Middle school life settled into rhythm.
Tenji Kurokawa sat by the window, watching clouds drift lazily across the sky. Bakugo Katsuki dominated the classroom with raw confidence and louder-than-life ambition. Midoriya Izuku hid nervous hope behind frantic note-taking. Teachers lectured. Students dreamed of heroism.
And quietly, steadily, Tenji grew.
His quirk—registered as Minor Spatial Displacement—had become familiar to everyone. In gym class, dodgeballs curved away from him. During obstacle courses, he stepped onto invisible footholds and cleared gaps effortlessly. Teachers praised his control. Classmates thought his ability was strange but impressive.
No one asked deeper questions.
Because quirks didn't need to be understood. Only witnessed.
And Tenji was content with that.
One afternoon, as the school emptied, Midoriya found him on the rooftop.
Tenji stood near the fence, stepping calmly onto folded space, rising just above the ground before settling down again. The motion was quiet, fluid, natural—like walking on stairs only he could see.
Midoriya watched, awe written plainly across his face.
"Kurokawa-kun… that's amazing."
Tenji stepped down and turned to him.
"You're staying late again."
Midoriya scratched his cheek, embarrassed.
"I wanted to ask you something. You always seem so… prepared. Do you think someone without a strong quirk can become a hero?"
Tenji studied him.
A boy with no visible power. Yet his eyes burned with stubborn will.
Tenji understood that feeling.
"If you lack power," Tenji said, "then build what power stands on."
Midoriya blinked. "What does that mean?"
"Your body," Tenji replied simply. "Strength. Endurance. Speed. A strong body gives meaning to any power you gain later. Train it every day. Even if nothing changes at first."
Midoriya absorbed the words as if they were sacred.
Then he bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Kurokawa-kun!"
Tenji watched him hurry away, already muttering training plans under his breath.
Tenji didn't know it yet—but a single conversation had quietly nudged fate.
By thirteen, Tenji's life had become a disciplined cycle.
Morning runs through empty streets before school. Push-ups in his apartment. Stretching on the balcony as the city woke below him. His body grew lean, balanced, and responsive—perfect for guiding delicate distortions of space.
At school, he used his quirk openly. He curved thrown objects. Redirected misfires during practice drills. Teachers occasionally asked him to demonstrate for younger classes. He obliged without hesitation.
Bakugo noticed.
"You're always training," Bakugo said one day, arms crossed. "Trying to catch up to me?"
Tenji met his stare calmly.
"I train to surpass my limits."
Bakugo grinned like a spark catching flame.
"Hah. Good. Don't fall behind."
No rivalry yet. Just recognition.
Two forces moving toward inevitable collision.
But Tenji's real training began after sunset.
Each night, he sat by his window, hand extended toward the open air. The cursed energy within him had grown vast and familiar, like a second circulatory system flowing beneath his skin. He no longer searched for it. It answered instinctively.
Bending space had become easy.
Compressing it was not.
The first time he tried to force two points of space together, reality resisted. The air twisted violently. His cursed energy surged too fast. A stabbing pressure burst behind his eyes, and he collapsed to one knee, breath sharp and uneven.
He learned from that.
The next attempt, he slowed everything down. He shaped the distortion carefully, like sculpting glass with invisible hands. He stabilized his stance. Let the energy flow evenly.
Space trembled.
Compressed.
Held.
And when he released it—
A silent crack shot through the night. An invisible strike punched forward and split a wooden crate across the balcony cleanly in half.
Tenji stood motionless, breathing hard.
He had created an attack.
Not borrowed.
Not inherited.
Born of understanding.
He named it quietly.
"Thin Ice Breaker."
Mastery did not come overnight.
Some evenings the compression collapsed early. Some nights the recoil sent pain crawling through his skull, forcing him to lie still until the world stopped spinning. But with every failure, his control sharpened. His cursed energy flowed smoother. His awareness of space grew intimate, instinctive.
By the time he turned fourteen, Thin Ice Breaker responded to his will like a trained blade.
Not limitless.
Not effortless.
But reliable.
Earned.
At school, the final year arrived.
The teacher stood before the class and wrote large letters on the board:
FUTURE PATHS
"Soon you'll choose your high schools," she said. "Some of you will apply to UA's hero course. Start preparing now."
Excitement burst across the room.
Bakugo slammed his hand on his desk.
"I'm going to UA. Obviously."
Midoriya swallowed nervously but nodded to himself.
Tenji looked out the window.
Sky. Clouds. Space stretching forever.
UA was the next step.
Not because he wanted to be a hero.
But because it was where power, conflict, and destiny gathered.
And his path had always pointed forward.
That night, Tenji stood on his balcony.
He lifted himself onto folded space and rose above the city. Wind tugged his hair. Lights shimmered below. The world felt small beneath his feet.
He raised his hand.
Compressed space.
Released.
A fracture rippled through the sky, dispersing clouds like torn silk.
Tenji smiled.
Fourteen years.
From death.
To rebirth.
To strength.
Now, the story everyone knew was about to begin.
And inside it walked a boy whose power came from somewhere far deeper than quirks.