Middle school ended without ceremony.
No dramatic farewell, no heavy emotions weighing down Ren's chest. Just a quiet closing of a chapter—one final bell, a last classroom cleaned too thoroughly by habit, and students scattering into the streets with summer already tugging at their sleeves.
Ren watched it all from the edge, as he always had.
He stood at the school gate a moment longer than necessary, backpack hanging loose on one shoulder. Groups of students laughed, argued, complained about homework that no longer mattered. Some talked excitedly about high schools, others about jobs, a few about hero exams with voices that wavered between confidence and fear.
Negative energy brushed against him in gentle waves.
Not sharp. Not intense.
Just… natural.
He let it settle into him without thinking too hard about it. After all this time, absorption had become instinctive. The city didn't feel loud anymore—it felt familiar.
A few days remained before the U.A. entrance exam.
Not many. Just enough to breathe.
Kyoto moved differently during this time of year. Students were free, parents anxious, hero agencies visibly more alert. Patrols increased. News channels replayed old exam footage, analysts speculating about acceptance rates and Quirk trends.
Ren absorbed it all from rooftops.
He didn't train aggressively anymore—not in the way he used to. There was no frantic pushing, no reckless experimentation. Instead, his practice was smooth, deliberate, almost lazy to an outside observer.
Blades formed at his fingertips and dispersed just as easily.
One. Two. Three.
They curved through the air in shallow arcs, dissolving before reaching the edge of the rooftop. No wasted motion. No strain. He didn't need to test limits right now. He already knew where they were.
What mattered was consistency.
He sat cross-legged on warm concrete, eyes half-lidded, letting energy circulate naturally. His reservoir felt full—not bursting, not heavy. Stable. Reliable.
It was enough.
Enough for the exam.
Enough for mistakes.
Enough for emergencies.
That thought alone eased something in his chest.
Down below, a minor incident unfolded—two men shouting near a convenience store, voices rising until a patrol car slid smoothly into view. The argument fizzled. Disappointment, embarrassment, frustration drifted upward.
Ren absorbed it passively.
Still works, he thought, faintly amused.
He spent the remaining days drifting between rooftops, libraries, and quiet corners of the city. Sometimes he reviewed reconstructed novel outlines, refining phrasing and pacing for future uploads. Other times, he simply watched people.
Fear before exams.
Hope masked as bravado.
Parents worrying without meaning to show it.
All of it fed him in small, steady amounts.
At night, he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, fingers idly tracing invisible lines in the air. Blades flickered into existence and vanished before they fully formed. His control was precise enough now that he didn't need visible constructs to test himself.
He thought of Nejire.
Not obsessively. Not painfully.
Just… warmly.
He'd seen her name pop up once or twice in local hero news. Nothing dramatic. Just mentions. Group photos. Training exercises. She looked happier now—open in a way she hadn't been back then on the school rooftop.
Good, he thought.
He didn't plan to seek her out at U.A. Not immediately. They would meet naturally, or they wouldn't. Either way was fine. He wasn't chasing connections anymore.
He was chasing freedom.
The night before his departure, he packed lightly. Clothes. Documents. Savings card tucked carefully into an inner pocket. Nothing flashy. Nothing sentimental.
He stood by the orphanage gate before dawn, air cool and still, city lights dimmed to a soft glow.
For a moment, he paused.
Middle school had given him something important—not power, not skill, but space. Time to experiment quietly. Time to fail where no one noticed. Time to become comfortable with himself.
Now, that space was closing.
U.A. awaited.
A place louder, sharper, more dangerous.
Ren stepped forward without hesitation.
The city behind him breathed out one last wave of restless emotion.
He absorbed it instinctively.
And walked on.