Chapter One – Deercrown to U.A.

So far, if Clayton had to pick one word to describe Japan, it would be "a lot." Signs with words he could barely understand flashed all around him, a constant reminder that he was far from home. The only piece of Deercrown he'd brought with him was a little plastic baggie of cookie crumbs that his mother had sent him off with. He'd eaten the last cookie on the plane and wished he'd saved just one more bite. Right now, he could use all the reminders of home he could get.

He glanced at his shoulder, where a large, well-groomed rat sat, looking as overwhelmed by the bustling surroundings as Clay felt. The familiar weight of Skipper on his shoulder was reassuring, though not enough to calm his nerves completely.

"This sure ain't Kentucky," he muttered. "What do you think, Skipper?"

The rat squeaked in response, digging his paws in slightly as if to steady him.

"Don't much care for the noise," Clay said, squinting as he pushed his way through the crowd the way he'd plow through snow.

Over the past few weeks, it felt like his life had been turned upside down more times than he could count. His parole officer told him he'd need to shape up and become a hero, so he went along with it. He applied to the only hero school in Kentucky and was promptly denied. Thinking he'd misread the rejection letter, he'd even shown it to his mother, but there it was, clear as day: he had "too much potential."

"Too much potential?" his mother had said, glaring at the letter while the possum on her shoulder hissed, showing its own distaste.

"I called 'em, Ma," Clayton had said, drumming his fingers on the table. "They told me I had the best quirk they'd seen but that it's the law to refer people like me elsewhere… They said I'd hear from them soon."

"Just wait until your brother hears about this!" his mother spat. "Your quirk is too good? I'll have Riley talk to them—they'll take you then!"

"Ma, he's the sheriff of Deercrown County… not the president."

"Don't you sass me, boy!" she snapped, the possum on her shoulder hissing again.

"I think Bella's hungry," Clay said, reaching up to scratch behind Skipper's ears as the rat perched in his usual spot on his shoulder.

His mother's mood hadn't improved when the next set of instructions arrived.

"Your quirk is so good that they're sending you to Japan?" Riley had asked, pinching a bit of cheese off his sandwich for the mouse on his shoulder. "What'd Ma say?"

Clay, sitting on the other side of his brother's desk, held Skipper in his hands, not trusting him to behave with someone else's food in sight. "Bella hissed at me, and Ma went out for a cigarette."

His brother, tall and dignified but somehow still looking casual in his sheriff's uniform, had eyed him thoughtfully, then tossed another piece of cheese across the desk for Skipper, who gobbled it up.

"Your quirk's strong, but I didn't know it was that strong… You even know a word of Japanese?"

"Nope," Clay admitted. "They said they'd send someone to teach me."

"When do classes start?"

"Two weeks from tomorrow."

Riley leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting toward the mumbling coming from the drunk tank at the back of the station. "Sober up, and I'll call your wife," he called. Then he turned back to Clay with a furrowed brow. "Are you sure you're not getting scammed?"

"Nope. But I guess I could always get a job at the factory." He shrugged, lifting Skipper back to his shoulder.

Riley chuckled. "I figured you'd be a hero someday, but… Japan?"

"Guess they have the best school in the world."

"You're getting scammed," he teased, though his voice held a hint of amusement.

"What? You think I didn't look 'em up? They want to send me to U.A., whatever that is," Clay said with a dry chuckle. "Plus, you think my parole officer would ship me overseas for one little fight?"

"Do you even know what U.A. stands for?"

"Nope." Just then, Clay felt a small rat scurry under his coat sleeve and poke its head out, darting across the station's old laminate floor. "Whoops…" he muttered, closing his eyes briefly to unsummon the rat.

Riley laughed, wiping a bit of mustard from his thick brown mustache. "I'm surprised you graduated high school."

"You think they were just tryin' to get rid of me?"

"Heh." Riley glanced at the mounted buck on the wall, a sight Clay wouldn't be seeing much of in Japan. "So, are you planning on going?"

"Guess I have to. My parole officer says all I'm good at is fightin', so she says I gotta fight for a livin'… one way or another."

"Well, I've broken up more fights of yours than I can count…"

"That's 'cause you're stupid."

The brothers had shared a laugh, winding down only when Riley stood up to refill his coffee. "Guess you're off to Japan. I'll try talking to Ma," he said quietly. It was clear to Clay that Riley would much rather break up another bar fight than have that talk.

It only felt real when a Japanese woman showed up at the family's trailer. She touched Clay's shoulder, and a few minutes later, he could speak Japanese. He didn't know if it was perfect, but he'd managed to test it by reading a few signs. It wasn't foolproof, but he could probably read as well as a ten-year-old.

Now, standing in a bustling Japanese airport, dazed by flashing lights and unfamiliar characters, conversations drifted around him in words he could understand but still felt foreign. He scanned the signs, squinting at each character as he sounded out words.

Even the air felt different. He missed home already.

Skipper nuzzled his hand, offering quiet comfort. "Okay, Skip, I think we're headed the right way," he said, spotting an exit sign and stepping toward it. As he stepped outside, he saw a long black car waiting with a robot driver in the front seat. "Just like they said," he murmured, tossing his backpack into the car. Before he climbed in, he glanced up at the rising sun. The same sun that shone over Deercrown County. This, he knew, was where he needed to be.