The Marked Trajectory

Morning greeted me with the vile smack of a ladle against the door, the smell of rice porridge from the mess hall, and a thunderous "SEIHA-KUN, WHAT, YOU STILL NOT UP?!" from Koji, who was bouncing around the room as if his Quirk extended not only to his fingers but to his legs as well. I slid out of bed lazily and, first thing, clenched and unclenched my fists. My fingers obeyed perfectly. My feet stood solid on the floor. My body breathed, my heart beat, and every single damn movement echoed with sweet muscular joy. Still riding that high. "I'm coming, don't yell," I pulled on my pants and glanced out the window. The sun was just lazily crawling over the horizon, flooding the rooftops of Mustafu with pink. "Better tell me — did you get any sleep?" "Sure did!" the redhead nodded vigorously. "Takumi spent half the night telling me Aldera's a real dump. Says the upperclassmen there are brutal." "I don't give a damn about upperclassmen," I yawned sincerely, pulling on my T-shirt. "I'm there to learn, not fight in clan wars." Takumi, quiet and skinny as a coat rack, looked up from his book and added softly: "I didn't say 'brutal.' I said there are two problem students. One's a Quirkless hero fanatic, the other's the local king with an explosion Quirk. The whole district knows their names." I suppressed a snicker. A Quirkless fanatic and an explosive king. So they really are here. Already. I wondered how hard I'd get smacked if Bakugo — and it was a hundred percent him — decided I was breathing with insufficient respect. On the other hand, I hadn't come here to play tiddlywinks. If I was going to survive in the world of MHA, I might as well dive into the thick of it from day one. Ryohei, perpetually dissatisfied with life, demonstratively covered his head with a pillow and grumbled: "If you're so set on being a hero, Seiha, maybe start with the heroic feat of 'not waking up the neighbor whose second shift isn't at six in the morning'?" "Can't," I grinned wide. "Heroes don't take the easy way." My sock flew into the pillow. I dodged it playfully. Alright, enough sentiment. Time to conquer a new school.

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The walk to Aldera took about twenty minutes. I'd left early deliberately, so I wouldn't have to sprint and could take in the surroundings. The town of Mustafu turned out to be cozy, but somehow… too calm, you know? Little shops, sparse passersby, cyclists. No villains, no wrecked districts, no heroes rescuing kittens from trees. Either it was a peaceful neighborhood, or canon hadn't reached the tipping point yet. The school gates greeted me with a creak and a sign: "Aldera Junior High." The building was standard-issue, a bit flaky around the edges, but perfectly decent overall. Students clustered in the yard — some on their phones, some just chatting. A couple of them glanced at me with mild interest: a new face. But no fanfare. Definitely not an elite capital school where every new kid was an event. I adjusted my backpack strap and smirked to myself. Aldera. Well then, let's get started.

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The classroom was typical — rows of desks, a blackboard, the smell of chalk and light dust. The teacher, a middle-aged man with slicked-down baldness and the tired face of someone who'd seen it all, introduced me without much enthusiasm: "Ahem… attention. This is our new student, Kaburaya Seiha. Transferred due to circumstances. I trust you'll make him welcome. Kaburaya-kun, introduce yourself. A few words about yourself, if you feel like it." I stepped up to the board under two dozen gazes. Some were bored, some appraising, others outright indifferent. But two people in the room were watching differently. I picked out the first one instantly. A mop of green hair, tousled as though he'd stuck his fingers in a socket. Freckles. Eyes huge, like a frightened fawn's, yet glowing with wild curiosity. Izuku Midoriya. Deku. And I looked at him with one thought spinning in my head: Dude, you don't know it yet, but in a few years you'll become the successor to Japan's number one hero. Meanwhile, you're nervously fidgeting with your pen and clearly scribbling something into that famous notebook of yours. The second sat right in front of him, sprawled in his chair as if it were a throne. Spiky ash-blond hair, red eyes looking at the world with an expression of permanent "what are you sheep doing here?" Katsuki Bakugo. Quirk: something with explosions, personality lousy. Not married. My heart skipped a beat. I was no superfan, and honestly I'd dropped the show after the second season, but these two were impossible not to recognize. Which meant I was definitely pre-canon. About two years out. And right now, I was in the same class as the future successor to the Symbol of Peace and his personal nightmare. Okay. Pull yourself together. Don't blow your cover and wave. "My name is Kaburaya Seiha," I gave a slight bow, aiming for friendly but not too eager. "I'm a ward of Tsuin Sandzu-en Children's Home." A quiet rustle ran through the class. Someone snorted. "And one more thing…" I decided to add a concrete detail so they wouldn't peg me for a total weakling. "I plan to enroll in U.A. High School. The hero course." At that, the silence changed. Not bored — guarded. Several people exchanged glances. Somebody snickered. And then there was a crash. Bakugo shoved his chair aside and stood up. "WHAT?!" his voice was exactly as I'd imagined: loud, sharp, with a rasp. "You? The new kid? From the dump? In U.A.?!" He advanced on me, and I could literally feel the heat radiating off him. Tiny flashes crackled between his fingers. A genuine psycho. "There's only ONE person from here getting into U.A.!" Bakugo stopped a meter away, searing me with his gaze. "And it sure as hell ain't you! If you think you can just show up here and say that in front of ME — you're dead wrong, you trash!" I kept my expression carefully neutral. Inside, I was buzzing: God, you are so loud. And so textbook. I vaguely recalled he had a complex about sole greatness. I knew he took any ambition within a kilometer radius as a personal insult. But seeing it live was something else entirely. "Um," I spoke up, keeping my voice as even as possible. "I never said you wouldn't get in. We could both get in. U.A. is big." "SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Bakugo went red with rage. "Who the hell even are you?! I've never seen your face before! I've been the best since elementary school! My Quirk is the strongest there is! And you crawl out of your orphanage and think you can compete with ME?!" "BAKUGO-KUN!" the teacher's sharp shout cut through the air like a whip. "Back to your seat. Now. And no nonsense." The explosive one froze. Two forces were visibly battling inside him: the urge to keep yelling and the remnants of self-preservation. The latter, oddly enough, won — with an audible grinding of gears. He clicked his tongue angrily, spun around, and dropped back into his chair, drilling me with a look that promised swift and painful retribution. "Apologies for the incident," the teacher said drily, clearly accustomed to this. "Kaburaya-kun, third seat from the window. Welcome to the class." I nodded silently and walked to my desk under the crosshairs of two dozen eyes. Sat down. Took out my notebook. Acted like none of it fazed me. Inside, though, everything was humming. First day, and already a showdown with the school's main psycho. Great. Just wonderful. At this rate, by the end of the week I'd either become a local legend or end up in the nurse's office with burns. Or both. Somewhere off to the side and slightly behind, I could feel another gaze on my skin. Not aggressive — studying. Curious to the point of trembling. The way a scientist looks at a new, as-yet-undescribed species of beetle. Deku. Definitely him. I didn't turn around. There'd be time. Right now, the priority was surviving the first lesson without triggering round two of the banquet.

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The lesson dragged like molasses in January. Algebra, pretty basic, around seventh or eighth grade level. I stared blankly at the board and pretended to take notes. Completely different numbers were spinning in my head. Two years. I had roughly two years before the U.A. entrance exams. On one hand — a hell of a lot of time. On the other — Bakugo clearly wasn't going to let me sit quietly for those two years. And I wasn't planning to, either. I needed to train. A lot. Fanatically. And ideally so that Blasty wouldn't sniff out the details ahead of time. So far, all he knew was that I came from a children's home and was aiming for U.A. About my Quirk — zero. Let him stay in the dark for now. The less he knew, the more room I had to maneuver. The bell rang. I didn't even realize it was break time at first — I'd sunk so deep into my thoughts. The classroom filled with noise and movement; someone dashed into the hallway, someone pulled out a snack. And in that same instant, a green bolt of lightning shot toward me. "Kaburaya-kun!" Izuku Midoriya appeared beside my desk so abruptly you'd think he had a teleportation Quirk. But no. Just enthusiasm mixed with awkwardness: he nearly tripped over a chair leg and barely kept his balance. In his hands — that very notebook. Already open. Something scribbled on the page, clearly in a hurry. "Sorry for just — right away like this!" he was slightly out of breath. "But I had to ask! You said you want to go to U.A., the hero course! So, um, what's your Quirk? I mean — I get it if it's personal! It's just that I analyze Quirks, and I'm really interested in how different abilities could be applied in hero work, and…" "Breathe," I raised a palm. "Breathe, Green. Air is free." He cut himself off and blushed deep red. "Sorry! I get carried away sometimes…" "Don't sweat it," I leaned back in my chair, studying his face. Eyes burning, fingers nervously fidgeting with the corner of the notebook. A classic geek obsessed with his hobby. Only his hobby was superheroes. "So you analyze Quirks? This the famous notebook of yours?" "Famous?" he blinked in surprise. "Well, I don't know how famous it is… but yes! I write down everything I learn about Quirks. Heroes, classmates, even villains they show on TV." "Hell of a hobby," I snorted. "How many you filled?" "Twelve notebooks!" he lit up at once. "Well, almost thirteen. I analyze strengths and weaknesses, possible application scenarios, environmental compatibility…" I whistled. Twelve notebooks, and this was before even getting into U.A. The guy was a genuine monster analyst. "That's impressive," I said without a trace of irony. "Seriously. You probably know more about Quirks than some pros." Izuku scratched the back of his head, embarrassed, but you could tell the praise hit home. "Thanks… But, um…" he hesitated for a second, then gathered his courage. "Could I still ask about your Quirk? I get that you don't have to say, but…" "Stop, stop, stop," I held up my hand again. "One thing at a time. You fired off questions so fast I missed half of them." He faltered and blushed again. "Listen, Midoriya-kun," I lowered my voice a little. "About my Quirk, I'm not spreading it around just yet. Not a secret, exactly, but first day, you know how it is. I don't want every detail getting back to Blasty." "Blasty…" Izuku cut himself off and glanced involuntarily at Bakugo's currently empty seat. "Oh, you mean Kacchan." "Kacchan?" I smirked. "Known him a hundred years, I take it." "Since kindergarten," Izuku said quietly. "He's always been… like that. But he really is incredibly strong. And his Quirk is one of the best I've ever seen." "Oh yeah," I nodded. "Power, control, mobility. Downsides — a lousy personality." Izuku stared at me as if I'd just uttered a magic formula. "You analyze too?" he whispered almost reverently. "A bit," I lied. In truth, all my "analysis" was fragments of memories from two seasons and a couple of fan theories. But it sounded cool. "Let's just say I believe any Quirk can be useful if you approach it with a brain." "Yes! That's exactly what I think!" Izuku practically jumped. "I think so too! Take, for example, a Quirk that seems weak at first glance — say, the ability to stretch your fingers a few centimeters. Everyone says: useless. But if you think about it — it's extra leverage, the ability to manipulate small objects in hard-to-reach places, even in a fight you could…" He broke off, catching my slightly stunned expression, and blushed again. "Sorry. I got carried away again." "It's fine," I couldn't help but smile. The guy's enthusiasm was… contagious, somehow. "So what about you? You applying to U.A.?" Izuku's smile dimmed a little. He lowered his eyes to his notebook. "I… yes. I want to. More than anything. But…" he fell silent, as if not daring to say something important. I knew what he wouldn't say. I knew he was thinking about being Quirkless right now. I decided not to push. "Hey," I leaned a bit closer. "I saw how you looked at me when that loud idiot was yelling. You're not afraid of him, even when he's in a rage. You just… don't want the conflict. Those are different things." Izuku lifted his eyes to mine. Something flickered in them — gratitude mixed with surprise. "Thanks, Kaburaya-kun," he said quietly. "But I really… I'm not a hero. Not yet." "Not yet," I echoed, rising from my seat. "That's a good word. Let me guess: you're going to send in that application, no matter what?" He nodded firmly. "Then I'll see you at the entrance exam," I clapped him on the shoulder and headed for the door into the hallway. Izuku remained sitting, mouth slightly open, pen frozen above his notebook. When I glanced back from the doorway, he was already scribbling at a speed as if his life depended on it. I stepped into the hallway and leaned against the wall, catching my breath. Talking to Midoriya was like a workout. Nothing special, apparently, but it tired you out pretty thoroughly. But he really was something else. Even now, without a Quirk. His brain was already a weapon. It just needed to be deployed for its intended purpose.

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The second half of the day passed without incident. Bakugo returned to class with a stony expression and spent the rest of the lesson staring not at the board but somewhere through it. A couple of times I caught his gaze on me — heavy, promising. But he kept quiet. The teacher must have had a preventive chat with him. Or simply threatened sanctions. Either way, the remainder of the day passed in calm and boredom. After lessons, I deliberately dawdled, shoving textbooks into my backpack at a tortoise's pace. Waiting for the classroom to empty. I knew Bakugo wouldn't leave me alone. And it was better to face him on my terms than when he decided to corner me in a crowd. Izuku left among the first — probably running off to jot fresh thoughts into his notebook. The others gradually dispersed as well. I slung on my backpack and headed for the exit. At the school gates, they were already waiting. Bakugo stood leaning against the fence, hands in his pockets, red eyes tracking me like two smoldering coals. "Taking your sweet time, new kid." I stopped about three meters away: "Did you schedule a date with me or something? Waiting around, all nervous." "Shut your mouth," he snarled, peeling himself off the fence. "We need to talk." "Go ahead." He stepped closer. Slowly, deliberately relaxed. But his shoulders were tense, jaw muscles working. The way predators approach prey while pretending they're just out for a stroll. "What are you aiming for U.A. for?" he asked quietly. For Bakugo — suspiciously quietly. "To study. To be a hero. Why?" "A hero," he stretched the words. "You really think you'll pass?" "Why wouldn't I?" "Because you're a nobody!" he stopped a step away from me. Palms still in his pockets, but I caught the faint crackling. "You're from an orphanage. You're new. You don't know a damn thing about what it means to be the best!" "And what does it mean?" "To be strong! To have a Quirk that actually works!" he barked. "Not some pathetic crap you wouldn't even name!" "I'm not embarrassed," I looked him straight in the eye. "I just don't see the point of showing off in front of people who haven't proven anything yet." Bakugo practically choked. His red eyes widened, then narrowed to slits: "Did you just call me a 'nobody'?" "I called you someone who hasn't proven anything yet," I repeated calmly. "You're strong. Your Quirk is seriously cool. But U.A. isn't a schoolyard. The best from the whole country are gunning for those spots. That's where we'll see who's worth what." "I'M GONNA BE NUMBER ONE THERE!" "Maybe," I shrugged. "But you want to know what I think?" "What?" he practically spat the word. "I think it scares the hell out of you that someone else from your school — from your own class — might get into U.A. too. And that would mean you're not the only one. Not unique. And that burns you up more than anything." Silence hung between us. For a moment, I thought he was going to blow. Literally. That his palm would fly out of his pocket and connect with my jaw in a firework display. I tensed my legs, ready to dodge. But Bakugo didn't explode. He stood and looked at me. Just looked. His red eyes burned with such pure, unclouded hatred that for a second it felt eerie. "You don't even know who you're talking to," he said at last. "I do. Katsuki Bakugo. You think you're the future number one hero. You can't stand competition. You swing first, think later. But," I raised a finger. "I'm not a threat to you, Blasty. I'm just another guy who wants to get into U.A. And if you're really the best — prove it at the entrance exam. Not in the schoolyard." Bakugo was silent for several seconds. Then his lips stretched into a smirk — crooked, mean, but a smirk nonetheless. "Blasty," he repeated. "Bold for a new kid." "I try." "Fine," he shoved his hands back into his pockets. "Apply wherever the hell you want. But remember: I'll be watching. And the second I see you're weak — I'll personally make sure you don't get in. Got it?" "Got it," I nodded. "Then you remember this: I don't plan on being weak." Bakugo snorted. Turned and walked away without looking back, but without hurrying either. The stride of a victor who hasn't won yet but already knows victory will be his. I exhaled. Honestly, I'd expected worse. Burns, yelling, a fight. But apparently, even Bakugo had his limits. Or the teacher had really knocked some sense into him. Or he'd simply decided I wasn't worth his fury. Yet. One way or another — I'd dodged it. I stepped out the gates and trudged toward the children's home. Evening Mustafu glowed cozily in orange, streetlights just starting to flicker on. First day at Aldera. Time to sum up. Izuku Midoriya — located, contact established. The guy already saw me as something of a kindred spirit. Useful. Friendship with a potential future Symbol of Peace — not a bad asset. Katsuki Bakugo — identified, temporarily neutralized. He'd watch. He'd test. But I had time. And time was what I needed. Two years to turn from an orphanage kid with an unclear Quirk into someone who'd breeze through the entrance exam with his eyes closed. I turned into an alley, cutting the route. Not a soul around. I pulled off my right glove. In my backpack pocket, I found the pouch of stones. One stone. Smooth, cool. I touched a lamppost ten meters away with my pinky — hung a mark. The stone settled into my palm. I barely aimed — just tossed it into the air. The projectile whistled, traced an arc, and smacked squarely into the top of the post with a dull thud. I pulled my glove back on, picked up the bounced stone, and walked on, gazing into the darkening sky. Two years, Katsuki Bakugo. Two years, and you'll see what the "pathetic crap" of an orphanage boy can really do. And maybe you'll even be surprised.

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I got back to the children's home after dark. Honda-san met me at the entrance, swept a glance over me, and pressed her lips thin: "First day and you're already late. Problems?" "No problems. Just getting the lay of the land. That place has a lot of hallways. Almost got lost." "Save the stories. Dinner's on the stove. Koji waited and waited, then inhaled his portion and half of yours." "Damn redheaded terminator." "Go eat, hero." I grabbed a plate of rice and fish and sat in the corner. When I went upstairs, I found Koji sacked out on his bed in a starfish pose. Takumi was reading by the nightlight. Ryohei was tossing, but seemed asleep too. "Well?" Takumi whispered, not looking up from his book. "Normal," I sat on the bed. "One explosive dude, one green geek, and a ton of impressions." "Bakugo," Takumi nodded. "Don't go picking fights with him." "Already did," I smirked and tucked my hands behind my head. "But carefully." Takumi sighed and turned a page. I closed my eyes. Tomorrow — school again. And after — Dagobah Beach. Training. I needed to pick up the pace, because two years wasn't all that much when your goal was to enter the best hero academy in the country. And to prove to a certain loud blond that strength wasn't just explosions.