First Day
The incessant buzzing of my alarm yanks me from the clutches of sleep, and I groan as I fumble to silence it. My eyelids feel like lead weights, and every muscle in my body protests as I begrudgingly roll out of bed. Another day, another battle against exhaustion.
My cramped apartment is a haphazard maze of clutter, clothes strewn across the floor and textbooks piled precariously on every available surface. With a resigned sigh, I drag myself to the bathroom, the cold tiles shocking my bare feet awake.
As I stare bleary-eyed into the mirror, I can't help but notice the dark circles etched beneath my eyes have grown more noticeable, a telltale sign of another sleepless night spent tossing and turning. With a heavy sigh, I splash water on my face, hoping to wash away the fatigue clinging to my skin like a stubborn stain.
I stumble into the cramped kitchen of my apartment, my stomach rumbling with hunger despite the weariness that weighs heavy on my limbs. With a resigned sigh, I reach for the familiar box of Popsy-O's cereal, pouring myself a generous serving into a chipped bowl.
As I spoon the sugary breakfast into my mouth, I flick on the small television perched precariously on the counter, the screen flickering to life with a burst of static. The morning news anchors drone on in the background, their voices a monotonous hum as they deliver the latest headlines.
My attention is drawn to the screen as images of devastation flash across the screen, the words "terrorist attacks" blaring in bold letters beneath. The reporter's voice is a steady as they detail the scope of the tragedy, the bulk of the attacks taking place in Africa with casualties numbering in the thousands, if not millions. My spoon briefly pauses mid-air as I hear the reports.
Just weeks ago, it was my own city of Kyoto that bore the brunt of destruction, the aftermath of the recent wave of villain attacks still fresh in my mind. And now, as I sit in the safety of my own home, thousands of miles away from the chaos unfolding on the other side of the world, I can't help but feel a sense of detachment from the suffering of others. I feel a mix of relief and guilt. A Hero can't think like this.
With a heavy heart, I push away from the table, the remnants of my breakfast sitting heavily in my stomach. Rising from my chair, I make my way back to my bedroom, the soft glow of morning sunlight filtering through the curtains.
The walls are adorned with posters of my favorite heroes. A threadbare rug covers the floor, its colors faded from years of use. I pull open the closet door, rummaging through the jumble of clothes until I find an appropriate outfit. It's a simple ensemble, consisting of a white blouse and navy skirt. I don't worry too much over it as I'll be wearing my hero costume at the school.
I take a moment to smooth out the wrinkles and adjust the collar, trying to muster up some semblance of professionalism despite the fatigue.
With a sigh, I turn my attention to my hair, pulling it back into a short messy ponytail and securing it in place with a scrunchie.
With a deep breath, I sling my bag over my shoulder and step out into the bustling city streets.
Normally, I'd hop on the train to get to Shiketsu High, but today I'm not in the mood for crowded commutes and stuffy train cars.
Closing my eyes, I focus on the image of one of my favorite heroes, their features etched into my mind with crystal clarity. As I concentrate, I feel a familiar sensation wash over me, like pins and needles prickling across my skin.
When I open my eyes again, I'm not myself anymore. My hair is shorter, spikier, with a dark blue hue. My shoulders feel broader, my stature taller.
It's only a partial transformation, a requirement to someone else's quirk. I can't fully mimic their appearance while also using their abilities, so I settle for this halfway compromise.
With a grin, I spread my arms wide, and from my back, two magnificent blue wings unfurl. The excitement of copying a quirk overshadowing the fact that I just ruined the back of my shirt.
With a powerful beat of my wings, I lift off the ground, soaring high above the city skyline.
As I step into the bustling halls of Shiketsu High, I'm greeted by the familiar sight of students hurrying to and fro.
I make my way to the teacher's lounge, where I know my duties as a teacher's assistant await.
Taking a seat at my designated desk, I pull out the files of the students I've been assigned to assist. As I flip through the pages, I can't help but notice how much information is missing from the official records of some of them. It's as if whole chunks of their time as hero students have been erased, leaving behind only vague outlines of their experiences after enrolling at Shiketsu.
Frowning, I glance around the room, wondering if anyone else has noticed the discrepancies. But the other teachers seem too preoccupied with their own tasks.
Just then, Rosethorn enters the room. "Morning, Mako-san," she says with a warm smile.
I return the smile with a polite bow. As a pro hero and respected educator, she's someone I look up to, and I can't help but feel a sense of nervousness as she approaches my desk.
Rosethorn takes a seat beside me and leans in close. "Listen, Mako-san," she says in a low voice, "I need to talk to you about something important. Though I feel like you have probably noticed already."
"There are some students in Class 1-D who have been involved in... extraordinary affairs, dealing with villains and the like. It's important that this information remains confidential, for their safety and the safety of others." She says looking at the files I was reading.
I nod solemnly. Kids these days are really something. Dealing with villains before graduating.
I'm already tired. I wanna go home.
Just before the class begins, I find myself standing at the front of the room, a sense of nervous anticipation coursing through me. As the students begin to settle in, a blonde boy with an infectious grin catches my attention. He seems like the type who always has a joke ready. Even after reading the student files, I can't for the life of me remember his name.
"Hey, sensei," he says, his voice filled with mock indignation. "You can't just start class like normal without introducing us to your new sidekick over here."
Frustration gnaws at the edges of my mind as I rack my brain, trying to recall any details that might help me identify him. But the photos in the files are small and grainy in my mind.
Just when I'm about to give up hope, something catches my eye: a small neon green dragon sitting on his desk. Inigo Myoga.
Rosethorn rolls her eyes playfully, her lips quirking into a smile as she gestures towards me with a flourish. "Alright, alright," she says.
As Rosethorn smiles and encourages me to introduce myself, I straighten up. "I'm Mako Takahashi, but you can call me Ersatz." I say, my voice steady as I address the class.
There's a ripple of murmurs and whispers through the class as they take in my introduction, their curiosity piqued by my hero name. I can't help but feel a sense of pride at the recognition, knowing that I've already made a small impression on the students.
But before I can dwell on it for too long, another voice breaks through the chatter, drawing my attention to the back of the room. It's a tall, muscular blonde young man, his laid-back demeanor contrasting sharply with the energy of the rest of the class.
He leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on me with a lazy curiosity as he speaks. "And what's your quirk?"
I smile at the question, grateful for the opportunity to talk about quirks. "Well, my quirk is called Counterfeit," I explain, my words coming easily as I launch into a brief description. "I can transform into others from memory, copying their appearance and even their quirks."
As I finish explaining my quirk, a wave of excitement ripples through the class. But amidst the chatter and excitement, one voice stands out above the rest. It's Dragon Quir-
I mean, Myoga. Keep it together Mako, referring to others by their quirks is rude.
His eyes shine with excitement as he talks about how I'm "totally similar to Chris." My curiosity piqued, I turn to the front of the room, where Chris sits, his attention focused intently on his notebook as he scribbles down notes about my quirk.
He looks up from his notes, his expression thoughtful as he considers the question. After a moment's hesitation, he nods in agreement, but it's clear that his mind is still focused on the task at hand. He doesn't look like one to get caught up in idle chatter, especially when there's valuable information to be archived.
Sensing the shift in mood, Rosethorn steps in, her voice cutting through the chatter with quiet authority. "Mako, why don't you show the class what you can do?" she suggests, her gaze steady as she encourages me to put my abilities on display.
I nod in agreement, grateful for the opportunity to demonstrate my quirk to my classmates. With a deep breath I let the transformation wash over me, my appearance shifting and morphing until I stand before them as a perfect replica of Rosethorn-sensei herself.
There's a collective gasp of astonishment from the class as they take in the sight before them, their eyes wide with wonder at the display of my abilities.
"And you can even use her quirk?" comments a black-haired boy with a messy pompadour sitting at the back.
"Two Rosethorns could probably take an army." Adds a boy sitting closer to the front. He had a third eye on his forehead. The sparkles around his face didn't seem like part of a quirk though, how curious.
Encouraged by their enthusiasm, I decide to showcase it once more.
Focusing my mind, I channel the image of one of the students sitting at the front, a boy with short white hair and angelic wings. The transformation is seamless, and I stand before them as a perfect replica of him, his innocent and delicate features mirroring my own.
The girl sitting behind Noah lets out a cheer, her excitement palpable as she exclaims, "Two Noahs, oh my God, oh my God!" Her infatuation is evident, and she looks like she could faint from sheer excitement.
"If two Rosethorns can take on an army, two Noahs can steamroll any pageant there is!" jokes Myoga.
"Excuse me? One is more than enough!" says the hyped girl that looked close to fainting, turning around to respond to Myoga's comment.
With a calm demeanor, Rosethorn interrupts the excitement, reminding the class that we can discuss my quirk further after the lesson. Her gentle tone brings a sense of order back to the room, and the students settle back into their seats.
After the final bell rings, signaling the end of classes for the day, I make my way to the staff room to speak with Rosethorn.
As I approach Rosethorn's desk, she looks up from her paperwork, a warm smile gracing her features. "Oh, good work today, Mako-san," she greets me, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. "You were a lifesaver."
"I was just doing my job." I return her smile.
"Your expertise on the extra subjects I had to teach really helped me out. I mean it." Rosethorn nods, her expression turning more serious as she continues. "You know, Hijack's classes have been a challenge to cover since... well, you know," she says, her voice trailing off slightly as she mentions the pro hero's untimely death during the Fushimi Ward attack.
I nod in understanding, my heart heavy with the memory of the tragic event. Hijack had been a respected teacher and pro hero, specializing in Quirk Ethics. With Rosethorn already teaching the regular ethics class, she had been tasked with covering Hijack's classes in addition to her own.
As I reflect on Rosethorn's words, a sense of pride washes over me, mingling with the memories of the special courses I had taken on Quirk Ethics before I became a pro hero. The path to mastering my quirk, Counterfeit, had been paved with countless hours of studying the specific legalities of various types of quirks, far more than the average pro hero would need to know.
"I'm just doing my part," I reply humbly, knowing that every little bit helps in times like these.
As the evening settles in, I find myself seated at a cozy corner table in my favorite restaurant, a steaming bowl of ramen and a cold beer before me. The soft glow of the overhead lights casts a warm ambiance over the dimly lit space, and the chatter of other patrons fills the air. I live for moments like these.
I take a sip of my beer, savoring the crisp, refreshing taste as I reach for the stack of student files resting beside me.
The first file I come across belongs to Atsushi Orochi, a name that catches my attention immediately. As I flip through the pages, I discover that he's cousins with Seiryu, one of my senpais from my own time at Shiketsu, as well as a fellow pro hero. Atsushi seems like an easy student to remember, not only because of her ties to Seiryu, bu also because of her quirk. I always found mutant-types easier to remember. Probably because their quirks were so, well, evident.
Moving on, I delve into the file of Dragon Quirk. No. Fuck.
Inigo Myoga. That's it. Anyway, he's a student with a reputation for trouble. My search for information on his ties to the yakuza comes up short, leaving me with more questions than answers.
Finally, I come to Christopher Cain. Despite having a quirk that is all but unremarkable on it's own, I find myself remembering quite easily. Mostly because our abilities are similar. His involvement in numerous altercations with a newly emerging villain group in Kyoto sends a chill down my spine. So young and yet already in so much danger. These kids really are precocious.
With a determined nod, I make up my mind. Organizing counseling sessions for each of the students in Class 1-D is the only way forward. It's clear that this class is in dire need of guidance and support, and as their teacher's assistant, it's my responsibility to provide it.
The thought of one student nearly being killed before the Fushimi Ward attack sends a shiver down my spine. And the fact that other students have been hospitalized on multiple occasions, their struggles kept hidden from the official records, only adds to my sense of unease.
I can't help but wonder how everyone else let it get to this point. How did the teachers and staff at Shiketsu High allow these students to slip through the cracks? And where is the missing student now, the one whose absence hangs like a shadow over the class?
I understand wanting to let the kids complete their education, but this is too much.
The hustle and bustle of the day has begun to fade, replaced by a quiet calm that settles over the city like a comforting blanket.
I can't help but feel a sense of weariness creeping into my bones as I trudge along the familiar path to my apartment. But as I reach the entrance to my building and step inside, a familiar itch begins to gnaw at the back of my mind. The urge to don my hero costume and take to the streets in search of justice is impossible to ignore, despite the exhaustion. If only I could find a multitasking quirk to copy, to fight villains and nap at the same time.
I pause for a moment, considering my options. There's no denying that I could use a night off, a chance to rest and recharge. But then again, maybe just one patrol wouldn't hurt. Maybe just one night spent patrolling the streets, keeping a watchful eye out for trouble, would be enough to satisfy the restless longing within me.
With a sigh, I make up my mind. Tonight, I'll indulge in just one patrol, just one night spent fighting for what's right. And then, perhaps, I'll allow myself the luxury of a well-deserved rest.
I groggily reached for my phone, my hand fumbling around on the nightstand until I finally found it. The unfamiliar melody pierced through the early morning silence, jolting me awake with a start. It wasn't my usual alarm tone, and for a moment, I couldn't quite place where I was.
Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I squinted at the bright screen, the name "Rosethorn" flashing in bold letters. Rosethorn. That's right, she was my mentor at Shiketsu High, and today was only my second day as her teacher's assistant.
I swiped to answer the call, my voice still thick with sleep as I mumbled a groggy "Hello?"
"Mako-san, where are you?" Rosethorn's voice came through the phone, clear and urgent. "You're already late for your first class."
Ah fuck.