The Marked Trajectory

Morning greeted me with the smell of burnt rice porridge and the clang of an iron door. At Tsuin Sandzu-en, alarm clocks weren’t provided—they were replaced by Honda-san, who walked down the corridor banging on every door with something metallic. I suspected it was a ladle. Or a small gong. Or a gong disguised as a ladle. “Rise and shine, slackers!” came from the corridor. “Breakfast in fifteen minutes!” I sat up in bed, stretched with pleasure until my spine cracked, and grinned. How freaking awesome it was just to get out of bed on my own two feet. Not having to wait for someone to come… Bliss! “Seiha, what are you grinning about like an idiot?” Koji was already standing in his underwear in the middle of the room, energetically ruffling his red hair so that it began to resemble a cross between a dandelion and an explosion at a pasta factory. “Running drills again? In your sleep, or what?” “I dreamed you became a hero,” I snorted, pulling on my pants. “Woke up in a cold sweat.” Takumi, already seated at his desk with a book, quietly snorted. His Night Vision made him the prime witness to all the nighttime stirrings in the room, but the guy was so silent that it was almost creepy. Almost. Ryohei, as always, said nothing. He just changed his skin color from normal to pale green and shuffled toward the door. It seemed to mean ‘I’m not awake yet.’ Or maybe ‘I don’t give a damn about any of you.’ With Ryohei, it was hard to tell for sure. Breakfast went as usual. A bowl of rice, a piece of fish, thin soup. The food at Tsuin was nutritious but painfully monotonous. I, however, wasn’t complaining. After hospital meals, even this porridge tasted like the food of the gods. After breakfast began what the Commandant proudly called “home schooling.” In reality, it meant that several residents who, for various reasons, were temporarily not attending school gathered in the common room with an elderly retired teacher and tried to pretend they were studying. I was among them. After the accident, I’d been given something like an academic leave, and for the next one and a half to two weeks, I was supposed to study the material on my own while the bureaucratic machine chewed through all the paperwork and placed me in some local school. The Commandant had mentioned Orugeda or something like that, I think. It sounded like the name of cheap beer, but I wasn’t picky. “Kaburaya, are you listening?” “Huh?” I lifted my head from the math textbook. Yamada-sensei, an elderly man with the Chalk Fingers Quirk, was looking at me reproachfully. “Yes, of course. X equals seven.” “We’re covering medieval Japan.” “And medieval X equals seven,” I replied without batting an eye. “Back then, equations were simpler.” One of the younger kids giggled. Yamada-sensei sighed and continued the lecture. I honestly tried to listen about the Edo period and shoguns, but my brain treacherously switched to a more interesting topic—training. Today was supposed to be my first “official” outing to Dagobah Beach under supervision. After my epic escape and subsequent capture, I was allowed to train, but on one condition: someone from the staff would always be nearby. I expected anyone—a grim guard, the ever-present Honda-san, even the Commandant himself with his bald head and tired eyes. What I didn’t expect was… “Meet your warden, Seiha.” The Commandant pointed to a beaming Koji, who stood beside him after lunch. “Koji volunteered. He’ll be your warden.” I blinked. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? Did I mishear or did you say ‘Koji’?” “That’s right,” the Commandant adjusted his glasses. “He volunteered himself. Said it would help him understand how other Quirks work, whatever that means. And it’ll give him extra credit for career orientation.” I shifted my gaze to Koji. He was smiling as if he’d just been handed a pro hero license and the keys to his own agency to boot. “Seiha, bro!” He clapped me on the shoulder so hard I nearly flew into the wall. Where did this redhead get so much strength? “We’ll make an awesome team! I’ll make sure you don’t break the rules, and you’ll show me your cool tricks with the Marks! It’s like in a buddy-hero movie!” “In buddy-hero movies, one of them usually isn’t trying to do the other one in from excess enthusiasm,” I muttered. “What?” “Nothing. Let’s go already.”

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The walk to Dagobah Beach took about half an hour. The whole time, Koji didn’t shut his mouth. At all. Absolutely. Not for a second. I even began to suspect that his true Quirk wasn’t Finger Extension, but the ability to do without breathing. Or to breathe through his skin. Or… “…and Takumi says he sees everything at night, but you sleep at night, right? And if you don’t sleep, what do you do? Train in your sleep?” “Koji,” I said, stepping over a rusty bicycle frame. “Huh?” “Are you aware that you’re talking out loud? Everything that comes to mind?” “Of course,” he looked at me in surprise. “How else are you supposed to communicate?” I wanted to say “silently,” but I realized that to this person, the concept of silence was evidently something like an advanced philosophical doctrine. “Okay, forget it.” The trash beach greeted us with the familiar smell of salt and rust. The ocean lazily rolled onto the shore, while mountains of scrap metal, old tires, and other junk towered over the beach, creating a perfect training ground. “Wo-o-ow,” breathed Koji, looking around. “And you train here? It looks like a dump!” “Because it is a dump,” I pulled off my temporary gloves and stuffed them into my pocket. “But it’s my dump.” “Like in the movies! Every cool hero needs a secret training spot! Like Bastion’s cave, only… a trash cave!” “Yep, exactly. Trash Lagoon. Sounds proud.” I flexed my fingers. Today’s program was simple: refine my ricochets and work on the speed of re-targeting Marks. No crazy experiments. Especially under the supervision of the Red-Haired Unstoppable Dam. “Alright, warden,” I turned to Koji. “Your job: stand over there, by that concrete block, and don’t interfere. If I break a safety rule—yell. If a stranger shows up—yell. The rest of the time—keep quiet.” “Got it!” Koji snapped to attention. “I’ll keep quiet!” “I doubt it,” I whispered. I headed to my training labyrinth, which I’d built last time. Piles of tires, a few rusty barrels, and a couple of concrete slabs set at angles. Simple, but perfect for practicing ricochets. First, a warm-up. I touched an old road sign with my right hand, which I used as a stationary target. An invisible Mark softly settled on the metal. I picked up a piece of brick from the ground and tossed it into my right hand… “Why did you switch the rock to your right hand?” came from behind. I sighed. “Because the Mark is on my right hand, Koji. The projectile has to be thrown by the same hand that placed the Mark.” “O-o-oh! Got it! And if you place the Mark with your left hand, then you have to throw with your left?” “Exactly.” “What if you place the Mark with your foot?” “The Quirk only works through hands.” “What if…” “Koji. You promised to keep quiet.” “I was being quiet! I was asking questions! Those are different things!” I groaned and threw the brick. The projectile soared up, arced around a rusty barrel, and crunched into the road sign. The metal rang pitifully. A hit. “WHOA!” Koji yelled. “Did you see that?! It flew around the barrel! BY ITSELF! FLEW AROUND! Seiha, that’s like a homing missile, only without the missile! And without the explosion! And if you threw something that explodes, then…” “Koji. Breathe.” “Huh?” “Just breathe. And be quiet. Please.” He took a deep breath and froze. I counted three seconds of silence before he opened his mouth again. “Why didn’t you throw two things at once? You have two hands!” I realized that today’s training would be a test not so much for my Quirk as for my nervous system. Alright. If you can’t stop chaos, use it. I picked up two small rocks from the ground. Left hand touched the barrel—Mark. Right hand touched the sign—second Mark. I spread my arms like a true gunslinger. “Watch, warden. This is called multiple target acquisition.” I hurled both rocks simultaneously. One headed for the barrel, the second for the sign. Halfway through, I abruptly switched priorities: left hand touched a pile of tires, re-targeting the Mark, and the right hand touched a concrete slab behind Koji. The rocks, already in flight, sharply changed trajectories. The one meant for the barrel veered right and smacked into the rubber with a splat. The second described a beautiful arc and… “OW!” …whisked past a millimeter from Koji’s ear before slamming into the concrete slab. “What the heck?!” Koji jumped aside, his fingers nervously extending half a meter. “It almost hit me!” “But it didn’t,” I shrugged, though inside I went cold. I’d aimed for the slab behind him, but I hadn’t accounted for Koji standing too close to the trajectory. My mistake. “Listen, maybe you’d better move farther away? Over there, by that pile of tires?” “No way!” He stubbornly crossed his arms. “I’m your warden! The Commandant said to watch you, so I’ll watch! Even if rocks come flying at me!” “Rocks will come at you anyway if you don’t stop distracting me.” “I’m not distracting! I’m… providing moral support!” “Moral support” that yells in your ear every five seconds. Splendid. I sighed and returned to training. The next half hour passed in “endure, Cossack, and you’ll be an ataman” mode. I worked on my cycle speed: Mark, throw, switch Mark in flight, impact. Koji, to his credit, genuinely tried not to interfere. He just commented. Constantly. Nonstop. “Ooh, that rock is flying nicely! Why does it curve like that? What if you throw something round, will it roll or fly? Can you mark a person? Can you mark me? Let’s try! Come on!” “No.” “Oh, please! I want to see a rock chase me! That would be awesome!” “Koji, I’m not going to launch projectiles at a living person.” “Then don’t throw a rock! Throw something soft! Over there, that piece of rubber!” I looked at the piece of rubber. Then at Koji. Then back at the rubber. “You know,” I said slowly. “There’s something to that. Training on a moving target…” “YES!” Koji jumped up. “Let’s do it! I’ll dodge, and you throw! Like in hero training!” “Stand still. First the Mark.” I touched Koji’s shoulder. He froze as if he’d been touched not by a hand but by a red-hot iron. “And… that’s it?” He examined himself in surprise. “I don’t feel anything.” “The Mark is invisible and intangible. But now anything I throw with my left hand will fly at you.” “AWESOME!” He ran about ten meters away and turned around. “Go! Throw!” I picked up a piece of old car tire from the ground—soft, but heavy enough for its flight to be noticeable. Weighed it in my left hand. “Catch.” The throw was weak—I didn’t want to hurt that redheaded energizer. The rubber lazily flew forward, but after a meter it jerked as if someone had nudged it, and shot toward Koji with acceleration. “O-o-oh!” He watched the approaching projectile, fascinated. “It’s really…” Thwack! The rubber smacked him in the chest. Koji staggered but stayed on his feet. “Didn’t hurt!” he declared. “More! I’ll dodge!” The next fifteen minutes turned into a game of dodgeball with a homing ball. Koji turned out to be surprisingly nimble—he ducked, jumped, even used his elongated fingers to latch onto piles of trash and change direction. But the rubber still found him. Always. “That’s unfair!” he gasped after the fifth hit. “It still catches up!” “That’s the essence of my Quirk, genius. The projectile pursues the target until it hits.” “Then how do you escape it?” “Knock it off course with another object. Or shield yourself.” “Or run faster!” He jumped up again. “Let me run, and you throw!” I wanted to object that it was pointless—on open ground, the projectile would catch the target anyway unless the target had supersonic speed. But before I could open my mouth, Koji had already taken off. “CATCH ME!” he yelled, nimbly leaping over a rusty refrigerator carcass. I mechanically picked up another piece of rubber. My left hand launched the projectile. The rubber gave chase, weaving through the piles of trash. Koji ran, zigzagging like a hare. He used everything at hand—or rather, underfoot: jumping onto tires, sliding under tilted slabs, even trying to climb a mountain of scrap metal. The rubber relentlessly followed him, gaining speed with every meter. “A-A-A!” His scream was full of delight. “It’s still flying! So cool! SEIHA, THIS IS FREAKING AWESOME!” I couldn’t help but smirk. This guy had so much energy it could power a small town. And, I had to admit, watching him dodge flying rubber with his eyes blazing was amusing. And then something happened that I didn’t expect. Dodging the projectile, Koji abruptly veered right and crashed into me. Not expecting such a maneuver, I staggered and instinctively threw out my hands to keep my balance. Both of them. Without gloves. My left palm touched Koji’s shoulder. My right—his back. My brain registered the contact. The Quirk reacted instantly. The Mark that was still lingering on some rock from a previous training session overwrote onto Koji. Now he was marked from both hands. The left-hand Mark, which had already been on him, simply refreshed. And the projectile launched by my left hand hadn’t gone anywhere. It kept flying. Straight at Koji. “Oops,” I said. Koji, still trying to catch his breath after the sprint, looked up. His eyes widened. The rubber was flying right at his face. “A-A-A-A-A!!!” Koji dove behind a concrete slab. The rubber hit the edge and veered off. “Hey, Koji, you okay?” Silence was the answer. “Koji?” I walked around the slab. Koji was crouching, his back pressed against the concrete, staring off to the side. His face held a complex mix of fear, surprise, and… guilt? “What’s up?” I crouched beside him. “It didn’t hit you.” “It’s not that,” he said quietly. “Seiha… when you touched me… I think I messed something up.” “What do you mean?” “The Mark. You touched me without your glove. And you said that overwrites the Mark. So the target you had it on before… it’s gone?” I blinked. “Koji, you’re upset because you accidentally overwrote my Mark?” “Well, yeah!” He raised miserable eyes to me. “You were training! And I messed it up!” I looked at this redheaded fool. At his genuine upset. At how he, who just moments ago had been dodging flying rubber with shouts of delight, now sat here worrying about some stupid Mark. And I burst out laughing. “W-why are you laughing?!” Koji scowled, offended. “Because you’re an idiot!” I wiped away a tear. “It’s just a training Mark! I can reassign it a hundred times and place a hundred more! You actually thought I’d be upset?” “But you said gloves are needed to avoid losing Marks…” “Gloves are needed to avoid losing IMPORTANT Marks.” I stood up and offered him my hand. “Training Marks are expendable. Come on, get up.” He grabbed my hand and got up. “So… you’re not angry?” “No. But I’ve realized something. Know what?” “What?” “You’re too unpredictable to be just a warden,” I smirked. “You’ll make an excellent moving target.” Koji’s eyes lit up again. “Really?! You’ll train on me?!” “I will. But on one condition: when I say ‘stop,’ you stop. When I say ‘run,’ you run. And no freelancing. Deal?” “Deal!” He nodded so vigorously I feared for his cervical vertebrae. “Good. Now let’s take a break. My arm’s tired.” We sat down on an old concrete block. The sun was already dipping toward sunset, coloring the mountains of trash orange and pink. It looked almost beautiful. Almost. “Seiha,” Koji swung his legs. “How did you find out your Quirk could work like that?” “By trial and error,” I replied. “Tried, failed, tried again.” “And weren’t you scared? You know, to make mistakes?” I thought about it. Was I scared? In my past life—yes. Constantly. Because any mistake could result in an injury, and an injury for a disabled person… “No,” I said. “I wasn’t. I just know that if you don’t try, nothing will work out.” “Philosophical,” Koji drawled. “Like in the movies!” “Like in the movies,” I agreed. We sat in silence for almost a minute. For Koji, that was a personal record. “Seiha?” “M?” “Can I come with you tomorrow too? You know, as warden?” I looked at his serious face. The red hair that stuck out in all directions after the running. Eyes burning with enthusiasm mixed with hope. “We’ll see,” I answered. “If the Commandant allows it.” “I’ll convince him!” Koji jumped up. “I’ll say it was… educational! And instructive! And anyway, heroes should work in teams!” “We’re not heroes.” “Not yet!” He jabbed a finger at me. “Not yet heroes! But someday we will!” I just snorted. This guy had more optimism in him than I had sarcasm. And that was saying something. “Alright, warden. Time to head home. Dinner’s soon.” “Right!” He hopped off the block. “I’m starving! Hey, race you back to the home?” “No.” “Why?!” “Because I don’t want you to trip, fall, and crack your head open on a rusty barrel. Honda-san would pulverize me for that.” “You offend me! I’m agile!” “Exactly why.” Koji pouted but didn’t argue. We headed for the beach exit, leaving behind mountains of trash and the quietly rustling surf. My mood was strangely good. Yes, the training hadn’t gone according to plan. Yes, Koji had nearly been smacked in the face by rubber. Yes, I’d accidentally overwritten the Mark. But for the first time since the hospital, I felt like I had something like… a partner? No, too grand. More like an annoying little brother I’d never had. And, damn it, it was nice. We stepped onto the road leading to the children’s home. The sun had almost disappeared below the horizon, and the sky was turning from orange to dark blue. Koji kicked a pebble in his path, but thankfully, he was silent. For a whole half minute. “Seiha, can I ask a question?” “You’ll ask anyway even if I say ‘no.’” “Yeah,” he chuckled. “So… why do you work so hard? You know, with your Quirk.” I glanced at him. “What do you mean ‘why’?” “Look. Everyone around said your Quirk was useless, right? I remember you said that. Like, it’s just a mark, big deal. But you still try to get to that stupid beach every day, throw rocks, build labyrinths. Why?” I thought about it. Good question, actually. Why? Because I know what they don’t. Because I’ve seen a world where a guy with a rubber body became a king, and a woman who could turn people into toys ruled an entire country from the shadows. Because I believe there are no useless abilities. Only lazy users. But I won’t say that out loud. “I just like it,” I answered. “Like what?” “Seeing a rock curve around a barrel and hit the target.” I shrugged. “You know that feeling when you throw something and it doesn’t just fly, it goes exactly where you want? Like… I don’t know, like for a second the world agrees with your rules. It’s nice.” Koji walked in silence, digesting what he’d heard. I had just about decided he’d lost interest in the topic, but no. “So you’re not training to become a hero?” he asked. “Who said I’m not?” “Well…” He looked embarrassed. “It’s just you don’t talk about it. Usually, everyone who works hard on their Quirk wants to get into U.A. Or other hero academies. But you just train and that’s it. Like the process itself is what matters.” “Maybe it is,” I smirked. “Or maybe I just don’t want to shout at every corner that ‘I’ll be a hero’ when all I have to my name is a pile of broken bricks and a rusty road sign. Deeds first, then words.” Koji suddenly stopped. I walked a couple more steps and turned around. “What’s up?” “Seiha,” he looked at me with unexpected seriousness. “You’ll become a great hero. I know it.” “And how do you know?” “Because you’re the only one who didn’t give up,” he said it so simply, as if stating a fact. “A lot of people say your Quirk is crap, and, objectively, it is. But you don’t care and you do it anyway. That’s… heroic. I think so.” I couldn’t find an answer. I stood and looked at this redheaded kid who five minutes ago had been dodging flying rubber with screams of delight, and now was saying things that made somewhere under my ribs feel warm. Awkward. “Alright, philosopher,” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s go home. Honda-san’s already waiting for us. And the Commandant. And dinner. And everyone, really.” “Wait, are you embarrassed?” Koji perked up and caught up with me. “Your ears are red! Seiha, you’re embarrassed!” “Nothing of the sort. It’s the sunset reflecting.” “The sunset doesn’t reflect red on ears!” “You have no proof.” We reached the gates of Tsuin. I pushed the gate and let Koji go ahead. “You know, Koji,” I said as we entered the yard. “You turned out to be not the worst warden.” “Really?” He beamed. “Really. Loud, pushy, utterly incapable of keeping quiet…” “Hey!” “…but reliable,” I finished. “When the rubber flew at you, you weren’t scared. And when you messed up the Mark, you got upset. That says a lot about you as a person.” Koji froze with his mouth open. It looked like he hadn’t expected compliments from me. “Seiha…” He sniffed. “That’s the most… well… friendly thing anyone’s ever said to me!” “Don’t get used to it,” I headed for the doors. “Usually I’m much more sarcastic.” “I’ll remember!” He rushed after me. “And tomorrow I’ll come with you again! And the day after! And anyway, now I’m your permanent warden!” “That’s what I was afraid of.” But deep down, I was smiling.

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In the evening, lying in bed, I replayed today’s training in my head. Koji, for all his restlessness, had actually turned out to be useful. And his question, “Why do you work so hard?” had stuck in my mind. I stared at the ceiling. Why do I work hard? Because I have a second chance. Because I can walk, run, breathe deeply, and every second of it is worth spending on something that makes me stronger. Because in my past life, I watched others do what I couldn’t far too often. And now I can. And I want to see how far I can go. Two years until U.A. Two years to turn a “useless” Quirk into a weapon I won’t be ashamed to show in public. And if that means hauling rocks on a trash beach every day to the accompaniment of a redheaded warden’s shouts—I’m ready. Somewhere in the corner, Ryohei was snoring softly. His skin in the darkness had a calm blue tint. “Seiha?” came Koji’s quiet whisper. “What do you want?” “Thanks. For today.” “For the rubber to the chest?” “For not chasing me away.” I was silent for a couple of seconds. “Go to sleep, warden. Tomorrow’s a new day.” “Uh-huh. Good night.” “Night.” The silence lasted exactly four seconds. “Seiha?” “WHAT?!” “What if instead of rubber you threw a watermelon? Would it smash?” I groaned and covered my head with the pillow. This is going to be a long year.