Two months into training with Tamaki, and Haruto had learned several important things:
One: Precision was a pain in the ass.
Two: His quirk had a sense of humor, and it was terrible.
Three: Tamaki could out-stubborn a brick wall.
"Again," Tamaki said, standing over the single flower Haruto was trying to grow. "Just the petals. Not the stem. Not the leaves. Just the petals."
I'm trying! Haruto thought, concentrating until his head hurt.
The flower's petals grew. So did everything else.
"Haruto."
"I know! I know!" Haruto pulled his hands back, frustrated. "It's harder than it looks!"
"Most things worth doing are." Tamaki crouched down beside him. "You're thinking too broadly. Narrow your focus. Imagine you're looking through a telescope, not a window."
A telescope. Right. Because that makes perfect sense to a two-year-old.
But he tried. Narrowed his mental focus to just the petals, imagining he was zooming in like looking through a lens—
The petals grew. Just the petals.
"There!" Tamaki smiled. "See? You can do it. You just need to stop fighting yourself."
"I'm not fighting myself," Haruto protested.
"You are. Your quirk wants to spread naturally—that's its nature. But you're trying to force it into unnatural constraints, which creates resistance." She tapped his forehead gently. "You need to work with your quirk, not against it."
Work with the thing that keeps embarrassing me in public. Sure. Easy.
They'd been meeting twice a week, every Tuesday and Thursday, for the past two months. The sessions were always in the park, always early morning when fewer people were around. Tamaki would bring plants—sometimes ordinary ones, sometimes exotic specimens that Haruto had never seen before—and make him practice different aspects of control.
Growth rate. Direction. Specific parts of plants. Healing versus growing. Creating versus manipulating existing plants.
It was exhausting. It was frustrating.
It was also, Haruto had to admit, incredibly useful.
"Water break," Tamaki announced, tossing him a bottle. "Then we're going to work on range."
Oh good. My favorite.
Range work meant Haruto had to sense plants at increasing distances and make them respond without affecting anything in between. It required a level of precision that made growing just petals seem easy.
"See that tree?" Tamaki pointed to an oak about fifty feet away. "I want you to make one branch—just one—grow three new leaves."
Haruto stared at the tree. Fifty feet. One branch. Three leaves.
This woman is trying to kill me.
He focused, extending his awareness outward. He could feel the tree immediately—old, strong, slightly grumpy about woodpeckers—and all its branches.
Okay. One branch. Middle one. Third from the left.
He pushed energy toward it, carefully, precisely—
Every tree within fifty feet started sprouting new leaves.
"Haruto."
"I KNOW!"
Tamaki didn't scold him. She never did. Just waited patiently while Haruto took several deep breaths and tried again.
And again.
And again.
By the seventh attempt, Haruto managed to make two trees sprout leaves instead of all of them.
"Progress," Tamaki said.
That's not progress. That's failing less badly.
"Don't give me that look," Tamaki said, reading his expression. "Two months ago, you would've made every plant in the park go haywire. Now you're down to two trees. That's significant improvement."
Two trees is still two too many.
"Again," Tamaki said.
After training, Haruto trudged home, exhausted and covered in dirt. His mother had given up on trying to keep him clean after training sessions and now just left old towels by the door.
"How was it?" she called from the kitchen.
"Frustrating," Haruto said honestly.
"But productive?"
"Maybe."
Gerald rustled from the balcony. You're getting better. I can feel it.
"You can feel my training from here?" Haruto asked out loud.
"Are you talking to Gerald again?" his mother appeared in the doorway.
"He says I'm getting better."
"That's nice, sweetie." She'd stopped being surprised by his plant conversations months ago. "Izuku called while you were out. He wants to come over this afternoon."
Izuku. Right. I haven't seen him in weeks.
Between quirk control classes, training with Tamaki, and trying to avoid causing disasters, Haruto had accidentally been neglecting his friends.
Friends, he thought. When did I start thinking of them as actual friends instead of strategic connections?
Probably around the time Izuku started leaving his favorite hero figures at my apartment, his brain supplied helpfully.
"Okay," Haruto said. "When's he coming?"
"Around two. That gives you time to eat and clean up."
Haruto looked down at himself. He was covered in dirt, grass stains, and what might have been tree sap.
Yeah. Cleaning up is probably necessary.
Izuku arrived at exactly 2 PM, bouncing with his usual enthusiasm and clutching his ever-present notebook.
"Haru-kun! I haven't seen you in forever! How's training? Miss Yuki said you haven't been to playgroup in three weeks! Are you okay? Did something happen? Your mom said you have a mentor now! What's that like? Do you learn cool techniques? Can you control plants better? Do you think—"
"Breathe," Haruto interrupted.
Izuku took a breath. "Sorry. I just have a lot of questions."
You always have a lot of questions. It's your default state.
"Training's good," Haruto said. "Hard, but good."
They settled in Haruto's room, where Izuku immediately started asking for details. What kind of exercises did Tamaki make him do? How precise could he be now? Had he learned any new applications?
Haruto answered as best he could, watching Izuku scribble notes with the intensity of someone documenting a historic event.
"This is so cool!" Izuku said. "You're basically getting specialized hero training already! Most kids don't get that until they're in UA!"
Hero training, Haruto thought. Sure. Let's call it that.
"What about you?" Haruto asked, deflecting. "What's been happening?"
Izuku's expression dimmed slightly. "Same stuff. Kacchan's been... well, Kacchan. He got in trouble at school for using his quirk during class."
"What'd he do?"
"Blew up his desk because he didn't like the math problem."
Of course he did.
"And there's this new kid who transferred in," Izuku continued. "His quirk lets him freeze things. He's really nice! But Kacchan doesn't like him because he's better at quirk control."
Bakugo has competition. This should be interesting.
"How are you doing?" Haruto asked. "With the... you know. Quirkless thing."
It had been almost a year since Izuku's diagnosis. Haruto wanted to know if the reality had set in yet, if the bullying had started in earnest.
Izuku fidgeted with his notebook. "It's... it's okay. I mean, it's not great. Some kids are mean about it. But I'm still gonna be a hero! I've been studying hero techniques and strategies and I think if I'm smart enough, I can make up for not having a quirk with planning and—"
"You don't have to convince me," Haruto said gently. "I already told you. You'll be a hero."
Izuku smiled, wobbly but genuine. "Thanks, Haru-kun. You always believe in me."
Because I know the future, Haruto thought. Because I know you're going to get the most powerful quirk in existence and save the world multiple times.
But I can't tell you that.
They played for a while—or rather, Izuku played and Haruto supervised. Izuku had brought new hero figures and was recreating some recent rescue mission he'd seen on the news.
"—and then Endeavor melted through the wall with his flames!" Izuku made the appropriate sound effects. "He's so powerful! Not as powerful as All Might, obviously, but still really strong!"
Everything comes back to All Might with you, Haruto thought fondly.
"Do you think," Izuku said suddenly, setting down his figures, "that heroes ever have to make really hard choices?"
Oh boy. Philosophy time with a four-year-old.
"What kind of choices?" Haruto asked carefully.
"Like... what if you could save ten people, but only if you let one person get hurt? What would you do?"
The trolley problem. A four-year-old is asking me about the trolley problem.
"I don't know," Haruto said honestly. "That's hard."
"I think," Izuku said slowly, "I think real heroes find a way to save everyone. That's what makes them heroes. They don't give up on anyone."
Oh, Izuku. You sweet, naïve, impossibly good child.
"Yeah," Haruto said. "You're probably right."
And I'm probably wrong, he thought. Because I've already decided that some people can't be saved. That some villains need to be eliminated, not redeemed.
We're going to disagree on this someday. Fundamentally, completely disagree.
But not today.
"Wanna see something cool?" Haruto asked, changing the subject.
"Always!"
Haruto held out his hand. With careful precision—the kind Tamaki had been drilling into him—he made a small flower grow from his palm. Just one. Perfectly controlled. No spillover to other plants.
Izuku's eyes went huge. "WHOA! You can grow plants from your skin?! That's so cool! Does it hurt? Can you control what kind of flower? Can you make it bloom in specific patterns? What about—"
"One question at a time," Haruto laughed, and it was real laughter, not the fake kind he used for adults.
When did this happen? he wondered. When did Izuku become someone who makes me genuinely happy instead of just a strategic connection?
This is dangerous. Getting attached is dangerous.
But looking at Izuku's excited face, at the notebook already filling with new observations about palm-flowers, Haruto couldn't bring himself to care.
Maybe being dangerous is okay sometimes.
That evening, after Izuku left, Haruto sat on the balcony with Gerald.
"I think I have a real friend," he said out loud.
You have several, Gerald pointed out. Izuku, Mina from playgroup, even Bakugo in his own aggressive way.
"But Izuku's different. He's... good. Actually, genuinely good."
And that bothers you?
"Yeah. Because I'm not."
Gerald was quiet for a moment. Then: You're young. You haven't become who you're going to be yet.
"I already know who I'm going to be," Haruto said. "Someone who does what needs to be done. Even the bad things."
You're two years old. You don't know anything yet.
"I'm mentally twenty-six."
And yet you still think in absolutes like a child, Gerald observed. Good and bad. Right and wrong. No gray areas.
Ouch. Philosophical burn from a fern.
"There are gray areas," Haruto argued. "I just... I know where I fall in them."
Do you? Or do you think you do because thinking in certainties is easier than admitting you don't know?
Haruto didn't have an answer for that.
They sat in silence for a while, watching the sun set over the city. The sky turned orange, then pink, then purple. Lights began appearing in windows across the neighborhood.
"When did you get so wise?" Haruto asked finally.
The oak tree in the park has been very educational. Also, I've been alive for six months now. That's basically ancient for a fern.
"That's still not how time works."
It is from my perspective. Which is the only perspective I have.
Haruto smiled despite himself. "Fair point."
From inside, his mother called him for dinner. Haruto stood, giving Gerald a gentle pat on the way past.
"Thanks for the existential crisis," he said.
Anytime. That's what friends are for.
Friends, Haruto thought. Even my fern is my friend now.
My life is so weird.
At dinner, his parents asked about his day. Haruto told them about training, about Izuku's visit, about the palm-flower trick.
"You're getting really good at control," his father said proudly. "Tamaki must be an excellent teacher."
"She is," Haruto agreed. "Stubborn though."
"Good teachers usually are," his mother said. "They don't let you give up on yourself."
Is that what Tamaki's doing? Not letting me give up on myself?
I thought she was just torturing me with impossible exercises.
After dinner, during bath time, his mother brought up something that made Haruto's stomach drop.
"Your father and I have been thinking," she said, washing his hair. "About your third birthday coming up in a few months."
Oh no.
"We thought maybe, instead of a big party, we could do something small? Just family and maybe the Midoriyas?"
Thank god.
"No clown?" Haruto asked hopefully.
"No clown," his mother confirmed, laughing. "We learned our lesson."
"Good."
"But," she continued, "we were thinking we could take you somewhere special. There's a botanical garden about an hour away. We thought you might enjoy it."
A botanical garden.
Full of plants.
Hundreds, maybe thousands of plants.
All of them talking at once.
My personal hell, wrapped up as a birthday present.
"That sounds... nice," Haruto said, because what else could he say?
His mother beamed. "I thought you'd like it! We'll make a day of it. Pack a picnic, spend the afternoon there. It'll be wonderful!"
It'll be overwhelming, Haruto thought. But she looks so happy about this plan.
"Okay," he agreed.
That night, lying in his crib, Haruto thought about everything. Training with Tamaki. Izuku's friendship. Gerald's philosophy. The upcoming botanical garden trip.
His life was getting more complicated, but also... richer? Fuller?
I'm developing attachments, he realized. Real ones. Not strategic. Not calculated. Just... genuine caring about people.
This is not part of the plan.
The plan was to stay detached. To view everyone as pieces on a board. To make ruthless decisions without emotional complications.
But here I am. Caring about Izuku. Trusting Tamaki. Having philosophical debates with a fern.
What would Hashirama think?
The dream he'd had months ago surfaced in his memory. Hashirama's words: "Mercy is what makes us human."
But is caring about people mercy? Or is it weakness?
Or are they the same thing?
From the balcony, Gerald sent a feeling of gentle amusement.
Stop overthinking, the fern advised. You're two years old. You're allowed to have friends and be happy.
But—
No buts. Sleep. Tomorrow you have training again, and Tamaki will make you grow individual grass blades or something equally tedious.
She wouldn't—
She absolutely would.
Haruto smiled in the darkness. Gerald was probably right.
About the training and the overthinking.
He closed his eyes and let sleep take him, the plants humming their quiet songs and Gerald keeping watch like always.
P.s:
Don't worry !
This is only right now!
In the future chapters there is no overthinking or looking stupid.
I only did it for some character development.