Chapter 4
I woke up, feeling a lot better than I did yesterday. The side-effects of the Archer card had mostly dissipated. I still felt slightly restless, but it was a small, ignorable issue.
I went and had breakfast with my Mom. There seemed to be a sense of peace, of trust between the two of us, as if it were just another morning. I was just putting butter on my toast when my Mom spoke up.
"I got us an appointment at a Quirk Doctor." She said without warning. "We'll have to be there at 12."
I raised an eyebrow. "That was quick."
She smirked. "I'm good friends with his secretary. She got us pushed forward." She sobered up. "I told them some of what you could do. They told me they would prepare an adequate testing ground."
I swallowed. Getting my Quirk registered was a bit of a risk, since then the HPSC and AFO would know about it. One would try to recruit me for my power, the other would try to take it. I was certain that the old Potato bastard couldn't take my powers since they're not Quirks but magic, but I still felt uneasy when I imagine him anywhere near me or my Mom. I hope that the other Class Cards have some powerful guys in it.
We got into the car and drove off. I put my headphones on and listened to some Coldplay. I was halfway through 'Adventure of our Lifetime' when we reached the clinic. I pulled them out and followed my Mom into the building.
It looked like a regular waiting room in an ordinary clinic. I sat down and felt really out of place among these toddlers.
"Shadi?" A nurse called out. "The doctor will see you now."
We got up and went into the room. The doctor was a tall, middle aged man who had two horns on his head. "Please come in. Now, I heard you unlocked your Quirk just yesterday?"
"That's right." I answered.
"Well, you're a bit later than the usual kids we get here. But that's no problem!" The doctor was friendly. "Now, what can you tell me about your Quirk?"
I pulled out the Archer Card and put it on the table. "I'm calling it Class Card. It's a combination of my parents Quirk. It lets me use these Cards to transform."
"Hmm," The doctor wrote something down on his clipboard. "Ma'am, what can you tell me about your and your husbands' Quirk?"
My Mom began to explain. "Well, my Quirk is called Deliverance. It allows me to touch an object and learn the entire history behind it, then transfer it in the form of writing on a prepared surface."
"And your husbands?"
"Well," My Mom hesitated a bit. "Arash's father and I were never married. All I know about him was his name and Quirk. He didn't tell me its name, but told me it allowed him to store blueprints of weapons in his mind and project them in the real world."
"And how exactly have these Quirks combined?" The doctor asked.
"I'm an Archeologist. Due to my Quirk, I'm called to inspect artifacts from all over the world. My guess is he came into contact with these artifacts and imprinted the personality of their owners in his mind. Then he projected them into the world in the form of these cards and uses them to transform into their previous owners." My Mom's explanation made perfect sense.
"So Arash's Quirk allows him to transform into historical figures using these Cards as mediums. Truly fascinating." The doctor was amazed; it wasn't every day that a Quirk like this shows up. "How many of them do you have?"
"Well, the only one I've transformed into is this one." I held up Archer's card. "But I have at least five others."
I deliberately left out Assassin, Ruler and Avenger. The best advantage of Assassin is that nobody knows about them until they hit you. Ruler and Avenger work best in the shadows.
"Marvelous. Any side-effects?"
"Yeah. When I transform… I don't just gain their equipment and outfits. I get everything-their personalities, memories and mindsets. It's like I become them."
"Ah. A BTE." The doctor said.
"A what?" I asked, having no idea what the acronym meant.
"Bleed-Through Effect. It's what we call when the Quirk causes changes to the user's personality and mind, even after it has been deactivated. Luckily, there are certain countermeasures. I'll write you a list of mental exercises that help reduce the effect. Anything else?"
I hesitated for a bit. Should I tell him about that? I looked to my Mom and she nodded.
"Yeah." I pulled out the Berserker card. "This one… I call it Berserker. It's a type of historical figure that went mad at one point of their life. I haven't turned into it, but I know for a fact that when I use it, I'll experience some form of madness."
The doctor stopped writing. "That's a pretty dangerous side-effect."
"Yeah." I answered.
We followed him out of the office and into a wide room. There were a few targets on the far wall.
"Alright Arash, I want you to use your Quirk and hit those targets." The doctor instructed.
I took a deep breath and pulled out the Archer card.
"Install: Archer!"
The world sharpened.
It wasn't dramatic-not at first. My posture straightened on its own. My breathing slowed. I didn't feel possessed so much as… aligned.
A revolver materialized in my grip. It fit like it had always belonged there.
I exhaled.
Don't push, I told myself. Baseline only.
I raised my gun-Billy's gun- and fired.
BANG!
The bullet struck the target dead center.
BANG! BANG!
Another followed. And another.
Each shot landed with the clean efficiency and marksmanship of a true master. The room's silence was interrupted only by the cracking boom of a gunshot.
CLICK CLICK!
I stopped after I my gun ran out of ammo. Apparently, even magical guns need to be reloaded. My fingers itched to my pocket where I knew my ammo was.
I stopped myself, forcing my fingers to relax.
The doctor cleared his throat.
"…Very precise," he said carefully. "Your heart rate barely changed."
I nodded. "Archer specializes in ranged combat. Precision over power."
"Archer?" the doctor repeated, frowning slightly. "But he uses guns, not a bow and arrow."
I exhaled through my nose. I'd expected that, considering this world had no idea about Fate mechanics.
"Yeah," I said. "I kind of expected everybody to get stuck on that."
The doctor tapped his pen against the clipboard. "Then why classify him as an Archer?"
I hesitated-then answered honestly. "Because the Class isn't about the weapon," I said. "It's about the role."
He looked up.
"Archers are all about distance," I continued. "Precision. Hitting your enemy before he ever gets close to touching you. Whether that's a bow, a gun, or something else doesn't matter. Hell, it could even be a barrel."
There was a brief pause.
"…That's an unusually strategic and philosophical answer for a Quirk explanation," the doctor said.
I shrugged. "I read a lot. And play a lot of games."
"Then the name 'Archer'," he said slowly, "is more of a broad classification than a specific choice. Anybody with the means of long range combat."
"Yes," I replied. "The same applies to other Classes. Rider for example. It could be anything-an animal, a chariot, anything used for assisted movement."
"Understood. Now, can you increase the output?"
I hesitated. My mother's hand rested lightly on my shoulder-not restraining, just grounding.
"Yes," I said. "But I won't. Not here. And not without authorization."
That earned me a long look. Finally, the doctor wrote something down, slower than before.
"Good judgment," he said. "That kind of restraint is uncommon, especially for people who first discover their Quirks."
He gestured to my outfit. "Deactivate completely, please."
I did immediately.
"Uninstall: Archer." I turned back and felt exhausted, though not as much as yesterday. The restlessness lingered, but it was easier to contain. Maybe my body acclimates to the change.
The doctor nodded, clearly satisfied.
"Alright. Based on what I've seen, your Quirk will be registered as a Transformation-Type, High-Risk Quirk with conditional restrictions.
I felt my stomach tighten. A flash of irritation- Billy's- flared in me.
"Restrictions?" I asked.
"Nothing unusual for a Quirk with mental bleed-through and high-destructive potential," he assured. "You'll be required to log transformations and usage of 'advanced techniques'-"his pen paused. "-will require supervision until further notice."
My heart sank. There goes my plan to train in secret. My mother squeezed my shoulder. I turned around and saw her give me a quick wink.
"But," he added, "you show excellent control for a first activation. With proper training, this Quirk will be… exceptional."
He gave me a smile. "I can say with certainty that you'll make it far if you decide to become a hero."
I returned the smile.
My smile fell when we got to the next part. The part that every living being hates with a passion.
Paperwork.
The doctor led us back to his office after the test. The clipboard was gone, replaced by a tablet.
"Now comes the boring part," he said lightly. "Registration."
"Fuck my life." It would seem that, no matter what world, I would always have to deal with bureaucratic nonsense.
My mom lightly scuffed me upside the head. "Language, young man!"
The doctor chuckled. "I understand his frustration all too well. But it's necessary."
He tapped the screen, and a nearby monitor lit up. Lines of text scrolled past-medical disclaimers, Quirk classification codes, legal clauses.
My eyes skimmed automatically. And then I slowed.
Usage logs.
Mandatory evaluations.
Psychological monitoring due to BTE risk.
Restrictions on public Quirk use outside licensed activity.
This wasn't just a form.
It was a leash.
I cursed internally. Was it too late to go Vigilante?
"If I break any of these," I said slowly, "what happens?"
The doctor didn't dodge the question.
"Best case? A slight slap on the wrist. Mandatory retraining and suspension of Quirk privileges. Worst case?" He hesitated. "Legal consequences. Black marks on records. The HPSC takes direct action."
My mother's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
I signed anyway.
Because choosing not to act would mean hiding forever while the world went to shit.
And I was done with that.
The drive home was quiet.
Not tense-just thoughtful.
I stared out the window, watching the city pass by, every pedestrian and hero billboard suddenly feeling… closer. More real.
It is official: I'm in MHA with all of its legal restraints.
"You didn't like the paperwork," My mom said eventually.
I huffed softly. "Was it that obvious?"
"Eh, to most it looks like the usual dislike of having to deal with legal nonsense. But I can tell," she replied. "You slowed down when you read it. That's what you do when something you read bothers you."
I considered lying.
Didn't.
"It feels like I handed over a part of myself," I said. "Like I gave them a leash with my name on it. Stupid fascists."
I closed my mouth as I realized what slipped out. My mother however just laughed. "Is that you talking or the outlaw inside you?"
I blushed. "Little bit of both."
She nodded. "Yeah, screw fascism. It always bothered me about Japan. I sometimes considered moving away. But it was too much hassle for so little."
She became serious. "Registration… it's safety, yes, but also control."
She glanced at me. "Do you regret it?"
I thought about the park. About Tsuyu. The desire to keep going.
"A bit," I answered. "But having nothing holding me back isn't right either."
She reached over and briefly squeezed my hand. "That means you're thinking. I'm glad."
Later in my room, I sat on my desk and stared at my Cards.
There were two piles.
Saber.
Archer.
Lancer.
Caster.
Rider.
Berserker.
Depending on who I get, these are the cards that I will use in public. The ones that people would see and know about. In this world, these were considered hero material. Flashy. Strong. Even monstrous ones, like Berserker were accepted. Just look at Gang Orca and Shishido.
However, there was another, smaller pile right next to it.
Assassin.
Ruler.
Avenger.
The world wouldn't understand these. These are the ones that wouldn't see the light of the day. The ones that would operate in the shadows.
Assassin was obvious. The greatest advantage of an Assassin was that nobody knew they existed. You couldn't prepare for something if you didn't know it was coming.
Plus, in a hero society obsessed with transparency and appearance, a power built around concealment, instant death, and dirty fighting wasn't just suspicious-it was villain by implication. No heroic speeches. No flashy battles. Just a knife in the dark and a body that never knew what hit it. I would never be able to use Assassin openly.
Ruler (assuming it was Sherlock-please let it be Sherlock!) was the same. Detectives do their investigations quietly- info gathering is done best in secret. Their battlefield wasn't in the open-it was behind the scenes.
And Avenger…
A power based on hatred and vengeance. The world was too obsessed with cleanliness, with proper manners and accountability. Avenger was none of that. They were hatred and vengeance personified, created by an injustice and seeking to destroy its source by any means necessary. No matter what stood in their path.
If people knew I had this, they would instantly forbid it, maybe even take it away.
But for the coming war, we would need every weapon we could get. Hope and Kindness won't defeat All for One. But weapons were useless without a hand steady enough to wield them.
I leaned back in my chair, letting it creak slightly, and rubbed my face. My eyes burned—not from exhaustion, but from thinking too much. Typical.
Billy was quiet.
Not absent. Just… watching.
That, somehow, unsettled me more.
"Yeah," I muttered to the empty room. "I know. You don't win wars by half-assing things."
No snarky comment. No drawled insult.
Just the faintest sense of agreement.
I exhaled slowly and began sorting the cards again—not by class this time, but by risk.
Archer went first. Billy was dangerous, yes—but he was also clear. Direct. Honest in his own outlaw way. You pulled the trigger, someone got hurt. There was no pretending otherwise.
Lancer followed. This Servant wasn't about brute force. He was about discipline. Technique. Control. Speed. If Billy taught me how to end fights, Lancer would teach me how to survive them.
Rider… depended on who I got. But mobility was always valuable.
Caster was the biggest unknown. Magic in a Quirk world was already an anomaly. A Caster could either be my greatest asset—or my fastest way onto a government watchlist.
Berserker stayed last.
I didn't touch it.
Didn't even look at it for long.
Some doors, once opened, didn't close again. And I wasn't naïve enough to think I'd be immune just because I knew the risks.
Then there were the others.
Assassin.
Ruler.
Avenger.
I slid them back into their holder and locked it, placing the case at the very bottom of my drawer.
Those weren't for now.
I stood up and stretched, joints popping softly. Outside, the city buzzed with life—cars, voices, distant sirens. Heroes on patrol. Villains plotting. Civilians just trying to get through another day without becoming collateral damage.
And somewhere out there, All for One was still breathing.
The thought settled in my chest like a weight.
Two weeks, I thought.
Two weeks until school started.
Two weeks to train my body, my mind, and my restraint.
Two weeks to make sure that when I stepped into that classroom—and eventually onto that battlefield—I wouldn't just be another reckless kid with power he didn't understand.
I clenched my fists, feeling the echo of a revolver's grip that wasn't there.
"Alright," I said quietly. "Let's do this properly."
Tomorrow, training would begin.
And history—whether it liked it or not—was about to be dragged into the present
Chapter 5
The next day was spent preparing.
We woke up, had breakfast and then started planning my training. My Mom was constantly on the phone and computer while I sat at the table, a notebook and phone in front of me with my Class Cards next to me. I was listing possible Heroic Spirits for the other cards, their NP's and possible uses.
Berserker made me the most worried. There are several options-Beowolf, Lancelot, Kintoki, Cu Chulainn Alter, Spartacus, Lu Bu, Asterios, Arjuna Alter and Heracles, to name a few. Each of them powerful, each of them carrying their own kind of madness.
I decided to keep this Servant in the back, at least until I have gotten some control over the rest and I'm in UA. They have the facilities and people to restrain me in case I go on a rampage. Although, a part of me was excited at the thought of Berserker Heracles fighting All Might.
What? Don't lie, you guys want to see that fight as much as I do. All Fate and MHA fans do at some point.
I finished the list and opened a new page; the required study material for the written exam. I searched the web and found it. Then I blanched a bit. Damn. That was a lot. There were the regular subjects-math, physics, chemistry, history- but there was also Hero Laws, Heroic Theory and a few others.
Well, no use crying over it. I noted them down, ranking them in order of size and difficulty.
My mom received a call while I was studying. She didn't put it on speaker, but I caught pieces of it.
"Yes… yes, he handled it well… I understand… of course."
When she hung up, she looked at me for a moment longer than usual.
"What?" I asked.
"The doctor submitted his report," she said. "Apparently, Quirk clinics share certain files."
"With who?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"The National Quirk Registry, various hero schools" she said calmly. "And the HPSC."
My stomach tightened.
"He didn't say it like a threat," she added quickly. "More like… interest."
I leaned back in my chair and exhaled slowly.
"So that's it," I muttered. "I turn into a cowboy, and suddenly I'm 'interesting.'"
She smiled faintly. "Welcome to the world of heroes."
Billy chuckled quietly in the back of my mind.
I closed my eyes.
Yeah.
Something told me this was only the beginning.
Two Weeks till School...
Training started two days later.
No dramatic music. No sudden power-ups. Just work.
Mom had found the perfect location for our training. A massive quarry or mountain basin carved into stone—natural walls, huge open area, echoes carrying for miles. It was massive—a bowl of stone carved into the earth, empty for miles. The wind carried dust and silence.
It was a few miles away from the city. Instead of traveling back and forth, Mom rented an RV and we camped out there. I believe it was for cutting down travel time and resources as well as for spending as much time with me as possible before I had to leave for school again.
Anyway, training.
It began with my body.
Push-ups until my arms trembled. Squats until my legs burned. Sprints until my lungs screamed for mercy. My mom watched with a critical eye, adjusting routines, timing breaks, tracking recovery like a scientist.
I hadn't been a fitness nut back in my old life, a bad knee wound making exercising a bit difficult. But I gotta admit, I'm starting to like it.
Then came the Cards. We decided to take it easy during the first three days. Just get a feel for the Card before doing serious training with it.
Day 1...
The first time I activated Archer during training, it felt different. Controlled. Deliberate.
"Remember," my mom said, "you can stop anytime you want to."
I raised my hand.
The shift came instantly.
Muscle memory flooded in—posture, breathing, alignment. My vision sharpened. The world resolved into angles and vectors.
A target appeared across the quarry. My Mom had set them up all across the Quarry, wooden boards shaped like humans.
I didn't aim.
I calculated.
BANG!
The shot rang out like thunder.
Wood exploded.
More targets appeared around me. I kept shooting, one bullet for each until I got them all.
Silence followed.
I lowered the gun, heart hammering.
"Good," my mom said. "Just one problem. No headshots when you're a hero."
I looked again and cursed.
"Fuck!"
The bullets all went through the exact same spot: the center of the head. Perfectly okay for inanimate objects. Unfortunately, people do this little thing called dying when shot through the head.
"Arash. It's ok. Just try again." My mom encouraged.
I swallowed. "Ok. Again."
Training continued. The Quarry became our world.
By day, it was dust and heat and the echo of gunshots. By night, it was quiet reflection and aching muscles.
The first few days were Archer only.
Mom insisted on repetition. She actually quoted Bruce Lee: "I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times."
Which made sense. In a Grail War, even if you had several Servants, if you didn't know how to use them, you could get beaten by one. This was why the protagonist of Fate Grand Order was such an amazing Master, even if he was a complete novice in magic. He understood his Servants; their strengths, their weaknesses, where they work best, how to make them work.
So we focused on mastering the Archer Card before moving to another.
Again, she'd say. Same distance. Same draw. We had to take several breaks since I could only stay as Archer for a few minutes.
I learned how to breathe properly. How to control my heart rate. How to stop before my instincts pushed me further than I intended. The arrows came faster, tighter, cleaner—but I forced myself to stop early every session.
Stopping was harder than starting.
Sometimes my hands would twitch hours later, phantom weight tugging at my fingers. Sometimes my thoughts sharpened too much, every movement around me mapped in angles and trajectories.
That was the bleed-through.
I learned to counter it.
Breathing exercises. Grounding techniques. Mental checklists—name five things you can see, four you can hear. It helped. Not perfectly. But enough.
I learned restraint before power. Precision before volume. One bullet, one purpose.
Some days were worse.
The instincts pushed back—urging speed, urging escalation. Every successful shot made the next easier. Every easy shot made the idea of stopping harder.
That scared me.
So we trained limits.
Time caps. Shot limits. Cooldowns. It took effort, fighting Billy's instincts to go for shots to the head and heart, but I managed to shift to legs and arms.
The moment my thoughts stopped being mine, I disengaged—no exceptions.
The afternoons were spent training without Cards. Movement drills. Situational awareness.
At night, I studied—UA materials, Quirk law, hero ethics, combat theory, history.
Some days I failed.
Some days I went to bed shaking, Billy's presence lingering longer than it should have.
Every day, I collapsed into bed exhausted.
Every day, I got up and did it again.
But slowly—steadily—I improved.
Not just in strength.
In control.
I extended the time I could stay as Archer. The first time I could only stay as him for a minute. Then two minutes. Three.
One evening, after a clean session, my mom looked at her notebook and nodded. She had been documenting our training, noting down any flaws or progress I made.
"You're learning something most heroes never do," she said.
"What's that?"
She met my eyes.
"When not to pull the trigger."
By the end of the first week, I could hit a moving target consistently without slipping too far into Billy's headspace. I also extended the time I could stay as him to up to eight minutes.
That was when my mother suggested we try the second card.
Lancer.
I stood in the middle of the Quarry. I pulled out Lancer's card and took a deep breath.
"Class Card Install: Lancer!"
The world did not break.
It softened.
Sound faded first, then color, until everything was washed in pale silver and green. The harsh edges of reality melted away like frost beneath early morning light. I felt my body grow lighter, as if the weight of gravity itself had lessened.
When sensation returned, I was standing barefoot in cool grass.
A vast plain stretched endlessly in every direction, rolling hills bathed in twilight. The sky above was caught between day and night—lavender clouds drifting lazily beneath a dimming sun, the first stars beginning to peek through. The air smelled of rain, wildflowers, and steel that had known too many battles.
This was no battlefield.
It was a place of memory.
A gentle breeze passed through the grass, setting it swaying like a quiet sea. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear water—perhaps a river, perhaps tears.
"You've come to borrow a spear."
The voice was calm, composed, and carried a sadness so deep it felt older than the land itself.
I turned.
He stood a short distance away, tall and striking, clad in elegant armor that gleamed softly in the twilight. In his hands were two spears crossed before him—one crimson like spilled blood, the other yellow, pale and deadly, its barbs catching the fading light.
Diarmuid Ua Duibhne.
His beauty was unmistakable, but it wasn't vain or prideful. It was the kind that invited admiration and resentment in equal measure, a curse masquerading as a gift. His face was gentle, almost kind, yet his eyes held the resignation of someone who already knew how his story ended.
"Yes," I said quietly. "Your strength. Your skill."
Diarmuid inclined his head slightly. "And my burdens."
He stepped closer. With every step, I felt something tighten around my chest—an invisible pressure, not hostile, but heavy. Expectant.
"You know of my love spot," he continued evenly. "The mark that draws hearts without my consent. You know how it ends."
I swallowed. "You were loyal. To your lord. To your oath."
"And it destroyed me all the same."
Unbidden, my mind conjured the image of a purple and blue headed sniper-hero.
He raised one spear—the crimson one—and planted its butt gently into the earth.
"Loyalty is not rewarded," Diarmuid said. "It is tested."
The twilight dimmed.
"Tell me," he asked, meeting my gaze directly, "when you are loved against your will… when your honor demands refusal, and your heart demands silence—will you endure it?"
I hesitated.
In that hesitation, pain bloomed behind my eyes.
Then I nodded. "If that's the price… I'll carry it."
Diarmuid studied me for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled—not with joy, but with bittersweet approval.
"Then come."
He extended his hand.
The moment our hands met, the world wept.
Memories poured into me—not violently, but relentlessly, like rain soaking through armor.
I felt myself kneeling before Fionn mac Cumhaill, swearing loyalty with absolute sincerity. I felt pride in service, joy in battle fought for righteous cause. I felt admiration from comrades… and envy. So much envy.
I felt eyes linger too long. Hearts turn traitorous without intent.
Gráinne.
Her gaze burned hotter than any battlefield. I felt the agony of refusal, the terror of desire that could only lead to betrayal. The flight. The chase. The endless running—not from enemies, but from shame.
I felt myself remain loyal even as I was condemned.
I felt myself die—not gloriously, but slowly. Abandoned. Poisoned. Bleeding out while salvation stood only a short distance away… denied by pride.
I felt forgiveness bloom even as life faded.
Not rage.
Not hatred.
Only sorrow.
When the memories ended, I collapsed to my knees, hands digging into the grass as my chest hitched painfully. My heart ached—not with heartbreak, but with something worse.
Unrewarded devotion.
Diarmuid knelt before me, placing a steady hand on my shoulder.
"You understand now," he said softly. "My spear strikes true—but it cannot save me from the cost of being who I am."
The field began to fade, twilight dissolving into silver light.
"Carry my strength," Diarmuid continued as his form began to break apart into gentle particles. "But do not mistake beauty or loyalty for protection. The world is rarely kind to those who keep their vows."
The light flowed into me.
And then—
Reality returned.
I staggered as cool air rushed into my lungs. Mana spiraled outward in pale green arcs, wrapping around my arms and legs. Armor formed—not heavy, but elegant, fitting perfectly. A spear materialized in my hand, its balance flawless, its presence humming with restrained lethality.
Then a second spear appeared.
My heart clenched.
I could feel it—the pull in my chest when someone looked at me too long. The instinct to smile even when I should turn away. The reflex to serve, to protect, to obey.
Strength filled my limbs, fluid and precise.
Lancer had been installed.
And with it came a cruel truth:
Some heroes are not destroyed by betrayal.
But by remaining loyal even when they should have turned away.
The targets stood in front of me. I twirled Gae Dearg in my hands with expert movement, Gae Buid in my other hand. I eyed the targets in front of me; six targets, spaced evenly apart.
Then I burst forward. A shockwave erupted from the force of my takeoff, yet the ground was not cracked or cratered, speaking volumes of Lancer's control.
In the blink of an eye, I was in front of the first target, Gae Dearg stabbing forwards to bury itself in its center. I pulled the crimson spear out and spun, momentum carrying me forward rather than slowing me down.
Gae Buid followed—low, precise—its golden blade carving a clean arc as I passed the second target. The strike wasn't meant to destroy it outright. It wounded it. A perfect cut through the center, shallow but exact, the kind that would never heal.
I didn't look back.
My feet barely touched the ground as I surged toward the third and fourth targets, crossing the distance in two long strides. Gae Dearg flashed again, severing reinforcement lines, breaking structure rather than brute-forcing through it. Gae Buid followed immediately after, a mirrored strike—right, then left—each motion flowing into the next with no wasted movement.
There was no pause.
No hesitation.
I was already moving.
The fifth target went down with a thrust and a twist, the spearhead punching through and ripping free as I pivoted past it. The sixth fell a heartbeat later, pierced cleanly through its center as I slid to a halt several meters beyond the line.
Silence.
I exhaled slowly, spears lowering on instinct.
Six targets.
Six strikes.
No excess damage. No shattered debris. Just clean, lethal efficiency.
…Too clean.
I frowned slightly, looking back at the targets. The cuts were beautiful. Almost artistic.
That thought bothered me.
Billy would've laughed about it. Probably made a joke about overthinking things.
But this wasn't Billy.
This was Diarmuid Ua Duibhne.
And with him came a quiet, creeping pressure—not rage, not bloodlust, but expectation.
Do it properly.
Do it cleanly.
Do it with honor.
My grip tightened unconsciously.
That was the danger.
Not losing myself in madness—but losing myself in standards that weren't mine.
I rolled my shoulders and deliberately loosened my stance, forcing my breathing to change. Slower. Heavier. Less… refined.
The spears felt slightly heavier in my hands as a result.
Good.
I didn't need perfection. I needed control.
"Enough," I muttered to myself.
The urge to run it again—to refine it, to make it flawless—itched at the back of my mind.
I ignored it.
"Uninstall: Lancer."
The spears vanished, and the world dulled slightly as Diarmuid's presence receded. I staggered half a step, catching myself before I fell.
No adrenaline crash.
No burning exhaustion.
Just a strange… emptiness.
Diarmuid felt… heavier.
Not in power—but in emotion.
When I activated the card, the world didn't sharpen like it did with Archer.
It steadied.
My stance changed. My grip was firm but gentle. The twin spears felt balanced in my hands, familiar in a way that made my chest ache.
There was no hunger for battle.
Only duty.
Only loyalty.
And underneath it all—regret.
I straightened and looked at the targets one last time.
Billy taught me how to end a fight fast.
Diarmuid taught me how to dance through one.
And if I wasn't careful—
I might start enjoying that far too much.
I was still staring at the targets when I felt it.
Not pressure.
Presence.
"You're holding your breath," my mom said from behind me.
I blinked and inhaled sharply, only then realizing she was right. My lungs burned a little as air rushed back in. I rolled my shoulders again, grounding myself in the weight of my own body.
She stood a few meters away, tablet in hand, her eyes moving not between the targets—but between me and the empty space where the spears had been.
"You didn't look angry," she continued. "Or excited. You looked… focused. Almost serene."
I let out a quiet huff. "That's not a good thing."
"No," she agreed calmly. "It isn't. Not for you."
She stepped closer, crouching to examine one of the targets. Her fingers hovered just short of the clean puncture marks, careful not to touch.
"This one didn't break," she said. "It failed."
I tilted my head. "There's a difference?"
She smiled faintly. "A big one. Breaking is messy. Failure is intentional."
She stood and looked at me properly now, sharp eyes soft but attentive.
"When you used the Archer card," she said, "you came back restless. Wired. Like you wanted to move, talk, do something."
I nodded. That tracked.
"But now," she went on, "you're quieter. Too quiet. Like you're measuring yourself against something invisible."
I hesitated.
"…He's different," I admitted. "Billy's loud. Straightforward. He doesn't pretend to be anything he's not."
"And this one?" she asked gently.
I searched for the right word.
"He wants me to be better," I said finally. "Cleaner. Faster. More precise. Like there's a correct way to fight—and anything less is failure."
My mom's expression tightened, just a fraction.
"That kind of thinking can eat people alive," she said. "Especially perfectionists. Especially soldiers."
I looked away, jaw clenching.
"I felt it," I said quietly. "The urge to do it again. To fix the tiniest flaws. To make it perfect."
She didn't interrupt.
"I could've run the exercise ten more times," I continued. "And I wouldn't have stopped until it felt right."
"And did it ever feel right?" she asked.
I shook my head.
She reached out and placed a hand flat against my chest, right over my heart. Firm. Grounding.
"Then you did the correct thing by stopping," she said. "Not the perfect thing. The correct one."
I exhaled slowly, tension bleeding out of me in a way I hadn't realized I needed.
She stepped back and glanced at the field again. "Each Card leaves a fingerprint," she mused. "Not on the body. On the soul."
Her eyes met mine.
"You need to learn their shapes," she said. "So you know when one starts overlapping too much."
I nodded.
"Good," she said, then clapped her hands once. "That's enough for today. Lancer training ends here."
I blinked. "Already?"
"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "You don't train a blade until it snaps. You stop while it's still sharp."
Mom's expression turned more comforting. "C'mon, let's have some lunch. I made your favorite."
"Really? Kebab and rice?!" What can I say? My mom always knows how to cheer me up.
She chuckled. "Yes Findig. I knew how exhausting and taxing this would be, so I made something to cheer you up."
She turned and started walking back toward the RV. "After lunch, you'll rest for a bit. Then we reassess. Different Card. Different mindset."
I followed her, casting one last glance at the targets.
Billy had taught me confidence.
Diarmuid had taught me restraint.
And my mom—somehow—was teaching me how not to lose myself between the two.
That lesson might end up being the most important one of all.
I trained in short bursts. Ten minutes at most. Close-range drills. Footwork. Controlled strikes against reinforced stone pillars.
Every session ended the same way.
With me stopping myself before the urge to continue became something else.
Diarmuid never pushed.
He simply watched.
That somehow made it harder.
By the end of the second week, my body was stronger. Faster. My reflexes sharper.
But more importantly—
I could step into a legend…
…and step back out again.
School loomed ahead.
And for the first time, I felt like I might be ready.
Chapter 6
Final Night of Summer...
The fire crackled softly, orange embers drifting up into the night sky like lazy fireflies. We'd set it up a while ago—nothing fancy. Just a small pit, two folding chairs, and a bag of marshmallows I'd nearly burned through by myself already.
I turned one slowly over the flame, watching it brown evenly.
"You're going to catch it on fire if you keep staring at it like that," my mom said, amused.
"I'm conducting a very serious experiment," I replied. "Maximum caramelization, minimal charring."
She snorted, then leaned back in her chair.
For a while, we just sat there. The kind of silence that didn't demand to be filled. Eventually, she spoke.
"Nervous about school?" My Mom had always been uncertain about letting me to school, in both lives. But seeing as I had a Quirk now, and could defend myself if I needed to, she allowed me to go.
I hesitated, then nodded slightly. "A little bit."
She didn't press immediately. Smart.
"Normal," she said instead. "New year. New people."
I poked at the fire with a stick. If only she knew. This wasn't my first time going to High School. I had a lot of memories of my previous High School, and most of them were bad. But I needed some social interaction and not become a loner like I was back in my old life.
"It's not just that. Feels like… things are moving. Fast. Too fast, if you ask me."
She watched the flames. "They are."
I sighed. "Two weeks ago I woke up one day and found out I had a Quirk. Now it's registered. I'm training like I'm aiming for something. People are probably watching me."
She smiled faintly. "You make it sound so ominous."
"Because it kind of is," I muttered.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Arash. You don't have to have everything figured out tomorrow. Or this year. Or even in five years."
I glanced at her. "You sure?"
"Very," she said. "You're allowed to be a kid. Even with everything going on."
I carefully pulled the marshmallow out of the fire—perfectly golden.
"…I'll try," I said.
She raised her marshmallow in a mock toast. "That's all I ask."
We finished eating in companionable quiet, then put out the fire together.
That night, when I lay in bed, the cards rested in their case on my desk. For once, they were quiet.
I slept without dreams.
Morning came too fast.
The sun streamed through my window, bright and annoyingly energetic. I groaned, rolled over, and stared at the ceiling for a moment.
No quarry.
No training.
No legends.
Just school.
I got dressed, slung my bag over my shoulder, and headed downstairs.I adjusted the tie on my neck one last time.
"So? Excited for your first day at school?" Mom asked me.
"Eh." I made a so-so motion.
"Do you have everything? Phone, notebooks, pens, cards?" She asked worriedly.
"Yeah, I've got everything."
Mom handed me a packed lunch. "Try not to shock your classmates too much on your first day."
"No promises," I said dryly.
"And be careful around girls, especially when you're Lancer."
"That I promise."
"And no sex, smoking, alcohol or drugs!"
"MOM! Where do you think I'm going, into a Yakuza bar?!"
She kissed my forehead anyway.
The walk to school felt… different. Not heavier. Just sharper. Like I was noticing things more. People. Movements. Distances. I forced myself to relax.
You're not a soldier on duty or an gunslinger on the run, I told myself. You're just a student.
The school gates loomed ahead, already buzzing with voices. This was it. No armor. No spears. No guns. Just me.
I stepped through the gates and into the crowd, the noise washing over me.
School had begun.
First stop, the principals office to collect my schedule. Then I went to my class.
I stood in front of the door, tapping my foot on the ground. Finally, I heard the teacher tell me to come in. I walked in and immediately felt all eyes on me.
I wasn't surprised, of course. New kid, first day, and all that. But it still felt like being a bug under a magnifying glass. I scanned the room quickly, noting the desks arranged in neat rows, the posters on the walls promoting school events, and the occasional student already half asleep.
"Class," the teacher said, standing behind their desk and smiling, "we have a new student today. His name is Arash. Please make him feel welcome." She gave me a polite nod.
I gave her a quick glance, then turned my attention back to the class. Most of them were already whispering to each other, sizing me up. I hated this part—introductions.
"Hello," I said, giving a short nod, trying to keep it cool. "My name is Arash. I just transferred here, and, uh… I guess I look forward to getting to know all of you."
There was a moment of awkward silence before someone from the back of the room raised their hand.
"Hey," the guy said, leaning forward in his chair with a grin. "What's your Quirk?"
I blinked. I shouldn't have been surprised. Kids were curious, especially with the new kid just showing up like this. But I wasn't expecting to be interrogated in front of the whole class.
"Well, it's a bit complicated," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "It's a transformation-type Quirk. I call it Class Card. I can use these cards to turn into historical figures. I channel their powers, skills, equipment...anything that was part of their legend and history. That's the simplest way to put it."
A murmur rippled through the class. Some looked interested, others skeptical. I saw a few people exchange glances, probably wondering if I was pulling their leg.
"Wait, you're telling me you become… famous people?" A girl near the front asked, raising her eyebrows. "Like, you just become them?"
"Well, it's a bit more complicated than that. I'm still me, but their personalities get layered on top of mine."
Another student, a guy with glasses and gills on his neck, tilted his head. "So, you can become… I dunno… Alexander the Great or something?"
I nodded, relieved the topic was at least being met with some level of interest and not complete disbelief. "Pretty much. Though I don't really get to pick who I turn into. It's completely random." Though who knows? Maybe I will get Alexander. He would be nice to have as a Rider.
There was a bit of silence. "So it's Gacha."
I slumped, a depressed cloud over my head. "Yeah, it's Gacha."
There was a bit of laughter, though it didn't seem malicious.
"Alright class, that's enough. You can drill Shadi-kun later on his Quirk," the teacher interjected quickly, putting a stop to the conversation before it could spiral further. "Thank you, Shadi-kun. You can sit next to Shirazuki-."
She pointed at a girl in the middle row who waved at him. She had hands made of blue rubber.
I walked to my seat, giving the girl a nod and smile. Then classes began.
I felt myself fall back into a familiar rhythm. This was easy and not so different than high-school in my previous life. Guess school is the same, no matter what age or world.
Easy. Comfortable. Familiar.
That thought lasted until the third class.
I hate this class.
By all means, I should have enjoyed it. It was history, that which my Mom has dedicated her life to and from which I draw power. The class should have been a breeze, it should have been fun.
Instead, all I felt was anger and disappointment.
The school books don't go farther than 200 years. I checked just now, leafing through the book for anything that happened further than the last two centuries. Nothing.
It's like Human History began with the Rise of Quirks. Like Billy and Diarmuid and all other Heroic Spirits and their deeds don't exist.
Sure, this was Japan. There's no reason that they would cover guys from other countries. But what about the guys who unified the country and made it what it is today- Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and Tokugawa Ieyasu?! The people who ended the Sengoku period?! Sakamoto Ryōma who paved the way for the Meiji Restoration?! Swordsmen (or swordswoman) Musashi Miyamoto and Kojiro Sasaki?! Or the famed swordsmith, Senji Muramasa, whose swords I had seen in museums with my mom?!
It's all Quirks this, Quirks that!
"Shadi-kun, are you listening?" The teacher asked me.
I blinked.
Twenty-five pairs of eyes turned toward me in perfect synchronization. Wonderful. First day, and I was already that student.
"Yes, sensei," I said automatically.
He adjusted his glasses, clearly unconvinced. "Then perhaps you can tell us what year is commonly recognized as the beginning of the Quirk Emergence Era?"
A few students snickered.
Easy. Too easy.
"Approximately two centuries ago," I answered evenly. "When the first recorded luminous baby was born in Qingqing City, China. After that, Quirk manifestation spread globally."
The teacher nodded. "Correct."
I hesitated.
Then, because apparently I hated peace, I added, "Though the classification of it as the 'beginning of history' is… academically questionable."
The room went quiet.
His eyebrow twitched. "Excuse me?"
I felt something hot coil in my chest. Not Archer's cool detachment. Not Lancer's pride.
Mine.
"With respect, sensei," I said carefully, "human civilization didn't start two hundred years ago. Political systems, metallurgy, warfare doctrines, agricultural revolutions, philosophical schools—those shaped the world long before Quirks appeared. Reducing history to the last two centuries ignores thousands of years of development."
Silence.
A boy near the window whispered, "Whoa."
The teacher folded his arms. "And what would you suggest we teach instead?"
I knew I should back down. I shouldn't get into an argument with a teacher on my first day.
But I can't.
"Foundational figures," I said. "Pre-Quirk military tacticians. Cultural reformers. Nation-builders. The Sengoku unifiers, like Oda Nobunaga and the Tokugawa. The Meiji reformers, like Sakamoto Ryouma. Even legendary swordsmen, like Miyamoto Musashi or Kojiro Sasaki. Or sword-smiths like Masamune or Muramasa. Their legacies didn't disappear just because people started glowing."
A girl in the front row turned around slightly, studying me with interest.
The teacher watched me for a long moment.
"This curriculum," he said coolly, "is standardized by the Ministry of Education. We focus on Quirk-era developments because they are directly relevant to modern society and heroics."
There it was.
Heroics.
Everything bent toward heroes now. Toward Quirk optimization. Toward combat viability and public safety ratings.
"So the people who shaped this country and made it what it is today should be forgotten?!" I asked heatedly. "we should forget thousands of years of fighting and struggle because its not out of a comic book?! We should ignore their legacies, their struggles and accomplishments just because these people didn't have lasers shooting out of their butts?!"
"Shadi-kun. Sit down," The teacher said, a note of irritation in his voice now. "Now."
I clenched my pen slightly.
"Understood, sensei," I said, forcing my tone neutral.
He held my gaze another second before turning back to the board. "As I was saying…"
The murmurs resumed.
But something had shifted.
The boy beside me leaned over slightly. "Dude," he whispered. "You really care about that old stuff, huh?"
I stared at the textbook in front of me. Page after page of Quirk legislation, Pro Hero rankings, villain incidents.
"Yeah," I muttered. "I do."
Because somewhere in a barren wasteland of swords, history still existed.
Because a girl threw away her own humanity to become a perfect king for her people.
Because Billy the Kid had lived.
Because Diarmuid had loved and fought and died.
Because people like Oda Nobunaga and Miyamoto Musashi had shaped the world without glowing powers or flashy titles.
And because if this world forgot them—
—I wouldn't.
The bell rang, cutting through my thoughts.
Chairs scraped. Conversations burst to life.
As I packed my notebook away, I caught a few lingering glances thrown my way. Curious. Appraising.
Great. First day, and I'd already branded myself the history extremist.
I slung my bag over my shoulder.
Luckily, it's lunch. I need something to wash down this bitter taste.
The cafeteria was loud, chaotic—just like any high school cafeteria. There were kids lined up at the food stations, friends chatting, cliques laughing. The noise buzzed in my ears, making me feel almost too aware of myself.
I stood at the door for a moment, scanning the room. No one was paying attention to me—yet. But I knew that wouldn't last.
A couple of people glanced up as I walked past, but the second I picked a table to sit at, I noticed something. There were already people looking my way—faint curiosity, but also something else.
It was then that I realized: This is real. The whole 'having a Quirk' thing. I wasn't just a regular student anymore. I was different.
That was probably the hardest thing to accept. In my past life, I was always on the outskirts. Sure, I had friends but most of the time I kept to myself, preferring the company of books, anime and games over humans. But here, in this world, I wasn't just an outsider—I actually lived in it.
I found an empty spot in the corner, unpacking my lunch. I had just pulled out my utensils when I felt somebody behind me.
"Kero."
I knew that sound. Only one person in MHA had that kind of verbal tick.
I turned around and there she was. Tsuyu Asui, carrying a lunch tray.
"Hey," I greeted her. "Didn't know you go here."
Tsuyu tilted her head slightly, blinking at me with those wide, observant eyes. "I'm in Class B. That's why you didn't see me."
"Right. Anyway, wanna sit down? Gotta warn you, it won't do your rep any credit sitting with the weird new kid." I joked.
I saw her lips twitch. "I'm not worried."
She sat down and we began to eat. Conversation flowed around us, though I felt a few curious stares aimed at us.
"So," she began. "I heard about what happened in history class."
I stopped, my spoon halfway to my mouth. "Eh?"
She blinked. "People gossip. Especially at a school."
I nodded. "That makes sense."
She kept staring at me, waiting for an answer. I sighed. "It's like.. what happened before Quirks showed up didn't happen. Like Quirks showed up, and poof! Human civilization shot up out of the ground!"
She nodded. "You seem really passionate about this. Is it because of your Quirk, kero?"
I waved a hand. "Part of it. My Quirk is literally all about history. But it's also cause of my mom." At her stare I explained. "She's an archeologist."
"Ah."
"Yeah. It's like they're saying that my mother's work is useless!" I stabbed my fork into my food with a bit more force than necessary. "She's already had to put up with that crap from enough people."
"The teacher said the MOE doesn't consider it 'relevant'," I made finger quotes around the word relevant. "Maybe it becomes relevant when it stabs you in the face with a cursed spear."
Tsuyu didn't laugh. She just watched me for a second longer than comfortable.
"I'm joking! I'm not stabbing anybody!"
"You don't always sound like you're joking, kero."
I exhaled slowly, shoulders easing. "…Yeah. I know."
The irritation was still there, simmering under my skin. Not explosive. Just steady. Like coals instead of flame.
Tsuyu took a bite of her food, unhurried.
"You're angry," she observed.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Yes."
Well. Points for honesty.
I ran a hand through my hair. "I just don't like it. Acting like history only matters if someone had a flashy Quirk. People bled for this country long before anyone could shoot lasers out of their eyes. And not just them. Everywhere there were great heroes. And now..." I paused. "they're being pushed aside because they don't fit the image."
Pushed away. Not forgotten. Forgotten implies that the knowledge was lost. But history wasn't lost. It was omitted. Removed on purpose.
A pause.
"You sound like you've seen it," she said quietly.
My fingers tightened around my spoon.
"I've read a lot," I replied. "And I've been dragged to more museums than any sane teenager should experience."
That got the faintest twitch of her lips.
"That explains the speech," she said.
Speech?
Was that what it looked like from the outside?
I forced myself to relax. To breathe normally. To not slip into Lancer's or Archer's personality.
Just me.
"It's stupid," I muttered. "First day and I'm already arguing with a teacher."
"Kero. You stood up to something you thought was wrong. That's what a hero does." she said.
I chuckled. "Which definition of hero we talking about? The modern one or the old one?"
Tsuyu tilted her head. "Kero. Is there a difference?"
"Eh. Somebody like Gilgamesh would have called the teacher an ignorant mongrel and then eviscerated him when he talked back." That's pretty much Gilgamesh.
"Kero. He sounds like an arrogant ass."
I laughed, long and loud. "He is!"
We both laughed a bit.
I leaned back slightly. "Still. I don't want to be 'that kid.'"
"The passionate one?" she asked.
"The problem one."
Tsuyu tilted her head. "Those are not the same thing."
For someone who spoke simply, she had a way of cutting straight through things.
Around us, the cafeteria noise swelled again. A group nearby laughed loudly. Someone shouted about an upcoming sports tryout. Normal school chaos.
It grounded me.
"I don't want to cause trouble," I admitted. "But I also don't want to just nod along when something feels wrong."
Tsuyu swallowed and wiped her mouth neatly. "Then don't."
I blinked. "That's it?"
"Yes."
"That's your grand advice?"
She gave me a flat look. "Do you need something more complicated?"
…Fair.
I huffed a quiet laugh despite myself.
"You're surprisingly blunt."
"You're surprisingly dramatic."
Ouch.
Accurate. But ouch.
She continued eating, unbothered by the glances that occasionally flicked our way. I noticed them too—subtle looks, whispers, curiosity.
The new kid. The one with the transformation Quirk. The one who talked back in history. The weight of it pressed at the edge of my awareness.
In my old life, I could fade into the background if I wanted to.
Here? Not so much.
"You're thinking too loud again," Tsuyu said.
I stared at her. "Thinking… too loud?"
"You look like you're calculating something."
I paused.
Was I?
Probably.
Threat assessment. Social mapping. Emotional analysis. Distance measurement. It came too easily now. After two weeks of training, of slipping into different mindsets, it was harder to shut off.
"I'm just… adjusting," I said carefully.
"To what?"
"To not being invisible."
That earned me a longer look.
"You don't seem invisible," she said.
"That's the problem."
Silence stretched between us—not awkward. Just thoughtful.
Then she spoke. "Being noticed isn't the same as being understood."
I looked up. She met my gaze evenly.
"If they're staring because they're curious, that's fine. If they're staring because they're scared, that's something you can fix. If they're staring because they're impressed…" She shrugged lightly. "That's not your responsibility."
I hadn't expected that.
"You've thought about this," I said.
She gave a small nod. "Everyone with a visible Quirk does."
Right.
Her tongue. Her eyes. Her physiology.
Different was normal here.
That didn't mean it was easy.
"You mentioned something about a cursed spear earlier, kero?" Tsuyu tried to change the subject.
"Yeah! I tried out a new transformation a while ago. Lancer." I said, feeling grateful for the subject change. "He uses two spears."
She blinked. "At the same time?"
"Yeah."
"Kero. Never heard of anybody using two spears at once."
She's got a point. Diarmuid's style was unique. "Well, he makes it work. And so do I."
"Kero. What's he like? Is he different than Billy?"
I thought about it for a bit. "Well... he is all about speed, though different than Archer-"
"Archer? But he uses guns, kero." Tsuyu interjected.
I groaned. "It's a broad classification!"
"Hmm."
"Anyway, Archer shoots fast. But Lancer moves fast. He's all about foot-speed. Skill. Discipline."
"He sounds good. Reliable."
"Yeah. He is." I said softly. I felt Diarmuid at the edge of my mind, a sense of pride and gratefulness.
Before we could talk further, the bell rang, sharp and insistent. Students began standing, trays clattering, conversations cutting off mid-sentence.
Tsuyu stood smoothly.
"We have different classes next period," she said.
"Yeah."
She hesitated for half a second.
"Don't stab anyone with a cursed spear," she added.
I rolled my eyes. "I am not going to stab anyone."
She stared at me.
"…Probably."
She nodded once, apparently satisfied enough, and blended back into the flow of students.
I stayed seated for a second longer.
My lunch half-finished.
My thoughts quieter.
She was right.
Being noticed wasn't the same as being understood.
And if I was going to stand out anyway…
Then maybe I should make sure it was for the right reasons.
I packed up my lunch, slung my bag over my shoulder, and stood.
Time for the next class.
The next class was gym.
Pretty normal. We ran laps, did a few exercises- normal gym class in a school. This time, I only got a few looks because of my performance, which was better than my peers.
Not Archer-level.
Not Lancer-level.
Just… slightly above average.
Controlled.
"Dude!" One guy said to me as we were stretching. "You're ripped!"
I shrugged. "My mom and I exercise a lot."
That earned a few nods of approval. Nothing dramatic. Just normal teenage respect for visible muscle.
Conversation flowed easier than before. I guess the thrill of being the new kid had worn off and I was just another face in the crowd.
For a few hours, I was just… a student.
No legends.
No politics.
No hidden wars.
Just math homework and mild dehydration.
Before I knew it, the school day ended. I walked out of the building, letting out a relieved breath.
I survived the first day of school.
I walked toward the gate and was surprised when I saw Tsuyu waiting for me.
"Hi." I said.
"Hi. Thought we could walk back home together, kero." She said.
"Alright. Fine with me."
We began walking in comfortable silence. The late afternoon sun stretched our shadows long across the pavement.
It wasn't until we were a bit away from the school that I felt it.
A gaze.
Not hostile.
Not skilled.
Just… focused.
I leaned slightly toward Tsuyu and whispered, "Don't freak out, but we're being followed."
She didn't react outwardly. Good control.
Instead, she blinked once and said quietly, "Where?"
"Behind the third lamppost. Terrible stealth."
She turned her head normally, as if checking traffic.
There, hiding behind a lamppost—very badly at that—was a girl with the head of a lizard. I hadn't used Assassin yet, but even without that mindset, the lack of stealth physically hurt to witness.
If First Hassan saw this, he'd revoke her disciple privileges on principle.
She stared at us with wide, unblinking eyes.
"Kero. That's Mongoose Habuka. She goes to our school." Tsuyu explained calmly.
I nodded. I remembered her from that one OVA. The Zombie one.
"Got it." I stepped forward slightly.
"I'm gonna talk to her."
Before Tsuyu could object, I raised my voice casually. "You know, if you wanted to talk to us, you could just come out and talk."
There was a long pause.
Then Mongoose stepped out from behind the lamppost. The moment stretched. We stared at each other.
Then Tsuyu broke the standoff with her usual bluntness. She put a finger to her chin.
"Do you… wanna be friends—" Tsuyu began.
"ARE YOU STUPID?!"
The shout hit like a gunshot.
My body moved before my brain caught up. My right hand snapped to my hip, to where a revolver should have been-
And found it empty.
My breath hitched.
Empty.
I wasn't transformed. I wasn't armed. And the person in front of me wasn't an enemy.
She was shaking.
"I'M JUST SOME NASTY AND EVIL MONSTER!" Mongoose continued, voice cracking. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN FRIENDS?! FRIENDS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE CHOSEN! A PERSON LIKE ME—Being friends with…"
She faltered.
Her claws trembled.
Her shoulders slumped.
"…Friends with…"
The anger drained out of her like air from a punctured balloon.
Her eyes shimmered.
And suddenly she wasn't loud.
She was small.
She fell forward and draped herself over Tsuyu, who let out a slightly strained "kero" as she caught her.
"Can I call you Tsuyu-chan?" Mongoose asked quietly.
Tsuyu wrapped her arms around her without hesitation.
"Sure. Call me Tsuyu-chan."
She patted her back gently.
Mongoose sobbed into her shoulder—not loud, not dramatic. Just years of tension bleeding out in shaky breaths.
I stood a few steps away.
Frozen. My hand slipped from my hip. For a split second, I had been ready to draw. To neutralize. To end a threat that wasn't there.
Billy would have reacted.
Lancer would have assessed.
Berserker— I don't know, but it would have involved a lot of violence and destruction.
This wasn't a battlefield.
It was a sidewalk outside a school.
She's not a threat, I told myself.
She's lonely.
That was worse, in its own way.
I thought about leaving them alone. Giving them space.
Then Tsuyu glanced at me over Mongoose's shoulder, and any thoughts of escape left.
"Shadi-kun. You're gonna be her friend too, right?"
They separated slightly.
Mongoose wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to look intimidating and failing spectacularly.
She looked at me with raw uncertainty.
"Well," I said slowly, forcing my voice to soften, "I don't know. You really wanna be friends with somebody like me? I come with a lot of issues and baggage."
She blinked.
"…You do?"
"Oh absolutely," I nodded gravely. "When my life in another world ended, I was reborn in this one. Then I was given magical cards by an immortal vampire with a magical girl fetish who may or may not be an alien. Now, I communicate with dead people and use their essence to transform as if I were a Power Ranger or Super Sentai. I also possess a mild hero complex, occasionally perform dramatic speeches and tend to overthink everything. I'm very high maintenance."
Tsuyu gave me a look, like she wanted to slap me with her tongue for spouting weird shit.
Mongoose sniffed.
"…You're weird."
I cracked a grin. The funny part? It was all true. "Thank goodness for that, otherwise I would be boring."
A small, hesitant smile tugged at her mouth.
"You… don't think I'm gross or scary?" she asked quietly.
There it was.
The real wound.
"You? Gross and scary?" I laughed loudly. "Girl, you clearly haven't been to Ireland. Now that place had some scary shit back in the day."
She stared at me, like she couldn't understand what I said.
"...I bite sometimes."
"Take me to dinner first and it's cool." She blushed, the pink color standing out against her scaly skin.
Then she began to smile. It turned into a chuckle. Then laughter, real laughter.
I joined and so did Tsu. We just stood there laughing for a while, before it slowly died down.
Mongoose looked between us.
"…Okay," she said, voice still shaky but steadier. "Then… we're friends?"
I stepped closer this time. Then I extended my hand. She hesitated for a sec before she took my hand and shook it.
"Yeah," I said. "We're friends."
We resumed walking, slower now, three shadows instead of two. We talked about anything that came to our minds: school, homework, my argument with the teacher, heroes, anything.
I warned the girls in advance that, staying with me, they'd learn more about history than they'd like. They assured me that they didn't mind. In fact, they looked interested as I talked about various historical figures.
It felt like no time had passed at all before we had to split off toward our respective homes. Though we did promise each other to stay in touch.
"I'm home!" I walked in and went to my Mom, who was writing something on the table.
"Welcome home, Findig. Did you have a good day at school?" She asked, noticing my smile.
"Yeah. It was good. I also made a new friend. Her name's Habuka Mongoose."
"That's wonderful! Now, go wash up. Dinner will be ready soon."
I went to the bathroom. But as I washed my hands, one thought lingered quietly in the back of my mind:
If I react like that every time someone raises their voice…
I need better control.
Not of my power.
Of myself.