Bloom
"Oh, I just realized something. Should I be calling you senpai?" she asked lightly.
Sandatsu’s expression didn’t shift.
"You could," he said. "But would you mean it?"
Higana tilted her head slightly, the motion graceful, almost rehearsed. "Hmm. Well, I am younger than you. And it is polite."
She was smiling—she often smiled. It was warm, polite, and utterly unwavering. The kind of smile that remained unchanged no matter the topic.
She took his silence as an invitation to continue.
"It’s funny, isn’t it?" she mused. "All these little rituals. All these forms of respect. Senpai, kouhai, upperclassman, lowerclassman. Traditions, rules, hierarchy. The way people set boundaries around themselves, keeping things neat and organized."
Sandatsu leaned back slightly, studying her. Not just her words, but the way she said them. The slight rise in intensity. The undercurrent of something fervent.
Higana was good at keeping it controlled—better than most. But Sandatsu recognized obsession when he saw it.
"And yet," he said, finally responding, "you still ask if you should call me senpai."
Higana laughed lightly. "Oh, I don’t mind playing along. As long as it’s useful."
A simple answer. Honest, even.
Sandatsu nodded once. "Then go ahead."
"Senpai," she said, trying the word out, rolling it over her tongue as if tasting it. "Hmm. I like it. Maybe I’ll keep using it."
He didn’t care either way.
The entire time they spoke, Sandatsu had been using one of his quirks. He didn’t move, didn’t change his expression, didn’t give any indication that anything was happening—but「Reveal」had been active from the moment they sat down.
He could see Higana. Not just in the way anyone else would, not just her appearance, her mannerisms, the way she sat perfectly composed despite the clear sense of anticipation in her posture. He saw her. The details deepening as their conversation stretched on, as his quirk worked through layer after layer of information.
She wasn’t the one who had been targeting him.
That was clear now. Her actions, her movements, her patterns didn’t line up with the disruptions. She believed in what her cult preached, undoubtedly. She was devoted to the cause, fully absorbed in the ideology of Quirk Singularity, of forced acceleration, of breaking free from human limitations. But dealing with him wasn’t personal to her, not in the way his true enemy had made it personal.
Sandatsu didn’t let the realization change anything. He just kept the conversation moving.
"So," he said, "tell me about your group."
Higana leaned forward slightly, hands still folded, looking pleased. She had been waiting for this.
"Ah, where to start?" she said. "We are… believers. Witnesses to the inevitable. We don’t just see what’s coming—we accept it. The world is changing, but so many people are clinging to the past, terrified of what’s next. But why fear it?"
Her tone had the smooth, practiced cadence of someone who had explained this countless times before, to people both receptive and hostile.
"Quirks aren’t just mutations, or advantages, or abilities. They are truth manifest. The culmination of human potential. And yet, everywhere we look, people put rules and chains around them. Regulations, restrictions. They talk about safety, but what they really mean is control."
"You think quirks are meant to be unshackled?" he asked.
Higana nodded, her braids shifting slightly with the motion. "Of course. It’s only natural. Humans always fight against change, but change wins in the end. It always does. We only seek to hasten what’s inevitable. Bring forth the next stage."
"And your methods?"
She tilted her head slightly. "We guide. We encourage. We let people bloom."
He had already heard the rumors. The experiments. The way they pushed people past their limits, hoping to trigger an Awakening. She wasn’t lying when she said many of their subjects were volunteers. But there were also those who weren’t.
"And the ones who don’t survive it?" he asked, his tone still unreadable.
Higana’s expression didn’t waver. "Not all seeds sprout. Not all flowers flourish."
There was no hesitation. No guilt. Just acceptance.
Sandatsu exhaled slowly through his nose, taking that in.
The greenhouse was expansive, filled with the scent of damp earth and the mingling aromas of a hundred different plants. The spider lilies were everywhere, of course—clusters of them blooming in rich reds and delicate whites—but they didn’t dominate the space. There were orchids, broad-leafed ferns, climbing vines that stretched up towards the glass ceiling. A deliberate chaos, structured but not controlled, the kind of order that allowed everything to thrive in its own way.
Higana glanced over her shoulder at him, fingers brushing along petals and leaves as she moved. "You know, senpai, I was a little worried when we arranged this meeting," she admitted. "I thought you might be more… stern. Or, I don’t know, brooding?"
Sandatsu snorted. "I do brood."
Higana moved towards one of the raised garden beds, brushing her fingers along the edge.
"We face our own problems, you know," she said, her voice still casual, but with an edge of something deeper beneath it. "It’s not as if the Singularity Cult operates without resistance. The world is full of people who want to keep things as they are, no matter how unnatural that is. But then there are others…"
She plucked a single fallen petal, rolling it between her fingers.
"Kwoolanism has been growing fast in Japan," she said. "And at first, I thought we might find common ground with them. After all, they also believe quirks should be embraced fully. That people should find power in them, live by them, become them. But the more I listen to their doctrine, the more I realize how deeply flawed it is. Specially since they assimilated another belief. A delusion of hubris."
Sandatsu leaned against one of the nearby stone planters, listening.
"Divinity. No, rather, otherness," Higana said, with something like distaste. "That’s what they cling to. They elevate quirks to a sacred status, worship them, idolize them. But do you see the problem, senpai?"
She turned to him fully now, her single visible eye gleaming with intensity.
Sandatsu tilted his head slightly. "They put quirks on a pedestal."
"Exactly." Higana let the petal fall, her hands spreading slightly as if in emphasis. "But quirks aren’t gods. They aren’t something to kneel before or pray to. They are us. They are the truth of humanity’s evolution, the next stage of what we are meant to become. But the moment you start worshipping something, you separate yourself from it. You create a gap. A hierarchy."
She let out a short, breathy sigh, her fingers curling into her palms before she relaxed them again. "It’s almost funny," she murmured. "In their own way, they’re still clinging to the old world, still placing things in rigid structures of divinity and devotion. They just replaced the names."
Sandatsu watched her for a long moment before speaking. "And you think your approach is different."
"It is," Higana said, conviction in her voice. "We don’t bow to quirks. We become them. We push forward, no matter the cost, because we know what awaits us on the other side. There’s no need for gods, no need for reverence. Just the truth of what we are meant to be."
Sandatsu hummed thoughtfully. He could see why she thought that way, why she had no hesitation in it. He wasn’t unfamiliar with conviction that strong.
He glanced around the greenhouse again, taking in the way everything was arranged. The spider lilies, her favorite, were prominent, but she had made space for everything else. It wasn’t just her personal preferences shaping this place—she had made room for other things to grow, other perspectives to exist alongside her own.
For all her fanaticism, she wasn’t blind to the existence of other possibilities.
It wasn’t just in her words—it was in the way she carried herself, in the way she breathed, in the way her visible eye gleamed with something just a little too bright. She didn’t doubt anything she said, didn’t hesitate.
That kind of certainty was rare.
"You're pretty devoted," Sandatsu remarked, voice even, but not dismissive.
Higana turned to face him fully, tilting her head slightly. "Of course," she said, as if the idea of it being any other way was absurd. "Without conviction, people wither. They stagnate. And stagnation is worse than death, don’t you think?"
Sandatsu hummed again, noncommittal.
Then she looked up at him, her single eye gleaming with curiosity. "And you?" she asked, taking a step closer. "What’s your conviction, senpai?"
"The world is yours."
She quoted it so easily, like she had rehearsed the words before. It wasn’t something he had ever really claimed as a personal mantra, but the world had given it to him anyway.
The world is yours.
A proclamation? A promise? A warning?
Her fingers toyed with the edge of one of her braids as she watched him, waiting for his answer. "Is that really it?" she asked. "Is that the truth? Is that all those eyes of yours see?"
Sandatsu didn’t answer.
For a moment, he let the silence stretch, considering.
Then, before the weight of it could settle too heavily, he exhaled and shifted his stance, rolling his shoulders slightly.
"Well you see," he said, his voice deliberately casual, "it’s the duty of a senpai to help out their kouhai, right?"
Higana blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.
"After hearing about your group, well." He smirked. "Guess I’ll lend you a hand."
For half a second, she just stared at him, then her lips parted in something between disbelief and amusement. "That’s your response?"
"Don't you want to hear my offer?"
"You dodged the question," she pointed out, though there was no annoyance in her tone. If anything, she looked entertained.
Sandatsu shrugged, but didn’t confirm or deny it.
Higana watched him for a moment longer, then sighed through her nose, reaching out to idly adjust a leaf on one of the plants beside her. "Well," she said, "I suppose I’ll take what I can get."
“I meant it,” he said.
Higana looked up at him, tilting her head slightly, but she didn’t speak, waiting for him to continue.
Sandatsu let his gaze wander over the greenhouse for a moment before shifting back to her. “I’ll lend you a hand. You and your group. That means—access to my research on Quirk extractions, transplants, duplication.” He counted them off casually, like he was listing groceries. “And Hijack’s research too. The data I stole from Shiketsu.”
Higana’s expression didn’t change much, but the subtle shift in her stance—how her fingers stilled against the flower’s petal, how her visible eye sharpened—made it clear that he had her attention.
“Oh my,” she murmured, voice as composed as ever. “Senpai, you really do bring the nicest gifts.”
Sandatsu's smile widened. “That’s not all. I can also supply you with any substance you’d need for experiments.”
Now she actually smiled, slow and pleased. “You’re very generous,” she said. “Much obliged.”
The words were perfectly polite, but there was something just beneath them, a quiet calculation. She knew the value of what he was offering. The kind of research he had access to wasn’t something that could be found just anywhere.
“Most of all,” he continued, “I offer you my own body.”
Silence.
A single beat of stillness, then:
“…Wow.”
Higana blinked up at him, the corners of her lips curling slightly in what might have been amusement, but the look in her eye was flat. Empty. Cordial but completely lifeless, like someone repeating social cues without any real attachment to them. “Senpai, I didn’t think you were a playboy like that. I'm sorry but I have to decline your offer. I'm not interested and besides, as a priestess I must remain pure-”
Sandatsu exhaled sharply through his nose. “Oi,” he muttered, “I meant as a test subject.”
Higana’s expression didn’t change immediately. She just stood there, perfectly composed, perfectly still. Then, as if processing the words a second time, she let out a small hum.
“Oh, okay” she said simply.
And then she actually considered it.
Her fingers returned to the lily’s petal, tracing its edge again, slower this time. “Now that,” she murmured, “is interesting.”
Sandatsu could tell she meant it.
Because in scientific circles, he wasn’t just some powerful villain making waves in the underworld—he was an anomaly. A complete, unexplained contradiction. A walking subject of controversy, constantly debated and studied from afar. The things his body had endured, the quirks he had acquired, the abilities he possessed—he wasn’t supposed to exist like this.
And now here he was, offering himself up for study.
Higana tilted her head again, watching him. Then, with a quiet chuckle, she said, “You know, there are people who would kill to have this opportunity.”
Sandatsu shrugged. “Guess I’m just nice like that.”
Higana smiled, her visible eye gleaming. “You really are an interesting senpai.”
Sandatsu had expected a lot of things from this arrangement. Maybe some kind of induction into her group’s inner workings, maybe a test to gauge the limits of his body, maybe something insane and experimental that would push the very fabric of Quirk science.
He hadn’t expected to be hunched over a desk, red pen in hand, going over a first-year’s coursework.
With a dull scrape, he marked an error in Higana’s notes, then leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know,” he muttered, “this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I’d lend you a hand.”
Across from him, Higana sat perfectly straight, hands folded neatly atop the stack of papers he was reviewing. Her long braids rested over her shoulders, the muted greenhouse light catching in the pale green strands, giving them an almost iridescent sheen.
She smiled at him, perfectly composed, like she was addressing a child who simply didn’t understand. “It would be wasteful not to have you go over these,” she said. “You’ve already gone through your first year, haven’t you?”
Sandatsu exhaled sharply, setting the pen down with a quiet clack. “Didn’t think you’d take this stuff so seriously.”
Higana tilted her head slightly, her visible eye calm and unbothered. “My group is my priority,” she said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “But having priorities doesn’t mean one mustn’t be diligent in other endeavors.”
She said it so matter-of-factly, so naturally, that Sandatsu just looked at her for a moment.
He supposed it made sense. She wasn’t just some fanatic without direction—she was methodical. She was dedicated, not just to her beliefs but to the process of them. It wasn’t just about rushing blindly toward a future of accelerated evolution. It was about setting a foundation, building toward something with care and precision. So it only made sense to apply the same care and precision to everything else she did.
Sandatsu leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. His ragged cape shifted slightly as he moved, the worn fabric pooling at his sides. “Guess that’s fair,”
Higana simply nodded, like there had never been any question.
Sandatsu glanced back down at the notes. “Still, though,” he muttered, tapping the paper with the pen. “Some of these answers are sloppy. And you keep drawing on the sides of the pages. If you’re gonna bother with this, might as well do it properly.”
Higana chuckled, a quiet, measured sound. “How diligent of you, Senpai.”
Sandatsu scoffed but didn’t argue.