suou felt a familiar presence behind him. He turned to see his parents approaching, Aya's delicate features softened with a fond smile while Shinon's grin was just as mischievous as his son's.

"There you are, Suou." Aya said, her tone warm but tinged with mild exasperation. "We've been looking for you. You wandered off by yourself again."

Suou shrugged, slipping his hands back into his pockets. "I was just making friends, Mama. You always say I should be more sociable, right?"

Shinon let out a bark of laughter, clapping his son on the shoulder. "Sociable, huh? Is that what you call it when you're already scheming with the upperclassmen? What are you up to? Come on, give your old man a hint."

Aya sighed, giving her husband a sideways glance. "He's up to something, isn't he?"

Shinon's grin only widened. "Iyaa, nothing too bad, I'm sure. But then again, he is my son."

Suou flashed both of them a cheeky smile, the kind that could lead to melting hearts or breaking rules, depending on the situation. Suou gave Mizuki one final wave before giving his full attention back to his parents. "Shall we head to the headmaster's office now? We've got some important business to discuss with Headmaster Ayane."

Aya gave him a knowing look, her eyes softening with affection. "Lead the way, sweetheart. And Mizuki, it was nice to see you, darling, but try to stay out of trouble for your final year here!"

Mizuki waved, skipping off into another direction as she easily blended into the crowd. "No promises!"

Suou smirked. This was definitely going to be a school year to remember. Whether it was due to himself or others, that remained to be seen. What a day.

---

Hajime slammed the door shut behind her, the sound echoing through the spacious, luxurious dorm room like a crack of thunder. The air was heavy with the scent of fresh linen and polished wood—clean, almost antiseptic. It was night now, and the darkness outside her window was punctuated by the faint glow of the campus streetlights. For a moment, she stood there in the center of the room, taking in her surroundings with a deep, slow breath.

The room was everything she had requested. Of course, it was—Hajime wasn't the type to leave things to chance. After the written exam, they had given her a survey to fill out, asking for her preferences on everything from the firmness of the mattress to the type of lighting she wanted. And they had delivered. The bed was king-sized, covered in a dark velvet duvet that looked like it would swallow her whole. Her belongings, meticulously unpacked by the staff, were arranged exactly as she had specified: her books lined up by height on the shelf, her sleek black laptop resting on the desk, her clothes hanging neatly in the walk-in closet.

She crossed the room, trailing her fingers along the edge of the mahogany dresser. The surface was so polished she could see her reflection in it—her cold, golden eyes staring back, analyzing, calculating. It was almost disorienting, this level of accommodation. It made her wonder: was this really a school? Or was it another gilded cage, like the one her parents had built for her?

Hajime pulled open the thick, blackout curtains, peering out into the courtyard below. She could see the faint silhouettes of students milling about, some walking in groups, others pacing alone. The moonlight cast long shadows, warping their figures into something monstrous. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes for a moment.

It was unsettling, the quiet luxury of this place. Too perfect. Too deliberate. Everything here was a façade, from the ornate chandeliers in the common areas to the soft classical music playing through hidden speakers. It was all part of the cover—Haruboshi Academy, the school of excellence. The veneer of prestige to hide the true nature of this place: Meiyo Academy.

Hajime wasn't here for the aesthetics. She was here for redemption, or whatever version of it she could scrape together. But the problem with redemption was that it required you to believe you could be redeemed. She snorted, pushing away from the window and flopping onto the bed. The mattress was just as she'd requested—firm, but with enough give to cradle her frame. She sank into it, feeling the exhaustion of the day seep into her bones. The moment her head hit the pillow, she groaned.

"Fuck," she muttered, running a hand through her hair. It was such a simple word, but it held the weight of everything she'd been carrying: the anticipation, the frustration, the constant effort to maintain control. She stared up at the ceiling, her mind racing even as her body sagged into the bed. This "redemption" bullshit was easier said than done.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her out of her thoughts. She reached for it, half-heartedly expecting some message from her parents, another reminder of the expectations they had shackled her with. But instead, it was a string of notifications from her old classmates at Hoshitsuki Middle School. Messages filled with feigned concern and saccharine pleasantries.

Hey Haji-chan, long time no see! How's Haruboshi? I heard it's super elite!

We miss you! It's so weird not having you around. Hope you're doing well.

Hajime's grip tightened on her phone. She could almost feel the forced smiles behind the texts, the hollow words meant to placate her. They knew what happened to Sajimi. They all knew. And yet they still had the nerve to pretend they were friends, to act like they hadn't been part of the chorus that cheered her on as she tore him down. It made her stomach churn.

With a sharp exhale, she blocked every single one of them. The messages disappeared in an instant, leaving her inbox blissfully empty. It was a small, petty victory, but it was enough to bring a faint smirk to her lips. They could grovel all they wanted; she didn't need their fake apologies.

She tossed the phone aside and stared up at the ceiling. Her eyes traced the intricate patterns of the molding, the way the shadows danced in the corners of the room. She couldn't help but wonder when the veil would drop. When would the charade end, and the real Meiyo Academy reveal itself? This school wasn't for the elite. It wasn't for those looking to pad their resumes or climb the social ladder. It was a school for the broken, the damned, the ones who had fallen so far they couldn't see the light anymore.

And yet, they wrapped it all up in this pretty package. It was strategic, sure, but it grated on her nerves. Why the pretense? Why go through the motions of being an elite academy if it was supposed to be an underground hero school? If they wanted her to atone, then why dress it up like a fashion show?

Hajime pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She needed to move, to burn off this restless energy that had settled under her skin. She paced the room, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. Her eyes landed on her desk, where a small stack of her training gear sat neatly folded. Without thinking, she grabbed her fingerless gloves and slid them on, flexing her fingers. The familiar weight, the slight constriction—it grounded her.

She held out her hand, focusing on her Quirk. HUMMINGBIRD. Her breath slowed as she activated it, feeling the familiar tingle of energy ripple through her fingertips. The air around her seemed to vibrate, and she could sense the velocity of every object in the room, as if the whole world had become a series of moving parts she could control. She picked up a stray pen from the desk and flicked it across the room. It moved faster than the eye could track, embedding itself in the far wall with a satisfying thunk.

It felt good. Too good. Like scratching an itch she didn't realize she had.

"Great," she muttered to herself. "Getting your kicks from throwing pens now, Hajime? Real impressive." She let out a harsh laugh, dropping back onto the bed.

The clock on her phone read 9:58 PM. Almost time.

Just as she closed her eyes, the room's soft light dimmed further, and a quiet chime rang through the air. Miko-Chan's voice cut through the silence, saccharine and playful as always.

":3 The coast is officially clear~! Meiyo Academy has officially selected you!"

Hajime's smirk had barely settled on her lips when the dorm room rippled. It was as if the air itself had turned to liquid, a shiver rolling across the walls. Her instincts, honed by years of Quirk training and an overactive fight-or-flight response, roared to life. Without a second thought, she was on her feet, hands clenched, her Quirk sparking to the surface like a current running up her spine. The room, so meticulously controlled and elegant, now felt like it was folding in on itself, the vibrations of her HUMMINGBIRD Quirk feeding into the tremor of the walls. It was like standing on the edge of an earthquake—tense, taut, and thrumming with a threat she couldn't yet see.

"What the hell?" Hajime hissed, her voice sharp, cutting through the suffocating silence. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the disturbance. The rippling effect seemed to concentrate on the far wall, the one opposite her bed, where the mahogany wood shimmered like the surface of disturbed water.

The ripple expanded, stretching wider, pulling at the edges of the room as if reality itself were being unstitched. Hajime felt her pulse spike, a hot rush of adrenaline surging through her veins. Was this an attack? A villain? Had someone breached the campus security already? Her parents had drilled her with the worst-case scenarios ever since she was a child, and her body was responding on instinct, every muscle tensed, ready to react.

Suddenly, a familiar, sing-song voice cut through her panic, sweet and grating all at once.

"Hajime-chan~! Don't be alarmed! It's just me, Miko-Chan!" The tiny, holographic figure of Miko-Chan materialized in the center of the room, floating effortlessly, her floppy ears twitching in delight.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Hajime snapped, her fingers twitching as she nearly threw a pen at the AI's projection out of sheer reflex. "You could've warned me before making my entire room feel like it was about to collapse! What the hell is this?"

Miko-Chan tilted her head, her oversized eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, come on, Haji-chan! You didn't really think it would end here, did you? With Haruboshi Academy's written exam? Tsk tsk~! I thought you read your invitation letter more closely!"

Hajime's eyes narrowed, her irritation flaring like a hot coal in her chest. She had read the invitation, of course she had—every damn word of it. But this? This wasn't in the fine print. She felt her control slipping, the familiar burn of anger rising up her throat.

"Yeah, I read it," she spat back. "But couldn't you have done this in a less fucking invasive or heart attack-inducing manner? Who the hell thought this was a good idea, breaking into my room like this?"

Miko-Chan gave a high-pitched giggle, the sound like chimes in a storm, completely unbothered by Hajime's outburst. "Nope! This is exactly the kind of dramatic flair we love here at Meiyo Academy! Now quit chattering and step through that portal! You've got an entrance exam to get to, remember?"

Hajime's head whipped back towards the wall as the ripple solidified into something more tangible—a portal, shimmering with an iridescent light that pulsed like a heartbeat. It was as if someone had sliced open the fabric of her dorm room, revealing a gateway to somewhere far darker, far more foreboding. She could feel the air around it—cold, electric, humming with the promise of something dangerous.

"Step through it?" she repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh sure, I'll just waltz right through the creepy, reality-bending hole in my wall. Sounds like a fantastic idea."

Miko-Chan floated closer, her digital grin widening. "Oh, don't be such a sourpuss, Haji-chan! This is what you came here for, isn't it? You wanted the underground hero experience, the real deal. Well, here it is! The Official Entrance Exam of Meiyo Academy—The Haunting Gauntlet!" Her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper, her little hands mimicking a spooky gesture.

Hajime felt a flicker of something that wasn't quite fear—more like a rush of anticipation, mingled with annoyance. She knew this was coming. Of course she did. She had known the moment she applied to this godforsaken place that it wouldn't be like any other hero school. This was Meiyo, after all. They didn't hold your hand. They didn't coddle you. If anything, they wanted you to panic, to push you to the edge and see if you'd fall or fight back.

But it didn't make it any less infuriating. She let out a harsh, humorless laugh, shaking her head as she turned back towards the portal. "You're one weird AI."

Miko-Chan puffed out her tiny chest with pride. "Thank you~! Now go on, step through! The clock is ticking, and you wouldn't want to miss the fun, would you?"

Hajime rolled her eyes, but there was a part of her—deep, buried beneath layers of cynicism and anger—that was curious, excited even. She had spent so long feeling numb, like she was moving through the world underwater. But this? This made her blood sing. It was unpredictable. It was real.

She took a step forward, closer to the portal. The cold air brushed against her face, sharper now, like the first breath of winter. Her reflection wavered in the rippling surface, distorted and twisted into something almost monstrous. For a brief moment, she saw Sajimi's face there instead, pale and accusing, but she blinked and it was gone.

"Alright," she muttered to herself, steeling her nerves. "Redemption, huh? Let's see how real it gets."

Without another word, she stepped into the portal. It swallowed her whole, the dorm room vanishing in an instant as she was pulled through, the world dissolving into a tunnel of swirling, iridescent shadows. The sensation was disorienting, like being yanked underwater by a powerful current. She couldn't see, couldn't hear—only feel the rush of cold air and the rapid thump of her own heartbeat.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

WELCOME TO MEIYO ACADEMY!

---

ED - KIMIGAITE MIZUNINARU BY ZUTOMAYO

---

Preview…

It was that time of the year.

That time of the year where he felt goosebumps trailing up his porcelain skin, all from sheer excitement that felt like it was swirling into overdrive. No longer was he Headmaster Ayane, though he had to admit that he looked damn good playing the part. No, now, he was himself. Wonder-Worlder. A soft tune, something whimsical and nostalgic, spilled from his lips as he meticulously groomed his graying hair, a quirk of vanity. It had taken on a stately silver sheen over the years, flecked with bits of black that clung on stubbornly—much like him, he thought with a wry smile.

He straightened his tie with a dramatic flourish, adjusting the sharp lapels of his midnight blue suit as if he were about to walk onto a stage rather than remain in the observatory of Meiyo Academy. The observatory was a cavernous, circular room with walls of glass, giving a panoramic view of the dense forest canopy outside. The treetops swayed gently under the evening breeze, darkened silhouettes against the twilight sky. Moonlight spilled into the room, casting long, twisting shadows that seemed to dance around him, reflecting the sparkle in his eyes. Nothing made him feel more alive than this.

The Haunting Gauntlet. It was officially underway. He could almost hear the first echoes of laughter, the breathless gasps of surprise, and the grunts of exertion as the students made their way through the perilous course. He reveled in the anticipation, feeling it coil tightly in his chest, each breath more thrilling than the last. There was an aliveness in his veins, a humming, buzzing energy that made him feel young again. Aside from, of course, the occasional daiquiri, but no drinking was allowed on the job. He chuckled at the thought, brushing off an imaginary speck of dust from his cufflinks.

Wonder-Worlder took in a deep breath, letting it hold for an alarming amount of time before releasing it in a slow, satisfied sigh. His eyes slid over to Untraceable, who was already there, seated by the central console. The interface was illuminated, casting a soft glow on her sharp, emerald features. Zara Qadir, hero alias Untraceable, was a vision of stoic focus. Her fingers danced over the holographic controls, checking feeds from hidden cameras, heat signatures, and Quirk activity monitors. The scowl on her face told him she didn't share his enthusiasm. Not outwardly, at least.

"Do you not feel it?" Wonder-Worlder chimed, his heeled dress shoes clacking against the marble floors as he waddled over with the gusto that was typical of him.

"A migraine," Zara deadpanned. "Yup. Par for the course, that."

"No!" Wonder-Worlder chided, eyes wide with exaggerated offense. "Not a migraine! I mean the butterflies in your tummy, the perspiration that preludes one grand time! It sneaks up on you, more and more."

Zara's lips twitched, almost breaking her poker face. Almost. "If by 'sneaks up on you,' you mean the impending nightmare of dozens of hormonal teens running wild in a maze of your own making, then sure. Butterflies."

He placed a hand over his heart in a mock swoon. "You wound me, darling."

Zara rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement in her gaze as she leaned back, crossing her legs. Her black tactical suit was impeccable, sleek and sharp against the darkness, the silver accents catching the dim light. The high-collared top framed her face perfectly, making her look like a statue of some ancient warrior goddess. Wonder-Worlder always thought she had a certain timelessness about her—a living legend, untouchable yet present.

"They're shaping up to be decent," Zara noted. "Better than I expected."

"That's new, you always expect the worst," Wonder-Worlder teased. "It's your charm point, really."

"I expect reality," she corrected, fingers tapping a rapid staccato on the console. "Reality is that some of them have potential. Real potential. That girl, Miyuki—her control over her hair is astounding. It's like watching a puppet master with a thousand strings. Still don't like how she handled her entry, but if you feel like she can be trusted, then I'll do my best to work with her."

Wonder-Worlder hummed thoughtfully. "Yes, yes, she's quite something. And our dear Hajime, so driven, so painfully trying to outrun her past. It's deliciously tragic, isn't it?"

Zara shot him a withering look. "Tragic isn't the word I'd use. More like a bomb waiting to go off."

"Same difference." He waved her off, grinning.

"Is it?" Zara questioned. "I'm not exactly looking forward to her piece of shit daddy breathing down our neck during her time here. I get that you have plans in place with her, but we really need to weigh our options and be careful."

Wonder-Worlder smirked impishly. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing. Anywhooooo~! I have a surprise for you!"

Her eyes narrowed. "A surprise?"

The grin that spread across Wonder-Worlder's face was pure mischief, the kind of smile that signaled trouble in the most delightful way. He clasped his hands together and with a dramatic flourish, tore open the fabric of reality with his Quirk. The space before him shimmered like heat waves on a summer road, then split apart with a noise like cracking glass.

From the rift, a small, black shape tumbled out—cartoonish, almost like an illustration of a cat brought to life. It had glossy, inky fur and comically large, yellow eyes that blinked up at them. The creature stretched lazily, then sauntered forward on its bipedal legs, swaying its tail in a hypnotic rhythm. Without missing a beat, it leapt into Zara's lap.

She looked down at it, her expression blank with the kind of unamused patience that only years of dealing with Wonder-Worlder's antics could bring. The cat gave a pleased mrrp, purring loudly as it rubbed its head against her chest.

"Why do I get the feeling this isn't just a cat?" Zara asked flatly.

"You wound me again!" Wonder-Worlder clutched his chest, staggering back as if shot. "This isn't just any cat. This is your new student!"

Before she could respond, the cat's form began to distort, twisting and stretching like melted wax. It elongated, limbs snapping into place with a disturbing fluidity, until the cat was no longer a cat but a person. The transformation was seamless, and in a blink, there was a fully grown human crouched in her lap—a lithe, muscular figure with inky black hair falling in shaggy layers, their eyes a striking mix of dark gray rimmed with red.

And they were completely naked.

Zara didn't flinch, though her eyebrows did rise a fraction. "Oh. Fucking. Brother."

The person in her lap, who had now taken the shape of a young adult, blinked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. A slow, mischievous smile spread across their lips, and they wrapped their arms around her neck in a gleeful embrace.

"Onee-chaaaaan~!" they sang, their voice a smooth, husky murmur that was far too pleased with itself.

Zara's eyes widened, the name hitting her like a physical slap. "Chuu?" she breathed, recognition dawning like a slow, creeping horror.

Chuu's smile was wide and manic, their face nuzzling into Zara's neck like an affectionate cat. "Miss me?"

---

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! WE ARE FINALLY HERE! And I didn't let the new Kendrick Lamar album make me lazy~! Aren't you all proud of me? This chapter is the official start of No Glory For The Restless, and I can't even begin to explain how excited (and nervous!) I am to finally share this story with you.

But before we dive in, let's talk about something super important: the results of the OC submissions. First, to everyone who submitted a character—thank you. From the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU. The amount of creativity, passion, and effort that went into each submission was incredible, and I feel so honored that you trusted me with your OCs. This process has been a wild ride, and I've learned so much from reading all 42 of your amazing characters.

If you'd like to know whether your OC was accepted, please check my FF profile! I've posted the casting list there for transparency and ease. For those whose OCs made it in, congratulations! I can't wait to bring your creations to life in this story.

Now, to those whose OCs weren't chosen: I owe you an apology. I've been agonizing over how to handle rejections, trying to find the courage to send individual messages, but…truthfully, I didn't know how to soften the blow. I was scared of hurting you, and I'm so, so sorry if my silence felt unfair or dismissive. It was never about avoiding you—it was about not knowing how to express just how much I appreciated your effort while still delivering disappointing news.

If your OC wasn't selected, please, please know this: it was never because your character was bad. I promise. You're all incredibly talented, and your OCs were a joy to read. The selection process involved so many factors—writability, space constraints, avoiding repetition, balancing personality dynamics, matching Quirks to the narrative, creating room for character conflict, ensuring story flow, and so much more. I had to make choices that aligned with the story's vision, and I hope you can understand that this wasn't about rejecting you.

I completely understand if you're feeling sad or disappointed—it's a natural response, and your feelings are valid. But if you'd like to remain involved in the story, I'd love to hear from you! I'm currently brainstorming roles for Class 1-B, and let me tell you, they'll have a MUCH more significant presence than in the canon My Hero Academia. If you're interested in seeing your OC shine in 1-B, please message me! Or, if you have ideas for villains, I'm all ears. Villains are crucial to this story, and I'm open to hearing your thoughts.

That said, if you'd prefer to disengage from the story entirely, I completely understand. No hard feelings. This process is emotionally tough, and your creative energy deserves to be where you feel it's most appreciated.

Finally, I want to remind everyone: this is a safe, respectful space. I've worked so hard to be approachable and accommodating, and I hope you'll treat me with the same kindness I've tried to extend. If you send hateful or guilt-tripping messages, I will block you. It's not something I take lightly, but my mental health matters, and I believe in fostering an environment of mutual respect. Everyone here worked hard, and that includes me.

Thank you again for your patience, understanding, and creativity. Whether your OC made it in or not, you've all left a mark on me, and I'm so grateful for your contributions. Now, let's get this story started!