Chapter 8: Clear Skies, Clouded Glass
The bus ride to the mountains of Nikkō took nearly three hours, long enough for most of the class to fall asleep or dissolve into card games, snack-sharing, and endless rounds of Quirk-based truth-or-dare. The air was thick with sugar and cabin heat. Teachers occasionally called out reminders about safety guidelines and hotel curfews, but nobody really listened.
Aoi sat by the window, forehead pressed lightly against the cool glass. Outside, pine-covered slopes rose like green waves, sun-speckled and slowly deepening with altitude. The air already felt different—thinner, cleaner, and distant from the city's glare. It reminded him of the hospital window after his first incident. Too bright. Too still.
Yet this time, he wasn't alone.
"We're almost there," said Kouta, his desk partner and the only person who had consistently sat near him since their second year. Kouta leaned forward from the seat behind, nudging Aoi's arm. "You excited?"
"Kind of," Aoi replied, quietly. "It's… different."
Kouta grinned. "We don't get mountain field trips every semester. I heard there's a cable car you can ride across the cliffs. Full glass floor."
Aoi flinched internally but forced a nod. "Sounds… scenic."
The teachers had promised this trip would help students bond before graduation, a final "unifying experience." For Aoi, it felt more like a countdown. Eleven months until the U.A. Entrance Exam. Eleven months to prove he was more than what people whispered. More than his mistakes.
The bus pulled into the lodge parking lot just past noon. As students unloaded, the crisp mountain air cut through their sweaters, and steam rose in clouds from their breaths. The surrounding forest was dense and snow-kissed, even this late in the season.
Aoi carried his bag carefully, gloves already snug on his hands.
**
**
Their accommodations were traditional—a wide wooden lodge with paper-screen doors, tatami rooms, and onsen-fed baths nestled into the cliffside. There was a hiking trail loop and an observation deck perched just above a narrow gorge, lined with rope rails and warning signs.
Aoi shared a room with three others. Kouta, who didn't mind his quiet, and two classmates who seemed more concerned with snacks than seating arrangements.
"You got your Quirk training gloves in here?" Kouta asked, peeking at Aoi's neatly folded gear.
"They're reinforced. But old," Aoi murmured. "I'm… working on a new set."
Kouta didn't press. He never did. But when Aoi later found him by the edge of the observation deck, staring down into the gorge, he said, "You ever think about how glass is just frozen sand? All that pressure. Heat. It's like it's trying not to break the whole time."
Aoi blinked. "That's… actually not wrong."
**
**
The group huddled around a bonfire after dinner, supervised by two pro-heroes acting as chaperones—Blazeshift and Cloudhand, both local disaster relief heroes with impressive reputations and an easy manner with students.
Blazeshift lit the fire without touching a match, just a quick flick of his finger and a hiss of ignition.
"Who's next to show off a cool trick?" one student teased, pointing at Kouta.
"Why not Aoi?" someone else said.
Aoi looked up sharply.
Kouta shifted next to him. "Only if you want."
Aoi hesitated… then shook his head. "It's not flashy."
Blazeshift walked over, crouching beside him. "Subtle Quirks are sometimes the most powerful. What's your ability?"
"Glassification," Aoi said, voice almost inaudible.
Blazeshift raised a brow. "Crystallization-type?"
"Transmutation and manipulation. I turn things to glass," Aoi admitted. "But I can't always control what happens after."
Blazeshift nodded with more seriousness than Aoi expected. "You're still young. Control comes with clarity—especially for Quirks with structural components. Ever tried shaping what you make?"
Aoi paused. "Shaping?"
"After the change. Bending it. Guiding the crystal flow. If it's true transmutation, you might have a second layer to your Quirk you haven't unlocked yet."
A chill ran down Aoi's spine, but not from the cold.
Shaping…
The jagged railing he'd made in the alley had warped. Not randomly. It had grown in the direction of his outstretched hand before shattering.
Could he… will its form?
The conversation faded around him. The fire crackled. Laughter continued. But a new idea had taken root.
The next morning, Aoi found himself wandering a hiking trail before breakfast. Frost glittered along the edges of the rocks. The slope curved downward toward a sheer ravine, where warning signs and barrier ropes had been placed.
There were old support struts dug into the cliff wall, anchoring a small emergency path for staff. Aoi's eyes caught on the metal brackets—rusted, cracked with age.
He moved closer. Touched one gently.
Nothing happened. He was wearing gloves.
But in that still moment, with birdsong overhead and sunlight piercing through the clouds, he thought he could see it.
The way the structure might transmute. How the metal might split and flow, refract and reform, if only he gave it shape. Not just a reaction—but a design.
The gloves on his hands pulsed faintly. Not with power, but with a quiet, waiting tension.
Something was coming.
And this time, he would not be unprepared.