Age 5: One Year Later
"Your quirk is evolving," Tamaki said one morning, watching Haruto grow an entire garden in under a minute.
"Is that bad?"
"It's concerning. You're five. Most kids don't hit their first evolution until they're seven or eight."
"I'm precocious."
"You're concerning."
"Same thing."
They were in the park—their usual training spot. What had been a simple clearing a year ago was now a small forest that the park service had given up trying to remove.
We like it here, the trees insisted whenever someone suggested cutting them down. We're staying.
"Can you make them stop talking to the park rangers?" Tamaki asked.
"They're trees. They don't listen to me."
"You grew them."
"That doesn't mean they obey me. Ask any parent."
"You're five."
"I contain multitudes of wisdom."
"That's not—you know what, never mind."
The evolution wasn't just about speed or size. Haruto could now sense plants from several blocks away. Could make them move—actually move, not just grow. Could heal sick plants without touching them.
And the plants wouldn't shut up about it.
He's getting stronger! they gossiped constantly. Did you feel that? He's AWARE of us now!
He was always aware, Gerald would respond smugly. I've been talking to him for three years.
That's different! You're special!
I know.
"Gerald's getting cocky," Haruto reported to Tamaki.
"The fern?"
"He's four feet tall now. He's not really a fern anymore. He's a fern tree."
"That's not a thing."
"It is in my house."
"Your life is so weird."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
First grade was different from kindergarten.
For one thing, they had homework. Actual homework. Math problems and reading assignments and—worst of all—book reports.
"I don't understand the point," Haruto complained to Izuku during lunch.
"The point is learning!"
"I can learn without homework."
"Miss Tanaka says homework reinforces lessons!"
"Miss Tanaka also says sitting still builds character."
"Does it?"
"No. It builds resentment."
Izuku laughed, nearly spilling his juice box. They were in first grade now, Class 1-C, with a new teacher who believed in "structured learning" and "personal growth."
What this meant in practice was more work and less free time.
"I miss kindergarten," Mina said, joining their table. "Miss Aoki let us nap."
"Miss Tanaka says naps are for babies," Haruto quoted.
"Miss Tanaka is wrong."
"Agreed."
The bullying had gotten worse too. Izuku's quirkless status was now common knowledge, and some kids were relentless.
"Quirkless Deku can't do anything!" became a common taunt.
Haruto had developed a system: First warning was verbal. Second warning was vines around ankles. Third warning was getting reported to Miss Tanaka.
Most bullies stopped at the vine stage.
"You can't just threaten people with plants," Izuku said after Haruto had vine-tripped someone for the third time that week.
"I'm not threatening. I'm enforcing boundaries."
"With plants."
"With strategic plant placement."
"That's threatening."
"That's effective."
Bakugo, surprisingly, had stopped participating in the bullying. He still called Izuku "Deku" but it had shifted from mockery to something almost affectionate.
"At least Deku TRIES," he told another kid who was mocking Izuku. "What do YOU do?"
"I have a quirk!"
"So? Deku's got DETERMINATION! That's better than a weak quirk!"
The kid backed off. Izuku stared at Bakugo in shock.
"Did you just defend me?"
"I STATED FACTS!"
"You defended me!"
"FACTUAL DEFENSE!"
"That's still defense!"
"SHUT UP, DEKU!"
But he was smiling.
Training had intensified.
Tamaki was pushing them harder now that they were older. More endurance work. More precision exercises. More control drills.
"Twenty jumping jacks!" she'd call.
"THAT'S DOUBLE LAST YEAR!" Bakugo would protest while doing thirty anyway.
"You're bigger now. Standards increase."
"That's not fair!"
"Life isn't fair. Keep going."
Haruto's exercises focused on range and precision. Making plants grow at specific distances. Controlling multiple plants simultaneously. Creating complex structures from wood.
"You're getting close to your limit," Tamaki observed one day.
"What limit?"
"The amount your body can handle. Every quirk has a ceiling—the maximum you can do before your body starts breaking down."
"What's mine?"
"We'll find out. But slowly. I'm not having you pass out on my watch."
She'd been more careful with him since she'd found out about his quirk's evolution. More monitoring. More breaks. More water.
"You're mother-henning me," Haruto said during one enforced break.
"I'm being responsible."
"Same thing."
"Not quite."
"Close enough."
Izuku had gotten significantly stronger. He could do ten pull-ups now. Could run a mile without stopping. Could hold his own in their light sparring sessions.
"You're going to be ripped," Mina observed.
"I'm five!"
"Ripped five-year-old!"
"That sounds wrong!"
"But accurate!"
Bakugo was working on explosion control—different sizes, different directions, different intensities.
"I can make a blast the size of my PINKY now!" he announced proudly.
"Why would you need a pinky-sized blast?" Haruto asked.
"PRECISION!"
"For what?"
"PRECISION DESTRUCTION!"
"That's contradictory."
"YOUR FACE IS CONTRADICTORY!"
"That doesn't make sense."
"I KNOW! I'm TIRED!"
Mina had mastered acid control to the point where she could melt things with specific patterns. She'd started making acid art—melting designs into metal plates.
"Look!" She showed them a plate with a flower pattern. "I made it!"
"That's actually really good," Izuku said, sketching it in his notebook.
"Thanks! I'm thinking of doing commissions!"
"You're five."
"Entrepreneurial five!"
"That's not a thing."
"It is now!"
At home, Gerald had become a full-fledged tree.
"You're not a fern anymore," Haruto told him one evening.
I'm a fern in spirit.
"You're fifteen feet tall."
Size doesn't define identity.
"That's philosophical."
I learned it from the oak tree in the park. He's very wise about existence.
"All the trees in this city are philosophers."
What else would we do? We can't move. Philosophy is our entertainment.
"You could be quiet."
Where's the fun in that?
The cherry tree had started producing fruit—actual cherries that were apparently delicious according to his parents.
"Don't eat those!" Haruto said when his father reached for one.
"Why not? They're cherries!"
"They're HER cherries! She's proud of them!"
"The tree is proud?"
"Very proud. She's been telling everyone in the Plant Network about her first fruit."
His parents exchanged their usual look.
"Our son is proud on behalf of a tree," his mother said.
"I heard that!"
"We know, sweetie!"
Herbert the classroom plant had been moved to a bigger pot and was now officially the class mascot. He reported everything to Gerald, who reported everything to Haruto.
"Miss Tanaka sneezed seven times yesterday," Haruto said at dinner.
"How do you know that?" his father asked.
"Herbert told Gerald who told me."
"The plant gossip network."
"It's very efficient."
"It's very weird."
"Same thing."
The biggest change came one Tuesday during training.
Haruto was working on creating a wooden structure—something complex, like a bridge. He'd done it before, but Tamaki wanted him to do it faster.
"Speed and precision," she said. "Both matter."
Haruto focused, pushing energy into the ground. Wood began to form, shaping itself into support beams, a platform, railings—
And then something clicked.
It was like a door opening in his mind. Suddenly, he could feel every plant in the entire park. Not just sense them—FEEL them. Their roots, their leaves, their growth patterns. Everything.
And they all responded to him at once.
Trees swayed. Flowers bloomed. Grass grew several inches. The entire park seemed to pulse with life.
"Haruto!" Tamaki's voice cut through. "Stop! Stop right now!"
Haruto pulled back, the connection severing. He stumbled, suddenly exhausted.
"What was that?" he managed.
"That," Tamaki said, catching him before he fell, "was your quirk hitting its next level."
She sat him down, handed him water, checked his pulse.
"You just connected to every plant in the park simultaneously. That's not normal for your age. Hell, that's not normal for any age."
"Is that bad?"
"It's powerful. Power without control is dangerous."
"I have control."
"You just made every plant in a two-block radius respond to you. That's not control. That's a quirk awakening."
She pulled out her phone. "I'm calling your parents. And Dr. Yamada. You need a full check-up."
"I'm fine."
"You're exhausted and you nearly passed out. You're not fine."
Bakugo, Izuku, and Mina had stopped their own training to watch.
"That was AWESOME!" Bakugo shouted. "The trees were all moving and—"
"Not helpful, Katsuki," Tamaki said.
"But it WAS awesome!"
"Still not helpful!"
"Was that his quirk evolution?" Izuku asked, notebook already out.
"Yes. And it's concerning."
"Why?"
"Because he's five. This shouldn't happen for another three years minimum."
"Maybe he's just advanced?" Mina suggested.
"Or maybe his quirk is more powerful than we thought and needs more careful monitoring."
Haruto wanted to argue, but he was too tired. The world felt fuzzy around the edges.
"Lie down," Tamaki instructed. "Don't move. Just breathe."
"I'm fine," Haruto protested weakly.
"You're not. Breathe."
By the time his parents arrived, Haruto had recovered enough to sit up. His mother immediately started fussing.
"Are you okay? What happened? Tamaki said your quirk—"
"I'm fine, Mama."
"You're not fine! You nearly passed out!"
"I'm mostly fine."
"That's not fine!"
His father knelt down. "What happened, buddy?"
"My quirk got bigger. Stronger. I could feel everything."
"Everything?"
"Every plant. In the park. At once."
His parents looked at Tamaki, who nodded confirmation.
"That's... that's a lot," his father said finally.
"That's concerning," his mother corrected.
"It's an evolution," Tamaki explained. "His quirk is growing with him. It's natural, but it happened earlier than expected."
"Is he safe?" his mother asked.
"For now. But he needs to learn to control this new level of power. Otherwise..." She trailed off.
"Otherwise what?"
"Otherwise he could hurt himself. Or others. Uncontrolled power is dangerous."
The drive home was quiet. Haruto sat in the backseat, still processing what had happened.
He'd felt everything. Every plant. Their life, their growth, their existence. It had been overwhelming and incredible and terrifying all at once.
This was real power. The kind that could change things. The kind that could matter.
The kind that could be dangerous if he wasn't careful.
"Haru?" his father said softly.
"Yeah?"
"How do you feel? Really?"
Haruto thought about it. About the power. The potential. The responsibility.
"Scared," he admitted. "And excited."
"That's honest."
"Gerald taught me honesty."
"Gerald is wise."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true."
At home, Gerald was waiting.
I felt that, he said as soon as Haruto stepped onto the balcony.
"The quirk thing?"
The quirk awakening. Every plant in the city felt it.
"Oh."
You're powerful, small human. More powerful than you know.
"Is that good?"
That's terrifying, Gerald said honestly. But also necessary.
"For what?"
For whatever's coming.
"Nothing's coming."
Everything's always coming. That's how time works.
"You're being cryptic."
I'm being honest. There's a difference.
They sat quietly, watching the stars appear one by one.
"Gerald?"
Yes?
"I'm scared."
Good. Fear keeps you careful. Careful keeps you alive.
"When did you get so wise about fear?"
When I realized you were going to need that wisdom.
Inside, his parents were talking in low, worried voices. The cherry tree was watching him with what felt like concern. Even Herbert sent worried thoughts through the Plant Network.
Everything had changed.