Chapter 2: A Million Frames Per Second
The iron gates of Aldera Junior High loomed ahead, framed by the vibrant green leaves of early spring. For most students, the morning commute was a blur of sleepy yawns, hurried steps, and last-minute homework copying. But for Mamoru Kiyota, walking through the bustling courtyard was an exercise in high-fidelity observation. He perceived the world differently, as if his mind were a high-end camera processing reality at two hundred and forty frames per second.
Every fluttering leaf, every scuff of a sneaker against the pavement, every subtle shift in the wind was a data point.
"Mamoru! Hold up!"
The familiar voice broke through his intense concentration. Mamoru paused, turning smoothly on his heel to see Yuta jogging toward him. Yuta was a whirlwind of restless energy, his uniform tie undone and his bright orange backpack bouncing rhythmically against his shoulders. Yuta's Quirk allowed him to manipulate small pockets of air, a minor telekinesis that mostly resulted in him hovering a few inches off the ground when he was excited.
"I'm walking at a perfectly average pace, Yuta," Mamoru replied, his voice calm and measured, a stark contrast to his friend's heavy breathing.
"Man, your 'average' is a sprint," Yuta panted, catching his breath and falling into step beside him. "Hey, see the news about Ingenium last night? Stopped a whole train. Made me think of your crazy speed obsession."
Mamoru's deep black eyes tracked a bird swooping low over the courtyard, calculating the exact size of the Room he would need to swap it with a leaf falling from a nearby branch. Three meters. Too far for an instant cast. Needs work.
"Running is just moving in a straight line, Yuta," Mamoru answered softly, adjusting his yellow backpack. "Ingenium is incredible, but he still has to deal with friction, obstacles... travel time. I don't want to run. I want to arrive before the journey even starts."
Yuta grinned, shaking his head. "You and your spatial logic. You know, you sound more like a villain from one of your old manga volumes than a hero student sometimes."
"Trafalgar Law wasn't a villain. He was a pirate, but a doctor," Mamoru corrected, a faint smile touching his lips. "And his control over his space was absolute. That's what I need."
They entered the main hallway, instantly swallowed by the chaotic symphony of middle school life. Lockers slammed shut, laughter echoed against the linoleum floors, and a dense crowd of students moved like a slow, unpredictable river. This was Mamoru's favorite training ground.
He slipped his right hand into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around the smooth, cool surface of his favorite anchor stone. He began his silent routine.
Frame one: A senior student walking three paces ahead, carrying a towering, precarious stack of art supplies—paint jars, brushes, and a heavy wooden easel.
Frame two: A first-year student running in the opposite direction, looking over their shoulder to wave at a friend, completely unaware of their forward trajectory.
Frame three: The inevitable intersection.
Mamoru's mind slowed down. The ambient noise of the hallway seemed to mute, reduced to a low, distant hum. He watched the scene unfold with absolute clarity. The running student turned their head forward, their eyes widening in sudden panic as the senior with the art supplies filled their vision. The senior tried to sidestep, but the heavy wooden easel shifted, throwing off their balance.
The stack began to tilt.
Frame four: Gravity took hold. Three glass jars filled with crimson and blue paint slipped from the top of the pile, tumbling toward the hard linoleum floor. If they shattered, the glass and paint would create a dangerous, slippery mess in the middle of a crowded corridor.
Mamoru didn't run. Running took time.
He pulled the smooth stone from his pocket, holding it loosely in his left hand. He raised his right hand, index and middle finger pointing upward in a casual, almost lazy gesture.
"Room."
The whisper was entirely lost in the noise of the hallway. From his raised fingers, a translucent blue hemisphere expanded with lightning speed. It bloomed outward, a silent wave of spatial energy that washed over the lockers, the students, and the falling jars of paint. The sphere stopped precisely at a three-meter radius, enveloping the entire disaster zone. The air inside took on a faint, aquatic distortion, noticeable only to those who knew what to look for.
The paint jars were mere inches from the ground. Time felt as though it had stopped. Mamoru focused his mind on the weight and dimensions of the glass jars, then looked down at the small stone in his left hand.
"Shambles."
There was no flash of light, no concussive boom. There was only a crisp, satisfying pop that displaced the air.
In a fraction of a millisecond, the universe rearranged itself. The heavy glass jars of crimson and blue paint vanished from the air, replaced instantly by the small, smooth stone. The stone hit the linoleum floor with a harmless, hollow clack.
Simultaneously, the three glass jars appeared precisely in the space where the stone had been. Because they retained their falling momentum, they immediately dropped, but Mamoru was already waiting. His hands moved in a fluid, practiced motion, catching the jars gently against his chest before they could slip away.
The senior student stumbled backward, eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the sound of shattering glass. The running first-year tripped and landed on their hands and knees, gasping.
Silence rippled through that specific section of the hallway. The senior opened their eyes, staring in sheer confusion at the small stone resting on the floor where their paint should have been.
Yuta, who had been standing right next to Mamoru, blinked slowly. "Whoa. I didn't even see you move."
Mamoru carefully adjusted his grip on the jars, stepping forward to hand them back to the stunned senior. "Here," he said calmly. "Careful with that easel, it makes the whole stack top-heavy."
The senior took the jars numbly, their mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I... how? They were just hitting the floor."
"Good reflexes," Mamoru said simply, offering a polite nod before turning back to his friend. He bent down, picked up his anchor stone, and slipped it smoothly back into his pocket. The translucent blue dome silently dissolved into nothingness.
"Reflexes, my foot," Yuta muttered as they resumed their walk to class. "You used your Quirk. But man, you're getting faster. Last month, it took you a full second to form the Room and swap. This time, it was like... instant."
"Zero point four seconds," Mamoru corrected quietly, his dark eyes staring straight ahead. "Still too slow."
Yuta groaned. "Are you kidding me?"
Mamoru didn't answer. In a real fight against a high-velocity projectile or a villain attacking from a blind spot, zero point four was an eternity. He needed it at zero point one. He needed the Room to expand at the exact speed of his thought, and the swap to happen before the thought even finished.
He sat down at his desk near the window, gazing out at the physical education class running laps on the field below. The world moved so slowly. People relied so heavily on their muscles, their physical endurance, and their brute strength. But Mamoru knew the truth. True speed wasn't about pushing your body to its absolute limits.
True speed was about mastering the space between things. It was about looking at the world, breaking it down frame by frame, and deciding exactly where you belonged in the picture.
He pulled the latest volume of his manga from his yellow backpack, setting it neatly on his desk as he waited for the teacher to arrive. He traced the cover art with his thumb, feeling a deep sense of calm wash over him. Today was a good day. The frames were getting clearer, the spatial calculations were getting sharper, and his dream of being the fastest hero was one fraction of a second closer to reality.