Chapter 1: The Weight of Glass and a Fleeting Shadow
The world, for Kai, was a place defined by the subtle weight of glass and chrome on the bridge of his nose. In a society that celebrated power, that quantified a person's worth by the sheer spectacle of their Quirk, his was a footnote, a forgotten line of text in the grand encyclopedia of human abilities. "Night Vision." It was the kind of minor talent that earned a sympathetic nod and a suggestion to consider a career in night security or astronomical observation. It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the material of a hero.
This fact was the cornerstone of his daily life at Okuno Middle School, a sprawling concrete institution where the social hierarchy was written in the language of raw power. In the hallways, students with kinetic abilities would float their books beside them, a casual display of superiority. In the cafeteria, those with elemental Quirks would chill their own drinks or warm their food with a flick of their wrist. And then there was Kai, who would occasionally be asked if he could see the back of a dark locker.
"Still staring at that Hero Academy brochure, Kai?" Kenji's voice was a familiar, grating instrument of mockery. He leaned over Kai's desk, his shadow falling across the glossy image of the academy's soaring towers. Kenji's Quirk, "Minor Telekinesis," was just as its name implied, yet he wielded its limited scope like a scepter. He could lift objects no heavier than a textbook, but he did so with a practiced arrogance that made it seem grander. Right now, he was levitating a pen, spinning it end over end in the air between them. "Still dreaming of a future you can't have? What's your ultimate move going to be? 'Penetrating Gaze of Mild Observation'?"
A few nearby classmates snickered. Kai quietly folded the brochure and slipped it into his bag. "It's not about having the flashiest Quirk," he mumbled, the words a worn-out mantra he repeated more to convince himself than anyone else. "It's about the spirit. The will to help."
"Ah, the 'spirit'," Kenji drawled, catching the pen with a theatrical flourish. "Tell that to a collapsing building or a rampaging villain. I'm sure they'll be very impressed by your spirit while they're turning you into a pancake." He smirked and sauntered back to his friends, leaving Kai in the wake of their laughter.
It wasn't just Kenji. It was the air itself. The world was saturated with heroes. Their faces were on billboards, their action figures lined store shelves, their heroic battles were the top news story every night. To want to be one of them was the most common dream a child could have. For Kai, it felt like the most impossible.
The end-of-year camping trip to the Aokigahara foothills was supposed to be a reprieve. Two days of fresh air, campfires, and a break from the rigid social structure of school. But the dynamics of the classroom were merely transplanted to the forest. As they set up their tents under the watchful gaze of the towering cedars, Kenji and his clique claimed the prime spot by the fire pit, while Kai and his few friends found themselves further down the slope, near a gurgling stream.
"Don't let him get to you," said Amaya, her hands deftly hammering a tent stake into the soft earth. Her Quirk, "Photosynthesis," allowed her to draw small amounts of energy from sunlight, giving her a perpetual, low-level vitality that manifested as a tireless optimism. Her dark hair was tied back, and a smudge of dirt was on her cheek, which she seemed entirely unaware of. "Kenji's just insecure. His Quirk has a weight limit of five kilograms. He's peaked."
"He can still do more than I can," Kai replied, struggling with a tangled guy line.
Haru, a quiet boy whose "Calming Presence" Quirk had the subtle effect of lowering the heart rate of those around him, gently took the rope from Kai's hands. With a few patient movements, he untangled it. "That's not true," Haru said softly. "You see things others miss. That's a kind of strength."
Kai wanted to believe him, he truly did. But as night fell and the camp was lit by the warm, dancing light of the fire, he felt his own inadequacy more keenly than ever. The other students showed off, creating small sparks, manipulating water from the stream, or making leaves dance in the air. Kai could only see very, very well in the deepening shadows.
Later, feeling the familiar sting of his own limitations, he slipped away from the cheerful circle of the campfire. He needed space, a place where he wasn't being judged or measured. He followed the sound of the stream, his Night Vision turning the forest into a breathtaking world of silver and charcoal. The intricate lace of a spider's web, the pattern of moss on a stone, the silent flight of an owl overhead—this was his world, a secret, beautiful world that no one else could appreciate in the same way.
He sat on a large, smooth boulder at the water's edge, the cool stone a comfort against his skin. Was he being foolish? Was this dream of heroism just a childish fantasy he refused to let go of? He dipped his hand into the cold, clear water, watching the ripples distort his reflection.
It was then he felt it. A sharp, piercing pain on the back of his hand. He cried out, pulling his hand from the water. Clinging to his skin was a spider, but it was unlike any he had ever seen. Its body was no bigger than his thumbnail, a vibrant, almost pulsating shade of cobalt blue. Across its abdomen were stark, crimson markings that seemed to glow with a faint, internal light, like embers suspended in sapphire glass. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.
He stared, mesmerized. The spider didn't scurry away. Its multiple eyes, tiny black beads, seemed to fix on him with an unnerving, focused intelligence. Then, with a speed that defied its size, it launched itself from his hand, vanishing into the deep shadows of the undergrowth.
Kai's heart hammered against his ribs. He looked at his hand. Two tiny puncture marks, already beginning to swell and turn an angry red, were the only evidence of the bizarre encounter. A wave of dizziness washed over him, the silver-and-black world of the forest tilting precariously. He gripped the edge of the boulder, his knuckles white. It was just a spider bite, he told himself, breathing deeply. A strange spider, but just a spider. He had no way of knowing that the venom now coursing through his veins was not a product of nature, but of science so advanced it bordered on alchemy. He had no idea that his world, and the very definition of who he was, was about to be irrevocably shattered.