The orphanage woke with the sun.
Soft light poured through thin curtains. Wooden floors creaked under quiet footsteps. The smell of simple meals drifted from the kitchen. Children rubbed sleep from their eyes, voices overlapping in drowsy chatter.
To the outside world, it was an ordinary morning.
And he was an ordinary child among them.
A boy with dark hair and observant eyes. Quiet, helpful, rarely troublesome. Perhaps a little too thoughtful for his age, but no one considered that strange. Some children simply grew up faster when they had no parents to rely on.
No one knew the truth.
Behind those young eyes was a mind from another life.
And inside his small body, something waited to be found.
His first year passed like any other child's.
He learned to walk. To speak. To feed himself. To laugh at silly jokes. To cling to caretakers when thunderstorms rolled in.
He played with toy blocks and paper airplanes. He watched hero broadcasts on the small television in the common room. Children cheered when colorful figures flew across the screen, defeating villains with spectacular quirks.
He cheered too.
He had to blend in.
But every night, when the orphanage grew still and breathing around him softened, he sat quietly on his bed and searched inward.
Not for emotions.
Not for feelings.
But for something deeper.
A source.
A core.
A spark.
He closed his eyes and imagined diving into himself, past bone and blood and heartbeat. Somewhere inside, there had to be energy. ROB had said so. Cursed energy. The fuel for everything he would become.
At first, there was nothing.
Only the faint sound of the wind outside. The slow ticking of the wall clock. The gentle breathing of sleeping children.
But he persisted.
Every night.
Without fail.
Months passed.
On a quiet winter night, as snow tapped against the window, he finally felt it.
A presence.
Small. Faint. Almost shy.
But unmistakably real.
It sat deep within him, like a dim star hidden under clouds.
His breath hitched.
He focused on it.
Tried to touch it with his thoughts.
The moment he did, warmth spread through his chest. A slow, gentle current flowing outward. It faded quickly, but the sensation remained in his memory.
He had found it.
From that night onward, everything changed.
By age two, he could find the energy easily.
Every night, he reached inward, touched the spark, and coaxed it to move. A trickle through his arms. A hum under his skin. A feeling of quiet strength.
He learned to keep it contained. Not letting it spill out. Not letting it surge too fast.
He treated it like learning to walk again.
Step by step.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Once, he grew too curious.
He gathered the energy in his palm. Just a little. Then he placed his hand against a wooden block on the floor.
The block slid a few centimeters.
His eyes widened.
He released the energy immediately.
No one noticed. No one saw.
But he did.
It meant the energy could interact with the physical world.
And that meant progress.
He continued his ordinary life.
He helped serve meals. Cleaned toys. Comforted younger children. He smiled, laughed, played tag in the courtyard.
But in quiet moments, he always stared at the sky.
Blue. Vast. Endless.
Something about it pulled at him.
A feeling he couldn't yet name.
By age three, the energy inside him was stable.
He could circulate it slowly through his body. It made him feel lighter. Sharper. More aware of his surroundings.
Still nothing flashy. Nothing that would reveal him.
Exactly as he wanted.
He knew the next step was coming.
ROB's words echoed in his memory.
Your innate technique will awaken at age four.
He didn't know what that awakening would feel like.
But he knew it was close.
One spring morning, the caretakers gathered all children who had reached four years of age.
He stood among them in a neat line.
Excited chatter filled the room.
"Maybe I'll have a fire quirk!"
"I want to fly!"
"My quirk will be super strong!"
The caretakers smiled warmly. In this world, discovering your quirk was a rite of passage. The beginning of your path.
They moved from child to child, performing simple tests. A small machine. Gentle instructions. Encouraging voices.
One by one, sparks flickered. Colors changed. Toys moved. Minor quirks revealed themselves.
Then it was his turn.
He stepped forward calmly.
The caretaker raised the device.
"Let's see what kind of quirk you have, dear."
At that exact moment—
Something surged inside him.
Not wild. Not violent.
But inevitable.
The energy he had nurtured for three years rose from its quiet place. It spread through him. Filled his veins. Pressed against reality itself.
He didn't panic.
He simply let it flow.
The air in front of him rippled.
Like transparent cloth pulled gently sideways.
Caretakers froze.
Children gasped.
The testing device flickered and shut down.
Silence swallowed the room.
For one brief moment, space itself had bent.
Then everything returned to normal.
The rippling vanished.
The device rebooted.
No alarms sounded.
No immediate explanation presented itself.
The caretaker blinked, confused, then smiled awkwardly.
"…Strange. It didn't register anything. Perhaps your quirk hasn't manifested yet."
She patted his head kindly.
"It happens sometimes. Don't worry, dear. It'll show itself soon."
He nodded politely.
But inside, he was smiling.
His innate technique had awakened.
Sky Manipulation.
And no one in this world had any idea what it truly meant.