Striding at a quick pace, the tall, muscular figure of a young man made his way through the streets of Kyoto. A little over six feet tall, white, and built like a professional athlete, he would probably have attracted the stares from the locals even if he'd been a normal human being; as it was, everyone he passed turned to gawk. He didn't mind too much, he was used to it by now. Ever since Robert's quirk had manifested his face and body had changed; his eyes were huge and almond-shaped, and black like twin pools of ink, he lacked a nose, and two long, prehensile, worm-like antennae waved about on his forehead, providing him with a sense of smell albeit leaving him with a very nasal voice.

That said, yesterday he'd taken a walk around the city shopping district and he'd noticed a couple of other mutants hanging around. He distinctly recalled a green-haired girl who must have been at least seven feet tall, and he could have sworn he glimpsed someone with a steam-locomotive for a head, although in retrospect he supposed that was probably just someone wearing a weird head-dress; maybe a publicity thing for some sort of train-based manga or anime? Was there a Thomas the Tank Engine anime? Probably; there was an anime of just about everything else. He'd browsed one of the many manga stores as he meandered around yesterday and had come across an anime of À la Recherche du Temps Perdu on D.V.D., where all the characters were young girls in wildly over-designed outfits, so Thomas really wasn't a stretch.

This morning, however, he had no time for browsing tonally inappropriate adaptations of classical French literature; he was on his way to his first day at Shiketsu High School, the internationally renowned school for heroes. He'd transferred as part of the school's famously wide-reaching exchange program from his native Minnesota, and was beyond excited to be spending his high school years in Japan. He'd woken up at the crack of dawn to make sure he had plenty of time; the last thing he wanted was to end up as the stereotype of the student running along with a mouthful of toast, being late on his first day.

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a loud honking noise and the screeching of brakes, followed almost immediately by a massive hammer-blow swiping his legs out from under him. His limbs bent and twisted in ways which would surely have shattered both of his femurs, if his bones were not fluid-filled sacs enabling him to bounce like rubber as he rolled across the front of the car. He glimpsed the elderly driver, peering like a tiny, asian Mr. Magoo over the steering wheel, then momentum carried him into the road, where he impacted the asphalt like a sack of wet cement.

He was dazed but unhurt as he picked himself up and dusted himself off. The driver wound down the window, and Rob's Japanese was just good enough to get the idea that he was apologising. Rob grabbed his bag from where it had landed, and gave a little bow towards the old man, trying to reassure him that he was fine, and it was no big deal. After a few sentences of Rob's halting, horribly mispronounced Japanese the driver wound his window back up and swerved off down the road. Rob reached into his pocket to check his phone for the time, only to discover that it had been smashed in the impact. He cursed quietly to himself and broke into a light jog.

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Rob stood outside the school, an imposing building in a modern style; it was all gleaming glass and steel, with very pretty, artfully landscaped grounds. The gates were open and a few people could be seen milling around even though it didn't look as though school hours had started yet. Luckily, he'd had his school jacket and cap in his satchel, since his shirt and pants were pretty scuffed up from his earlier accident. He walked into the lobby area where outdoor shoes were changed for indoor ones, as was Japanese custom, and put on the rest of his uniform. He'd been a little worried about walking around in the strangely military-looking outfit, but he had to admit, it looked pretty good. He adjusted his cap in his reflection in one of the windows, such that the brim rested on his antennae.

"こんにちは！" A voice came from behind him.

Rob span around to see a short boy wearing a hoodie instead of the uniform jacket, with a pair of long rabbit ears poking out from under the hood like a pair of pigtails.

"Oh!" Exclaimed Rob. "Uhm, kon-itchy-waaagh, oh-gen-kid-deskah?" He gave a small bow.

"An American, huh? Don't worry, I speak English pretty good. We got a lot of exchange students here. I'm Runt, but my hero name is 'Dust Devil'! Or it will be, once I get my licence." The kid grabbed Rob's hand and pumped it enthusiastically.

"I'm Rob, Rob Williams. My hero name's gonna be 'Velvet Worm'. Is my Japanese really that bad?"

Runt looked a little embarrassed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, it's okay I guess, by American standards. Uh I mean…" He hurriedly changed the subject. "So, what class are you in?"

"1-F, I'm just on my way to induction."

The little bunny-boy's eyes lit up.

"Me too! It's this way, follow me!"

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Rob stood in front of the mirror in the boy's bathroom, trying to wash the worst of the mess off his jacket in the sink. The… misunderstanding in the cafeteria had cut the induction tour short somewhat. Honestly he still wasn't completely sure why that girl had been brandishing a gun, but evidently the mistake had been his. Fragments of mashed potato and crumbs of minced beef disappeared down the plug-hole as he rubbed another glob of hand-soap into a gravy-stain.

"Oh, there you are!" Rob turned to see Runt poking his head through the door. "Oh, you probably don't wanna do that," the bunny-boy pointed to the jacket in the sink, "The uniforms are dry-clean only."

Rob lifted up his soaking wet jacket, and saw that the sleeves had already started to wrinkle and shrink up.

"Ah jeez!" Rod exclaimed.

"Did you bring any other clothes?" Asked Runt.

Rob sighed and pinched the area between his eyes where the bridge of his nose would be if he had one.

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Rob had spent the rest of the school-day acutely aware that he was the only one in his hero costume. Many of the other students took some pretty wide-ranging liberties with the uniform, but it seemed that costumes were worn only for very specific occasions; even gym class was mostly conducted in a standard tee-shirt and shorts.

That said, even dressed as he was he hadn't stood out all that much in class 1-F. Almost all of the rest of the class were mutants, and some of them were… borderline Lovecraftian in appearance. Honestly, Rob thought to himself, I guess one guy in his hero costume wasn't that big of a deal. He sighed as he slouched back to his apartment, his ruined uniform stuffed into his bag.

Well, at least that's about the worst first day I could have possibly had; it can only get better from here!

Almost immediately there was another honking and screech of brakes, and a familiar face was glimpsed squinting over the steering wheel as Rob bounced off the hood of the car again, this time heading in the other direction.

Oh fuck my life.

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