The quirk control program met every Tuesday and Thursday at the community center, in a room that had clearly seen better days.
Haruto stood in the doorway, holding his mother's hand, and surveyed what would be his prison for the next several months.
This room looks like a gym had a fight with a kindergarten classroom and both lost, he thought. There are mats everywhere. Safety mats. Mats on mats. We could probably survive a small explosion in here.
"Welcome!" A woman with bright purple hair and a smile that was trying too hard approached them. "You must be Haruto! I'm Miss Yamada, the quirk control instructor!"
Different Miss Yamada from the doctor, Haruto noted. This world has a limited name pool apparently.
"I'm so excited you're joining us!" Miss Yamada continued, her enthusiasm cranked to eleven. "We have a wonderful group of children here, all learning to manage their amazing abilities!"
Translation: a room full of disasters waiting to happen, Haruto thought.
His mother squeezed his hand. "Haru's been having some... incidents with his plant quirk."
"Oh, that's perfectly normal! Plant quirks can be tricky—so many variables! Growth rates, species differences, environmental factors!" Miss Yamada gestured wildly as she talked. "But we'll get him sorted out! Come meet the others!"
She led them into the room, where six other children were already gathered. Haruto recognized some of them from playgroup.
Oh no.
Mina was there, waving enthusiastically. Next to her was a boy with blue hair who looked perpetually nervous. There was also a girl who appeared to be on fire—not like, metaphorically, but literally. Actual flames.
That seems like a safety hazard, Haruto thought.
"Everyone!" Miss Yamada clapped her hands. "This is Haruto! He has a plant quirk! Let's make him feel welcome!"
"HI HARUTO!" they chorused.
I want to go home, Haruto thought. I want to go home so badly.
His mother knelt down to his level. "You'll be fine, sweetie. Miss Yamada is going to teach you lots of helpful things. I'll be back in an hour, okay?"
An hour. Sixty minutes. 3,600 seconds of this.
"Okay," Haruto said, because what else could he say?
His mother left, and Haruto was alone with Miss Yamada and the six disaster children.
"Alright!" Miss Yamada clapped again. She clapped a lot. "Let's all sit in a circle and introduce ourselves! Say your name, your quirk, and your favorite food!"
My favorite food? What does that have to do with quirk control?
But everyone was sitting down, so Haruto joined the circle between Mina and the nervous blue-haired kid.
"I'll start!" Miss Yamada said. "I'm Miss Yamada, my quirk is Sound Amplification, and my favorite food is sushi!"
Sound Amplification explains why she's so loud, Haruto thought. She probably can't help it.
"Your turn, Mina-chan!"
"I'm Mina!" She bounced even while sitting. "My quirk is acid and I like strawberry cake!"
The introductions continued around the circle.
The nervous kid was named Kouta, his quirk was water generation, and he liked "anything that isn't spicy." The fire girl was Hana, her quirk was obviously fire-based, and she liked "grilled meat" which seemed on-brand. There was a boy who could turn invisible named Toru—or wait, was Toru actually there? Hard to tell. His favorite food was "whatever I can sneak from the kitchen."
Then it was Haruto's turn.
"Um. Haruto. Plant quirk. Rice."
Nailed it, he thought. Peak social interaction.
"Rice!" Miss Yamada beamed. "A classic! And so versatile!"
She's really trying to make rice sound exciting, Haruto observed. I respect the effort.
"Now!" Miss Yamada stood up. "Let's talk about why we're here! Can anyone tell me what quirk control means?"
Mina's hand shot up. "Not melting stuff!"
"Yes! That's part of it! What else?"
"Not flooding the bathroom," Kouta said quietly.
"Not setting curtains on fire," Hana added.
So we're all disasters, Haruto thought. Good to know I'm in the right place.
"Not accidentally growing giant plants in grocery stores?" Haruto offered.
"EXACTLY!" Miss Yamada looked delighted. "See? You all understand! Quirk control is about knowing when to use your quirk, how much to use, and most importantly—how to STOP using it!"
She said "stop" so loudly that Kouta flinched and accidentally created a small puddle.
"Sorry," Kouta mumbled.
"That's okay! That's why we're here!" Miss Yamada pulled out a towel—she apparently kept towels handy—and wiped up the puddle. "Today, we're going to practice the most important skill: awareness!"
Oh good, Haruto thought. I love vague concepts that definitely won't be explained clearly.
"Awareness means knowing when your quirk is about to activate!" Miss Yamada continued. "Your body gives you signals! You just have to learn to recognize them!"
She pulled out a chart that looked like it had been made by someone who'd never seen an actual human body. It showed a stick figure with stars and squiggly lines all over it.
Is that supposed to be helpful? Haruto wondered. Because it's not.
"For example!" Miss Yamada pointed to the stick figure's hands. "Many of you might feel tingling in your hands before your quirk activates! Or warmth! Or coldness! Everyone's different!"
Mina raised her hand. "I feel all sweaty!"
"Perfect! That's your body's signal! And Kouta?"
"My mouth gets dry," Kouta said.
"Excellent! See? Different signals!" Miss Yamada turned to Haruto. "What about you, Haruto? What do you feel before your quirk activates?"
Haruto thought about it. The grocery store incident, the balcony plants, every time he'd made something grow.
"Itchy," he said finally. "My hands get itchy. And I can feel the plants."
"Feel the plants?" Miss Yamada looked intrigued. "Like... emotionally?"
No, like they're sending me mental telegrams, Haruto thought. But sure, let's go with emotionally.
"Kind of," he said. "They're just... there. In my head."
"Fascinating! That's called quirk sense! Some people with elemental or nature-based quirks can sense their element!" Miss Yamada scribbled something on her clipboard. "That's actually very advanced for your age!"
I'm also mentally twenty-six years old, Haruto thought. But we're not going to mention that.
"Alright! Now that we know our signals, let's practice recognizing them!" Miss Yamada gestured to different stations around the room. "We're going to rotate through activities designed to trigger your quirks in controlled ways! The goal is to notice your body's signals and STOP before you actually use your quirk!"
So we're practicing NOT using our quirks, Haruto thought. By doing things that make us want to use our quirks. This logic is flawless.
They split into pairs. Haruto got paired with Toru—or where Toru probably was. It was hard to tell.
"Hi," Toru's voice came from somewhere to Haruto's left. "I'm here."
"Hi," Haruto said to the empty air.
"My quirk is invisibility but I can't control when it turns on so sometimes I just disappear and it's really awkward."
That does sound awkward, Haruto admitted.
Their first station involved standing next to their "trigger element." For Haruto, this meant a potted plant. For Toru, this apparently meant... nothing? Darkness? Haruto wasn't sure what triggered invisibility.
"Okay you two!" Miss Yamada called. "Haruto, I want you to stand next to that plant and resist the urge to make it grow! Notice your signals!"
Haruto stood next to the plant—a sad little fern that looked like it needed therapy—and immediately felt the connection.
Hi, the fern seemed to say. I'm thirsty and the light here is terrible and I think I have aphids.
That's rough, Haruto thought back. But I'm not supposed to help you right now.
But I'm THIRSTY.
I know. I'm sorry.
"Haruto?" Miss Yamada's voice broke through his plant conversation. "How are your hands feeling?"
"Itchy," Haruto reported. "Really itchy."
"Good! That's your signal! Now, instead of using your quirk, I want you to clench your fists! Tight! Like you're squeezing all that quirk energy into a ball!"
Haruto clenched his fists. The itchy feeling intensified, then slowly faded.
Huh. That actually works.
"Excellent! See? You just controlled your quirk!" Miss Yamada looked genuinely proud. "The more you practice recognizing and stopping the signals, the easier it gets!"
So the secret to quirk control is just... not using your quirk, Haruto thought. Revolutionary.
They rotated through different stations. At one, Mina had to handle a mild irritant without melting it (she managed for thirty seconds before the cloth started dissolving). At another, Hana had to hold ice cubes without melting them (she made it fifteen seconds, which was apparently a personal record).
Kouta's station involved him thinking about water without creating any. This seemed unnecessarily cruel, like asking someone not to think about elephants.
"I'm thinking about water," Kouta said miserably, as a small puddle formed at his feet.
"That's okay! Try again!" Miss Yamada encouraged.
This poor kid, Haruto thought. His quirk is activated by thinking about the thing. That's terrible design.
By the time they finished rotating through all the stations, Haruto was exhausted. Resisting his quirk was somehow more tiring than using it.
"Great job, everyone!" Miss Yamada gathered them back in the circle. "You all did wonderfully for your first day! Remember, quirk control is like a muscle—the more you exercise it, the stronger it gets!"
I'm not sure that metaphor makes sense, Haruto thought, but okay.
"For homework—"
HOMEWORK? There's HOMEWORK?
"—I want you to practice noticing your signals at home! Every time you feel your quirk about to activate, I want you to write it down! What triggered it, what you felt, and whether you could stop it!"
I can't write, Haruto realized. I'm two. Two-year-olds can barely hold crayons.
"Or have your parents help you write it down," Miss Yamada added, as if reading his thoughts.
The parents started trickling in to pick up their children. Haruto's mother arrived looking hopeful.
"How was it, sweetie?" she asked.
"Educational," Haruto said, which was technically true.
"Miss Yamada says you did very well!" His mother looked relieved. "She said you have good awareness for your age!"
I have good awareness because I'm secretly an adult, Haruto thought. But thanks.
On the way home, his mother chatted about her day while Haruto processed what he'd learned.
So quirk control is basically just... paying attention and choosing not to use your quirk, he summarized mentally. The hard part is recognizing when you're about to use it before it's too late.
Which means I need to get better at reading my own body's signals.
And also convince the plants to stop mentally yelling at me.
That second part might be harder.
When they got home, his father was on the balcony with Gerald and the other plants.
"How was class?" he asked.
"Fine," Haruto said. "Learned signals."
"Signals?"
"Body tells you when quirk activates. You stop before it happens."
His father nodded slowly. "That's... actually pretty smart. Did they teach you how to recognize your signals?"
"Hands get itchy," Haruto reported. "And plants talk to me."
"Plants... talk to you?"
"Not words. Feelings. They're loud."
His father exchanged a look with his mother. The "our child might be developing concerning abilities" look.
"That's... interesting," his father said carefully. "Maybe we should mention that to the doctor at your next checkup."
Great, Haruto thought. More doctors. More tests. More people poking at me to figure out why I'm weird.
Gerald rustled on the balcony, and Haruto felt the fern's presence in his mind.
Hello, small human, Gerald seemed to say. You were gone. I missed you.
I was at class, Haruto thought back. Learning not to accidentally grow you to the size of a house.
But I like growing.
I know. Everyone likes growing. But there are rules.
Gerald rustled again, sounding disappointed.
Even the fern judges me, Haruto thought.
That evening, during dinner, his parents tried to implement the "homework."
"So," his mother said, pulling out a notebook. "We're supposed to write down every time you feel your quirk activating. Can you tell us if you feel anything right now?"
Haruto looked around the kitchen. There was a small succulent on the windowsill and some cut flowers in a vase on the table.
"The succulent is happy," he reported. "The flowers are dying and sad about it."
His parents stared at him.
"The flowers are... sad?" his mother repeated.
"Yeah. They're cut. They know they're dying. They're not happy about it."
Why did I say that, Haruto thought immediately. That's too weird. Normal two-year-olds don't have existential conversations with dying flowers.
"That's..." his father started, then stopped. "That's very perceptive, Haru."
"Should we get rid of the flowers?" his mother asked, looking at them with concern. "If they're making him uncomfortable?"
"No," Haruto said quickly. "They're fine. Just... I can feel them. All the time."
Another look passed between his parents.
I'm weirding them out, Haruto realized. Need to dial it back.
"It's like... background noise," he tried to explain. "Not bad. Just there."
"Like white noise?" his father suggested.
"Yeah. Like that."
His parents seemed to relax a little.
"Well," his mother said, writing in the notebook, "that's good information! We'll make sure to mention it to Miss Yamada at the next class!"
Great. Can't wait for more attention.
After dinner, Haruto retreated to the balcony to visit his plants. All of them—Gerald, the tomatoes, the basil, even the new additions—seemed to perk up when he approached.
You're all terrible influences, Haruto thought at them. You make me want to use my quirk all the time.
The plants rustled in what felt like agreement.
I need to learn control, Haruto continued. So I don't accidentally grow forests in inappropriate places.
The tomato plant offered him a mental image of a massive tree growing through the roof of the apartment.
Exactly, Haruto thought. That. We're trying to avoid that.
He spent the next hour practicing what Miss Yamada had taught them—recognizing the itchy feeling in his hands, clenching his fists, stopping the quirk before it activated.
It was hard. Every instinct told him to help the plants grow, to make them stronger, to connect with them fully.
But he resisted.
This is for their own good, he told himself. And mine. Mostly mine.
By bedtime, Haruto's hands ached from clenching them so many times, and his head hurt from all the plant voices.
Quirk control is exhausting, he thought, lying in his crib. More exhausting than actually using the quirk.
But I guess that's the point.
The fake stars spun overhead, and Haruto felt all the plants in the apartment—in the whole building, actually—like little lights in his mental map.
That's new, he realized. I can sense plants that aren't even in our apartment now.
That's either really cool or really concerning.
Probably both.
From the balcony, Gerald rustled goodnight.
Night, Gerald, Haruto thought back.
Tomorrow, more class, Gerald seemed to say. More not-growing practice.
Yeah, Haruto agreed. More not-growing practice.
The most exciting kind of practice.
He closed his eyes and tried to tune out the plant voices, which was like trying to sleep next to a highway.
This is fine, he thought. I'll get used to it.
Eventually.
Probably.
Maybe.
Somewhere three floors down, a houseplant desperately needed water.
Not my problem, Haruto thought firmly. That's someone else's plant.
The plant disagreed.
I'm going to go insane, Haruto decided. Between the quirk control and the plant telepathy and pretending to be a normal toddler, I'm going to lose my mind.
But at least it's interesting.
Never boring.
Just... exhausting.
With that thought, he finally drifted off to sleep, the plant voices fading to a gentle hum in the background of his mind.