Dr. Yamada's office smelled like antiseptic and disappointment.
Haruto sat on the examination table, swinging his legs and wondering how many times he'd have to visit this place before people accepted that his quirk was just weird.
Probably a lot, he thought. Weirdness is my brand now.
"So," Dr. Yamada said, reviewing her notes with her sparkly glasses perched on her nose. "Your mother tells me you healed a tree?"
"Maybe," Haruto said cautiously.
"Maybe?" Dr. Yamada looked up. "Haruto, you either healed a tree or you didn't."
I mean, I pushed energy into it and made it healthier, so technically yes, but saying it out loud makes me sound like a tree wizard, which is accurate but embarrassing.
"Yeah," Haruto admitted. "Healed it."
"And then you became very tired?"
"Yeah."
"Dizzy? Lightheaded?"
"Yeah."
Dr. Yamada made several notes, her expression thoughtful. "And you can... communicate with plants?"
Here we go. The 'your child might be crazy' conversation.
"Sort of," Haruto said. "They don't use words. More like... feelings?"
"Feelings." Dr. Yamada wrote this down. "Can you feel the plants in this room right now?"
Haruto glanced around. There was a sad potted succulent on the windowsill and a possibly-plastic fern in the corner.
"The succulent needs water," he reported. "And better light. The fern is fake."
Dr. Yamada looked at the fern. "That's not fake. It's real."
"It's dying then. Feels dead."
Dr. Yamada walked over to the fern and examined it. After a moment, she pulled off a leaf. It crumbled in her hand.
"Huh. You're right. It is dead." She turned back to Haruto with renewed interest. "You could tell just by looking at it?"
"Feeling it," Haruto corrected. "In my head."
This is going well, he thought. I'm definitely not sounding unhinged.
Dr. Yamada pulled out her quirk scanner and ran it over Haruto again. The device beeped enthusiastically, like it was discovering new species.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "Your quirk factor has increased significantly since your last visit. The growth rate is remarkable for a two-year-old."
I'm a prodigy, Haruto thought. A weird, plant-talking prodigy.
"Is that bad?" his mother asked from her chair, worry evident in her voice.
"Not bad," Dr. Yamada said. "Just unusual. Most quirks don't develop this rapidly until adolescence." She looked at Haruto seriously. "The healing aspect is particularly interesting. Very few plant-type quirks have a healing component."
Because my quirk isn't just a plant quirk, Haruto thought. It's Mokuton. Wood Release. The power of a literal god. But we're not going to mention that.
"What does this mean?" his mother asked.
"It means Haruto's quirk is more versatile than we initially thought," Dr. Yamada said. "Which is wonderful! But it also means he needs to be very careful about overexertion."
She turned to Haruto, kneeling down to his level.
"Haruto, I need you to listen carefully. Your quirk uses your body's energy. When you healed that tree, you gave it your energy. That's why you got so tired."
I figured that part out, Haruto thought. I felt like I'd run a marathon.
"If you use too much energy, you could hurt yourself," Dr. Yamada continued. "Make yourself very sick. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," Haruto said.
"Promise me you'll be more careful?"
I'm planning to eventually fight villains with this quirk, Haruto thought. Careful isn't really in the plan.
"Promise," he lied.
Dr. Yamada seemed satisfied with this. She stood up and addressed his mother. "I'd recommend limiting his quirk usage for now. No major projects. No healing things without supervision. And make sure he eats well—growing quirks burn a lot of calories."
So I get to eat more? Haruto thought. That's the first good news I've heard today.
"We'll monitor his development closely," Dr. Yamada continued. "Monthly checkups for now. And if anything concerning happens—if he passes out, gets severely exhausted, anything like that—bring him in immediately."
His mother nodded, looking stressed.
As they left the office, Haruto could feel her worry radiating off her in waves.
I'm causing problems, he thought. Just by existing with my weird quirk.
In the car, his mother was quiet for the first few minutes. Then:
"Haru, sweetie, I need you to promise me something."
Uh oh. Nothing good ever follows 'I need you to promise me something.'
"Okay," Haruto said carefully.
"Promise me you'll tell me if you're feeling tired. Or if your quirk starts acting strange. Or if you hear... things... that aren't there."
She thinks I'm having hallucinations, Haruto realized. The plant communication thing is freaking her out.
"The plants are real," Haruto said. "Not hallucinations."
"I know, sweetie. I just..." She sighed. "You're so young to be dealing with such a complex quirk. I worry."
You should worry, Haruto thought. If you knew what I was planning to do with this quirk eventually, you'd worry a lot more.
"I'm okay," he said out loud. "Just tired sometimes."
"That's what concerns me," his mother said softly.
When they got home, his father was waiting with news.
"The park called," he said. "About the tree."
Oh no. Did I break some kind of law? Is healing trees illegal?
"And?" his mother prompted.
"They want to know if Haruto can help with other trees in the park. Apparently, there are several old ones that are diseased." His father looked at Haruto. "They're offering to pay."
Pay? People will pay me to heal trees?
That's... actually kind of cool.
"Absolutely not," his mother said immediately. "The doctor just told us he needs to limit his quirk usage."
"I know, but—"
"No buts, Kenji. Our son's health is more important than some trees."
The trees would disagree, Haruto thought. But she has a point.
His father sighed. "I'll tell them no, then."
"Tell them maybe later," his mother amended. "When he's older and has better control."
So I'm officially banned from professional tree healing until further notice, Haruto thought. There goes my career as a botanical doctor.
The next quirk control class was... interesting.
Miss Yamada had apparently heard about the tree incident because she immediately singled Haruto out.
"Haruto-kun!" Her voice was bright but firm. "I heard you had a little incident at the park!"
A little incident, Haruto thought. Is that what we're calling magical tree healing now?
"Yeah," he said.
"And you overexerted yourself!"
"Yeah."
"That's exactly what we're trying to prevent here!" Miss Yamada clapped her hands. "This is a perfect teaching moment! Everyone, gather around!"
Oh good, Haruto thought. I get to be the cautionary tale.
The other kids circled up, looking at Haruto with various expressions. Mina looked impressed. Kouta looked worried. Hana looked like she was taking mental notes for her own future disasters.
"Haruto used too much of his quirk at once," Miss Yamada explained. "And what happens when we use too much of our quirk?"
"We get tired!" Mina volunteered.
"We might pass out!" Kouta added nervously.
"We could hurt ourselves," Hana said quietly.
"Exactly!" Miss Yamada beamed. "Our quirks use our body's resources—energy, stamina, sometimes even nutrients! If we use too much, we can make ourselves very sick!"
I'm aware, Haruto thought. I lived through it.
"Haruto, can you tell us what it felt like when you used too much?" Miss Yamada asked.
Like my soul was being sucked out through my hands, Haruto thought. Like I was a battery being drained.
"Tired," he said. "Really tired. And dizzy."
"And did you notice any warning signs before it got that bad?"
Haruto thought back to the park. He'd felt the exhaustion building, but he'd ignored it, too focused on healing the tree.
"Hands got warm," he said. "Then tingly. Then numb."
"Perfect! Those were your body's warning signs!" Miss Yamada wrote this on her whiteboard. "When you notice signs like that, you need to STOP immediately!"
Easier said than done when you're in the middle of doing something, Haruto thought.
They spent the rest of class practicing "quirk conservation"—using the minimal amount of their quirk necessary to achieve a goal.
For Haruto, this meant making a plant grow just one inch instead of several feet. It was surprisingly difficult. His quirk wanted to keep going, to push more energy, to make things grow as much as possible.
It's like trying to stop eating after one chip, Haruto thought. Technically possible but psychologically challenging.
By the end of class, he'd managed to grow a small flower exactly two inches. Miss Yamada praised him like he'd just won an Olympic medal.
"Excellent control, Haruto-kun! Much better!"
I grew a flower two inches, Haruto thought. That's not excellent control. That's barely functional.
After class, Mina bounced over to him.
"That was so cool!" she said. "You healed a whole tree!"
"Accidentally," Haruto clarified.
"Still cool! I wish my quirk could heal things. I just melt stuff." She held up her hands sadly. "I melted my favorite spoon last week."
Your favorite spoon? Haruto thought. Kids have favorite spoons?
"That's rough," he said, because it seemed like the appropriate response.
"Yeah. It was a good spoon." Mina sighed dramatically. "But maybe someday I'll learn to un-melt things!"
That's not how acid works, Haruto thought. But I admire the optimism.
That evening, Haruto sat on the balcony with Gerald, processing the day.
"Everyone's worried about me," he said out loud, knowing Gerald was listening.
They care about you, Gerald responded. That's why they worry.
"I know. But it's..." Haruto struggled to articulate it. "It's hard being careful when I want to test my limits. Figure out what I can do."
You're young, Gerald said. You have time.
"But I don't," Haruto argued. "There are things coming. Things I need to be strong enough to stop."
What things?
Villains. Disasters. Events that will kill people if I'm not strong enough to prevent them.
But he couldn't explain that to a fern, even a sentient one.
"Just... things," he said.
Gerald rustled thoughtfully. The rushing river thinks it's slow when comparing itself to lightning. But it still carves through stone, given time.
Did Gerald just give me a philosophical metaphor? Haruto thought. My fern is getting deep.
"You've been talking to the other plants again, haven't you?" Haruto asked. "Getting ideas above your station?"
The oak tree in the park is very wise, Gerald said. It's seen many seasons. It taught me patience.
"Great. My fern has a mentor now."
You could use one too, Gerald observed.
Ouch. Called out by a plant.
Haruto leaned back against the balcony railing, staring up at the darkening sky. The city lights were starting to come on, oranges and yellows painting the evening.
Gerald's right though, he admitted to himself. I do need to be patient. Need to learn control before I can do anything meaningful.
But patience is hard when you know what's coming.
When you know people are going to die if you're not strong enough.
From inside, his mother called him for dinner.
"Coming!" Haruto stood up, giving Gerald a pat. "Thanks for the wisdom, sensei fern."
Anytime, small human, Gerald responded. That's what friends are for.
I have a fern friend, Haruto thought as he walked inside. A fern friend who gives me life advice.
My life is so weird.
At dinner, his parents tried to act normal, but Haruto could tell they were still worried. They kept glancing at him, watching for signs of exhaustion or quirk activity.
I've become a science experiment in my own home, he thought. Under constant observation.
"Eat your vegetables, Haru," his mother said, pushing a bowl of broccoli toward him.
Haruto looked at the broccoli. The broccoli looked back.
Don't, the broccoli seemed to say. Please don't eat me.
I'm sorry, Haruto thought at it. But I'm a human. This is what we do.
Cannibalism, the broccoli accused.
That's not—we're different species. This isn't cannibalism.
"Haru?" His father waved a hand in front of his face. "You okay? You're staring at the broccoli."
"It's judging me," Haruto said without thinking.
His parents exchanged another look.
Right. Normal people don't have conversations with their food.
"I mean... it looks good," Haruto corrected. "Very green."
He ate the broccoli, trying to ignore its mental screaming.
This is my life now, he thought. Being guilt-tripped by vegetables.
I need to get control of this plant communication thing before it drives me insane.
Or before my parents commit me to therapy.
Probably both.
After dinner, during bath time, his mother brought up another concern.
"Haru, sweetie, have you been talking to the plants a lot?"
Uh oh. Here it comes.
"Sometimes," Haruto admitted.
"And they... talk back?"
"Kind of. Not words. Feelings."
His mother was quiet for a moment, washing his hair with that lavender shampoo he secretly liked.
"That must be confusing sometimes," she said finally.
You have no idea.
"Yeah," Haruto said. "Sometimes they're loud."
"Like right now?"
Haruto focused. He could feel the plants in the apartment—Gerald, the tomatoes, the basil, even the sad succulent his father had been trying to keep alive. And beyond that, the trees outside, the grass, the flowers in the neighbor's window boxes.
"Yeah," he said. "Always."
His mother hugged him, getting soap in his eyes but he didn't complain.
"That sounds hard," she said softly. "I'm sorry, sweetie."
Don't apologize, Haruto wanted to say. It's not your fault I got reincarnated with the powers of a dead anime character.
But he just hugged her back and let her finish the bath.
That night, lying in his crib, Haruto made a new resolution.
I need to learn control, he thought. Real control. Not just resisting my quirk, but mastering it.
Understanding the limits. The capabilities. The potential.
Because if I'm going to change this world, I need to be in complete control of my power.
No more accidental tree healing.
No more grocery store incidents.
No more being the cautionary tale in quirk control class.
Just... control.
From the balcony, Gerald rustled agreement.
You'll get there, the fern assured him. One inch at a time.
One inch at a time, Haruto repeated. That's doable.
Probably.
Maybe.
He closed his eyes, tuning out the plant voices to a gentle background hum, and drifted off to sleep.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new lessons, new opportunities to either master his quirk or embarrass himself in public.
Hopefully more of the former, he thought.
But probably a mix of both.
Because that's just how things go.