Miss Yuki's playgroup had been going smoothly for exactly twelve minutes when everything went wrong.
Twelve minutes, Haruto thought later, when he had time to reflect. That's got to be some kind of record for shortest period of peace in toddler history.
It started innocently enough. They were doing an art project—painting with their hands—which should have been fine. It was just paint and paper. What could possibly go wrong?
Everything, apparently.
Haruto was carefully painting a tree (because of course he was) when he noticed something odd. His handprint on the paper wasn't just paint anymore. Small green shoots were sprouting from where his fingers had touched the paper.
Oh no.
"Um, Miss Yuki?" Haruto raised his non-paint-covered hand. "I think I broke the paper."
Miss Yuki came over, looked at the sprouting painting, and her hair immediately went from cheerful yellow to alarmed orange.
"Oh my," she said. "That's... that's new."
"I didn't mean to," Haruto said quickly.
"I know, sweetie. It's okay! It's just... unexpected." She carefully picked up the painting. The sprouts were getting bigger, tiny leaves unfurling. "Maybe we should take a break from painting for you."
Yeah, that's probably wise, Haruto thought. Before I accidentally grow a forest on construction paper.
But the damage was done. The other kids had noticed.
"WHOA!" Takeshi ran over. "The paper is alive! Can I eat it?"
"NO!" Miss Yuki held the painting away. "Nobody eats the alive paper!"
"But I can digest it!"
"That's not the point, Takeshi-kun!"
Mina bounced over to investigate. "That's so cool! Do it again!"
"Really shouldn't," Haruto said.
"But it's COOL!"
Cool and uncontrolled, Haruto thought. Which is a bad combination.
Kouta was standing by the water table, looking concerned. "Is his quirk supposed to do that?"
"Quirks develop in unexpected ways sometimes," Miss Yuki said, her hair now a stressed purple. "It's perfectly normal! Let's just... let's move on to a different activity!"
She set the still-sprouting painting aside and clapped her hands. "How about we do some singing?"
Oh good, Haruto thought. From accidental plant animation to singing. This day just keeps getting better.
They gathered in a circle, and Miss Yuki started playing a children's song about friendship on her phone. Haruto recognized it as the same song from his birthday party that had haunted his nightmares.
Not this again, he thought. Anything but this.
But before the psychological torture of group singing could begin, Hana's quirk activated.
"Sorry!" Hana squeaked as small flames appeared on her shoulders. "I got nervous!"
"It's okay!" Miss Yuki grabbed the fire extinguisher—which she apparently kept handy—and put out the flames. "We talked about deep breaths, remember?"
Hana took deep breaths. More flames appeared.
"The breathing isn't working!" she wailed.
"Okay, new plan!" Miss Yuki's hair was now fully red with stress. "Hana-chan, you sit by the window where there's nothing flammable! Everyone else, stay in the circle!"
As Hana was relocated to the designated "fire safety zone," Mina's quirk decided to join the chaos.
"Oops," Mina said, looking at the melted patch on the floor where she'd been sitting. "My bad."
"It's okay, Mina-chan! Just move to the acid-resistant mat!"
There's an acid-resistant mat, Haruto noted. This playgroup is more prepared than most disaster response teams.
Kouta, stressed by all the chaos, accidentally created a puddle. Then another. Then a small stream that was heading toward the toy box.
"Kouta-kun! Think dry thoughts!"
"I'M TRYING!" Kouta wailed, creating more water.
This is fine, Haruto thought, watching the situation deteriorate. Everything is fine. This is a normal Tuesday.
Toru, who may or may not have been present (it was hard to tell), knocked over a shelf trying to prove he was there. Toys scattered everywhere.
"EVERYONE FREEZE!" Miss Yuki shouted, her hair now a kaleidoscope of stress colors. "Just... just sit! Sit and don't move! Don't think! Don't do anything!"
The children froze, looking at her with wide eyes.
Miss Yuki took several deep breaths, her hair slowly cycling back to a less alarming color.
"Okay," she said, more calmly. "Okay. This is fine. We're all learning. This is what learning looks like."
Learning looks like chaos and property damage, Haruto thought. Got it.
"New rule!" Miss Yuki announced. "For the rest of today, we're going to practice the most important skill: doing NOTHING!"
The children stared at her.
"Doing nothing?" Mina repeated.
"Yes! Sitting quietly and not using our quirks! Can everyone do that?"
"That's boring," someone complained.
"Boring is SAFE!" Miss Yuki's hair flickered red again. "Boring means nobody's on fire or drowning or growing plants on paper or—" She stopped herself. "Let's just be boring for a while, okay?"
They sat in silence for approximately thirty seconds.
Then Takeshi said, "I'm hungry."
"We just had snacks!"
"But I'm still hungry. Can I eat the sprouting paper now?"
"NO!"
By the time Haruto's mother came to pick him up, Miss Yuki looked like she'd aged several years.
"How was playgroup, sweetie?" his mother asked.
Chaotic. Destructive. A preview of what hell must be like.
"Educational," Haruto said.
Miss Yuki pulled his mother aside for a quiet conversation. Haruto couldn't hear all of it, but he caught phrases like "quirk development" and "unexpected manifestation" and "perhaps individual sessions might be better."
Oh no, Haruto thought. I'm getting kicked out of playgroup for being too weird.
But when his mother came back, she was smiling. Sort of. It was a stressed smile, but still.
"Miss Yuki says you did very well handling your quirk surprise!" she said with forced cheer.
That's one interpretation, Haruto thought. Another would be: your son is a walking disaster and we're running out of insurance money.
In the car, his mother was quiet for a moment before asking, "So your quirk made the paper sprout?"
"Yeah."
"Without you meaning to?"
"Yeah."
"Was it because you were thinking about plants?"
I'm always thinking about plants, Haruto thought. That's the problem. They won't shut up.
"Maybe," he said.
His mother drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "We should probably mention this to Dr. Yamada."
More doctors. More tests. More people poking at me to figure out why I'm defective.
"Do we have to?"
"Sweetie, if your quirk is activating in new ways, we need to make sure it's safe. For you and everyone around you."
Fair point, Haruto admitted. I don't want to accidentally animate someone's lunch.
When they got home, Gerald was waiting on the balcony. Haruto could feel the fern's curiosity before he even opened the door.
How was playgroup? Gerald asked.
"Chaos," Haruto said out loud, forgetting his mother was right behind him.
"What?"
"Talking to Gerald," Haruto explained.
His mother looked at the fern, then at Haruto, then back at the fern.
"Does Gerald talk back?"
"Yeah."
"What does he say?"
He says a lot of things. Mostly philosophical observations about existence and occasionally sass about my life choices.
"He's curious about playgroup," Haruto said.
His mother sat down on the balcony chair, looking tired. "Haru, I need you to be honest with me. When you talk to plants, do they actually communicate back? Or is it more like... you imagine what they might say?"
Oh boy. The 'is my child hallucinating' conversation.
Haruto thought about how to explain it. The plants didn't use words, exactly. It was more like impressions, feelings, vague concepts that his brain translated into something like language.
"They feel things," he said carefully. "And I feel what they feel. And my brain makes it into words. But it's real. The feelings are real."
His mother nodded slowly. "Like empathy? You're empathizing with plants?"
Empathy. Sure. That's close enough.
"Yeah," Haruto agreed. "Like that."
"And Gerald feels... what, exactly?"
Haruto focused on the fern. Gerald's presence was warm, content, slightly amused.
"He's happy," Haruto reported. "And he thinks it's funny that playgroup was chaotic."
"The fern thinks it's funny."
"Yeah."
His mother was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, "You know what? Okay. Sure. The fern has opinions. Why not? Everything else about your quirk is unusual. Might as well add empathic plant communication to the list."
She's given up, Haruto realized. She's hit the point where nothing surprises her anymore.
"Are you okay, Mama?" he asked.
She laughed, but it sounded slightly hysterical. "I'm fine, sweetie. Just... processing. Your quirk is very special. Very unique. Very... overwhelming sometimes."
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize! It's not your fault!" She pulled him into a hug. "I'm just adjusting. We're all adjusting. Even Gerald, apparently."
Gerald is the most well-adjusted one here, Haruto thought. Which is saying something.
That evening, his father came home to find his mother sitting on the couch, staring at nothing.
"Rough day?" he asked.
"Haruto's quirk made a painting sprout leaves," she said flatly.
"Ah."
"And he has empathic communication with Gerald."
"The fern?"
"Yes, the fern."
"Right. Of course." His father sat down next to her. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine. Everything's fine. Our son talks to plants and they talk back and that's just our life now."
"Could be worse."
"How?"
"He could be one of those kids who accidentally sets things on fire."
"That's Hana from playgroup. She caught herself on fire today."
"See? Could be worse."
His mother laughed despite herself. "I suppose you're right."
Haruto, listening from the hallway, felt that familiar guilt settling in his stomach.
I'm stressing them out, he thought. Just by existing with my weird quirk and plant conversations.
Maybe I should tone it down. Stop mentioning the plant communication. Pretend to be more normal.
Gerald's voice cut through his thoughts. Don't.
Don't what?
Don't hide who you are to make other people comfortable, Gerald said firmly. Your parents love you. They'll adjust. But if you start hiding things now, you'll never stop.
That's... surprisingly wise, Gerald.
I contain multitudes, the fern responded.
You're a fern.
A wise fern. There's a difference.
Haruto smiled despite himself and went to his room, where his parents found him a few minutes later.
"Hey, buddy," his father said, sitting on the floor next to him. "How are you feeling about today?"
"Okay," Haruto said.
"Just okay?"
"My quirk did something new and it was weird and everyone freaked out and Miss Yuki's hair turned lots of colors."
"Sounds stressful."
"Yeah."
His father pulled him into a side hug. "You know it's okay that your quirk is different, right? Unusual doesn't mean bad."
Unusual means complicated, Haruto thought. Means problematic. Means I'm going to spend my childhood being studied and tested and monitored.
"I know," he said.
"And talking to plants is... well, it's unique, but it's part of your quirk. Nothing to be embarrassed about."
Easy for you to say. You don't have vegetables judging you at dinner.
"Okay," Haruto said.
That night, lying in his crib, Haruto thought about the day. The chaos at playgroup. The sprouting painting. His mother's stressed acceptance. Gerald's advice about not hiding.
I can't keep doing this, he thought. Can't keep causing problems. Can't keep being the weird kid with the out-of-control quirk.
I need to get serious about control. Real control. Not just resisting the urge to use my quirk, but actually mastering it.
Understanding every aspect of it. The growth, the healing, the communication, the empathy, even the unconscious activation.
All of it.
From the balcony, he felt the plants settling in for the night. Gerald, the tomatoes, the basil, even the neighbors' plants.
They were peaceful. Content. Just existing.
Must be nice, Haruto thought. Not worrying about quirk control or causing stress or accidentally animating art projects.
Just... being.
Gerald sent him a feeling of gentle amusement.
You'll get there, the fern assured him. Give it time.
How much time?
However much it takes. Plants are patient. You should learn from us.
I'm not a plant.
Obviously. Plants don't complain this much.
Did you just insult me?
I provided an observation. That you interpreted it as an insult says more about you than me.
I'm being roasted by a fern, Haruto thought. This is my life now.
But despite everything—the chaos, the stress, the guilt—Haruto found himself smiling.
At least it's not boring, he thought.
Never boring.
He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, the plants humming their quiet songs and Gerald keeping watch like the world's sassiest guardian.