NOVEL NEXT Chapter 5: Establishing Relationships
The next month at preschool was an experience unlike anything I'd imagined. It was noisy, chaotic, and full of quirks—both in the literal and figurative sense.
Midoriya, Bakugo, and I quickly became the center of attention, though for very different reasons.
Bakugo, with his brash attitude and explosive quirk, dominated most interactions with the other kids. Midoriya, on the other hand, was timid and often avoided conflict, sticking close to his hero analysis notebook.
And then there was me—a bit of an enigma with a quirk that intrigued everyone but didn't fit neatly into the flashy world of explosions and strength.
…
One day, a shift in Midoriya's demeanor became impossible to ignore. He usually tried to blend into the background, but today he seemed particularly withdrawn, clutching his notebook tightly as if it were his only anchor.
"Midoriya," I said gently during break time, sitting beside him on the playground steps. "What's wrong?"
He hesitated, his green eyes filled with a sadness that seemed too heavy for a child his age. "It's nothing," he mumbled, trying to brush it off.
"It doesn't look like nothing," I pressed, keeping my tone soft. "You can tell me."
For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then, his shoulders slumped, and he whispered, "I… I found out I'm quirkless."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.
"My mom took me to the doctor yesterday," he continued, his voice cracking. "They said I don't have a quirk, and I never will. How can I… How can I ever be a hero if I don't have a quirk?"
Tears welled up in his eyes, and he quickly turned his head, trying to hide them.
I sighed, feeling a pang in my chest. I couldn't imagine how crushing that revelation must have been for him, especially in a society where quirks defined everything.
"You know," I said after a moment, "being a hero isn't just about having a quirk."
Midoriya looked at me, his tears threatening to spill over. "What do you mean? All heroes have quirks. Even All Might…"
"That's true," I admitted, "but think about what heroes really do. They save lives, protect people, and inspire hope. You don't need a quirk to do that."
He sniffled, clearly unconvinced.
"Look," I continued, "you've got a gift, even if it's not a quirk. You know more about heroes and their quirks than anyone else I've met. What if you used that knowledge to help heroes? You could create gadgets, tools, or even strategies that make them better at their jobs. You could save lives that way."
Midoriya blinked, his expression shifting slightly. "You really think so?"
"I know so," I said firmly. "And who knows? Maybe one day, you'll figure out a way to help yourself too. You're smart enough to do it."
For the first time that day, a small smile tugged at his lips. "Thanks, Renjiro."
…
Meanwhile, Bakugo was becoming more competitive by the day.
He couldn't stand being overshadowed, especially when I restored something he'd destroyed with his quirk or when the other kids asked me to help with their problems instead of him.
"You think you're better than me, fix-it boy?" he growled one afternoon as we worked on an art project. He'd just used a tiny explosion to "improve" his drawing, but the scorch marks had ruined it.
"I don't think that," I said calmly, smoothing out the paper and using my quirk to restore it. "But you don't have to destroy everything to show how strong you are."
"Tch. You're just jealous you can't blow stuff up."
I smirked faintly. "Maybe. But at least I can fix it."
His glare was enough to melt steel, but I'd learned how to handle his temper.
Bakugo was loud and aggressive, but deep down, I could tell he respected strength in any form—even if he'd never admit it.
…
At home, my parents were thrilled with how I was adjusting to preschool.
My mother often asked about my day, her smile lighting up the room as I recounted my adventures. My father, though quieter, listened intently, his piercing blue eyes betraying his pride.
One evening, as we sat together after dinner, my father's tone turned serious. "Renjiro, your quirk is powerful. It's a gift, but it's also a responsibility."
I looked up at him, curious. "What do you mean?"
"Restoration is more than just fixing things," he said, his voice steady. "It can heal, but it can also harm. If misused, it could become a weapon. You need to remember that."
I frowned, trying to understand what he was implying. "But I only want to help people."
"That's good," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "But there will be times when the line between helping and hurting isn't so clear. Promise me you'll always think before you use your quirk."
"I promise," I said, though the weight of his words lingered in my mind long after.
…
Nejire's occasional visits were a welcome break from the chaos of preschool.
She always burst into the house like a whirlwind, her energy filling every corner as she bombarded me with questions about my day.
"So, what's it like?" she asked one afternoon, twirling a strand of her shoulder-length blue hair. "Do the other kids have cool quirks? Are there any heroes in training like us?"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "It's… interesting. Most of them are just figuring things out. But there's this one kid, Bakugo, who's convinced he's going to be the number one hero."
Nejire tilted her head, intrigued. "And what about you?"
"Me?" I paused, considering her question. "I just want to do my best."
Her grin widened. "That's why you're the best support hero ever! But don't forget, you've got front-liner potential too."
Her confidence in me never wavered, and it was moments like these that reminded me how lucky I was to have her in my life.
…
Looking back on that month, I realized how much had changed.
I wasn't just learning about quirks or making new friends—I was starting to understand what it meant to be a hero. It wasn't just about strength or power; it was about the choices you made, the people you helped, and the legacy you left behind.
And even though I still had a long way to go, I knew one thing for certain: I wasn't on this journey alone.