The Marked Trajectory

The next day at school was suspiciously quiet. No, seriously. I walked into the classroom expecting anything—from scorching glares to open aggression—but all I got were bored faces and the lazy murmur of voices. Bakugo sat in his seat and didn't even turn around when I walked past. Only the twitch of his jaw muscles gave any sign that he was aware of my presence. Izuku, on the other hand, gave me a barely perceptible nod from his desk. I nodded back. And so began my second day at Orudera, with a silence far more alarming than yesterday's screaming. The lessons dragged on like sludge. History—some ancient law about Quirk regulation, which I happily let pass straight through my ears. Japanese—an essay on "Why Heroes Are Important to Society." I dashed off a three-paragraph brush-off whose meaning boiled down to: because villains are bad, and heroes catch them. The teacher, it seemed, was unimpressed but said nothing. During breaks, I noticed Izuku glancing my way. Whether he was too embarrassed to approach after yesterday or waiting for the right moment, I couldn't tell. I didn't push. In my position, fussing and imposing myself was a sure way to raise suspicion. After class, I gathered my things and headed for the exit. Halfway there, a familiar voice caught up to me. "Kaburaya-kun!" I turned around. Izuku stood there with his ever-present notebook tucked under his arm, slightly out of breath—as if he'd been chasing not me, but a fleeing bus. "Listen," he began, hesitating slightly. "I get that this might be too brazen of me, but… could you… show me your Quirk?" I raised an eyebrow. Izuku instantly turned red. "No, no—not right here! And not in front of the whole class! It's just… I really want to understand how it works. For my notebook. I spent all last night thinking about what you said—that any Quirk can be developed if you use your head. And I thought…" "You thought my Quirk might be just that kind of case?" I smirked. "Yes! I mean—no! I mean…" He tangled himself up in words and fell silent, looking at me with an expression that said:please don't send me away. I sighed. On one hand—flashing my Quirk in front of the future chief analyst of all MHA? Risky. The guy writes everything down. On the other hand—he wouldn't blab to Bakugo, that was a hundred percent certain. And besides, I wanted to get closer to him myself. Friendship with Izuku wasn't just pleasant; it was strategically advantageous. "Fine," I said. "Not here. I know a place. But in return—not a word about what you see." "I swear!" he blurted with such fervor that I couldn't help but smile.

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Dagobah Beach greeted us with the familiar scent of rust and salt water. Mountains of junk towered all the way to the horizon, forming a bizarre labyrinth of old refrigerators, tires, planks, and all manner of trash that belonged anywhere but on the shore. Izuku froze at the entrance, staring at the landscape with his mouth hanging open. "This is… what is this?" he managed. "My personal training ground," I said, hopping down from the concrete parapet. "The locals dump their junk here. And I dispose of it. In the process of training." "You're… cleaning up the beach?" "Training. The cleaning's a side effect." I turned to him. "So. Ready?" He nodded so energetically that his notebook nearly flew out of his hands. I noticed him shove a hand into his pocket—probably fumbling for a pen. "First, the basics." I pulled off my right glove. "Watch." I pressed my palm against an old road sign jutting up orphaned from a junk pile about ten meters away. The Mark took hold. "Now I take anything at all…" I picked up a small stone from the ground, weighed it in my hand, and threw. The projectile whistled, traced a smooth arc, curved just the tiniest bit in midair, and struck the exact center of the sign with a dull clang. Izuku gasped. "Homing?!" "Exactly. I touch a target with my hand—set the Mark. After that, any object thrown by that same hand will find the target on its own. Bypasses obstacles. Stays on course." "Wait, wait." He clicked his pen. "What about throwing force? Does it matter? And what about distance?" "Throwing force doesn't matter." I picked up another stone and this time threw it feebly, almost letting it slip from my fingers. The stone, reluctantly but still, flew toward the sign and bumped into it. "As for distance—the farther it goes, the more the projectile accelerates in flight." "Amazing," Izuku whispered, scribbling in his notebook like a man possessed. "That means… obstacle avoidance! You could attack an enemy hiding behind cover! Or behind hostages!" "Theoretically," I nodded. "In practice—if the shield is sturdy enough, the projectile won't always punch through. And a living body counts as an obstacle too. Someone could shield the target with their own body." "But still…" He glanced up from his notes for a second. "Listen, what if the target is moving?" "Follows it." I walked over to a rusty barrel and took off my glove. Touched it with a finger. "Watch this." I turned and kicked the barrel. It went rolling across the sand with a clatter. I threw a stone—the projectile changed trajectory in midair, corrected its turn, and caught up with the rolling barrel. A dull thud. Izuku looked like he'd just seen All Might in the flesh, wearing a bathrobe. "That's… that's incredible!" He actually jumped. "What's the hit rate? Is it always a hundred percent? What if there are multiple targets at once? What if you throw lots of projectiles? Is there a limit on—" "Easy there, Green." I held up my palm. "Breathe. One question at a time." He caught himself, exhaled, and stared at me with shining eyes. "Could you… show me something… unusual? Something you thought of yourself, recently?" I considered it. I didn't want to show him the transport trick—that was my ace. "Tell you what," I said. "You're the analyst. You propose something. What would you do with a Quirk like this?" Izuku froze. A look of concentrated mental effort crossed his face—so intense it looked like steam might start pouring out of his ears. "Right." He clicked his pen, staring into space. "First thing that comes to mind—disabling at a distance. If a villain is running away, you could Mark him and throw something after him. Even if he disappears around a corner, the projectile will still catch him." "That's the basics," I nodded. "It works, but there's a catch: the Mark has to be placed by touch. If the villain is already fleeing and I haven't touched him beforehand, the Quirk is useless." "Got it." Izuku nodded and kept going immediately. "Then close-quarters tactics: you Mark the opponent in the first seconds of engagement, and from then on you can attack him from any distance. Even if he throws you back—the projectiles will still land." "Warmer, but still nothing new." I picked up a stone from the ground and twirled it between my fingers. "Think broader. Imagine you have this Quirk. How would you use it unconventionally?" Izuku fell silent. The silence stretched for a good half minute. I watched his fingers grip the pen, release it, grip it again. His gaze jumped across the piles of junk, the barrel, the sign, my gloves. "The gloves," he said suddenly. "What about them?" "You wear gloves. I noticed when you took them off before the demonstration." He spoke slowly, as if thinking aloud. "You took off a glove to touch the target. Then you put it back on. Why? Is it connected to your Quirk?" I tensed internally. The guy really does notice details. A dangerous mind. "Let's say it is," I said, not wanting to lie outright but not wanting to reveal everything either. "The gloves help me control activation. Without them, a Mark might set accidentally if I touch something." "So the gloves are an insulator?" Izuku's eyes lit up. "Then that can be used! If you want to grab something without placing a Mark, you do it with the glove on. And if you want to place a Mark, you take it off. That's tactical control!" I nearly whistled. He'd seen through the logic of the gloves at first glance. Here I'd thought I'd have to explain, and he'd already laid it all out neatly himself. "Bullseye, Green. That's exactly how it works." "Amazing…" He started scribbling in his notebook again. "Then here's another idea. You said the Mark is placed by touching with your hand. What if you don't touch the enemy himself, but an object he's holding?" I froze. "What do you mean?" "Well, look." Izuku lifted his head from the notebook. "Suppose a villain has a knife. Or a gun. Or a club. Could you touch the weapon and place the Mark on it?" "I could," I answered slowly. "The Mark can be placed on any target. A person, a stone, a knife." "And then," he pointed his finger forward like a lecturer at a podium, "you throw something heavy. The projectile flies toward the knife. Hits the blade or the handle. The force of impact knocks the weapon out of the enemy's hands. Disarmament!" I opened my mouth. Closed it. A picture flashed before my eyes: a villain swinging a knife; I touch the blade—risky, but doable—leap back, grab a stone, throw. The stone whistles through the air, curves around the villain's shoulder, and strikes the handle dead-on. The knife flies from his fingers, the villain left empty-handed with a dumbfounded face. That was… brilliant. And outrageously simple. "Midoriya-kun." I looked at him. "You just, in five minutes, came up with something I couldn't figure out in a week of training." "R-really?" He blushed. "It's just logic. If the Mark is placed on an object, and the projectile hits that object, then…" "Then it's a disarm," I finished. "And one that doesn't require strength. I don't need to physically knock the knife from his hands—I just need to touch it and throw anything." "Exactly!" Izuku nodded so fast his head nearly came off. "And you could use this not just against weapons. If a villain has grenades on his belt—Mark on a grenade. If he's holding a hostage by the scruff of the neck—Mark on his hand. Or on handcuffs. Or…" "Stop." I held up my palm. "Handcuffs. If a cop has put handcuffs on a villain, could I Mark the cuffs and throw a stone? The stone would hit the cuffs and tighten them further?" "Or break the chain, if the hit is strong enough." Izuku was already beaming. "Depends on what you need." I slowly lowered myself onto the rusted body of a washing machine. Dozens of scenarios whirled through my head. "Listen, you do realize you actually have a talent for this?" I asked. Izuku looked embarrassed and buried himself in his notebook. "I just analyze a lot. That's all I can do." "That's all I can do," I mimicked without malice. "Dude, you just expanded my combat arsenal twofold. Maybe threefold. Don't sell yourself short." "Thank you," he said quietly. "But I really am nothing special…" "Let's test that." I stood up abruptly. "Right now."

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I looked around. For the test I needed something that could safely be knocked out of someone's hands. My gaze fell on an old skateboard without wheels, leaning against a junk pile. "You'll be my assistant." I beckoned Izuku over and handed him the board. "Hold it tight. Imagine it's a knife. Or a gun. Something you don't want to give up." "Me?" He swallowed nervously but took the board in both hands. "You." I pulled off my right glove and stepped back a couple of meters. "I'm going to touch the board now. That'll be the Mark. Then I'll step farther back and throw a stone. If the idea is right—the stone will hit the board and knock it out of your hands." "And if it's not?" "The projectile always hits the target. Don't sweat it." I walked up to Izuku and touched the board with my fingertips. The Mark took hold—I felt the familiar warmth in my palm. "Ready?" "Ready." He gripped the board until his knuckles went white. I stepped back about five meters. Picked up a hefty stone. "Eyes on. Three. Two…" I threw. The stone tore from my palm and flew not in a straight line but in a smooth arc—the Quirk took control immediately. Izuku flinched instinctively but kept the board in front of him. Impact. The stone struck the board with such force that Izuku staggered back a step. The board shuddered, but he kept it in his hands. "Whoa!" he exhaled, staring at his palm. "I thought it'd be weaker!" "I threw at half strength." I smirked. "Now hold on tighter. Let's try something more serious." I picked up a larger stone and stepped back even farther. About ten meters. The greater the distance, the stronger the acceleration. "Ready?" "Y-yes." Izuku planted his feet in the sand. Throw. The projectile accelerated in the air to such speed that it whistled like a bullet. The impact was heavy. Thrrrmmm! The board in Izuku's hands hummed. The boy grunted but held his ground—though he did readjust his grip. That first hit had nearly knocked it out of his fingers. "Again!" I shouted, already caught up in the heat of it. Third stone. Fourth. Fifth. Each struck the board dead-on, forcing Izuku to step back, readjust his grip, brace himself. "Stop! Stop!" He finally held up his palm. "I get it! It works! It works!" I lowered the sixth stone. Smirked. "You alive?" "Alive." He shook his hands out, grimacing. "But if that had been a real villain with a knife—he'd have dropped it a hundred times by now. The hits are really strong." "Yeah." I nodded, putting my glove back on. "And the best part—I can repeat them as many times as I want. The Mark stays, the projectiles fly. Until they land." Izuku was already scribbling in his notebook. "This changes everything. Disarmament isn't just a possibility—it's a tactic. If you encounter an armed opponent, your task is to touch the weapon. Just once. Then you can retreat, take cover, and attack from a distance. The projectile will find the target on its own." "Exactly." I walked over and stood beside him. "And you know what the coolest part is?" "What?" "That idea was yours. Not mine. Yours." Izuku froze with his pen in midair. "I… just logically…" "Listen," I cut him off. "You just, on the spot, in a matter of minutes, came up with an application that genuinely expands my combat capabilities. That's not 'just logic.' That's analytical talent." He was silent, staring somewhere into the sand. Then he said quietly, "People usually say something else." "What else?" "That I waste my time on nonsense. That I'm a talentless fanatic. That I'd be better off doing something useful." He smiled crookedly. "That my notebooks are trash." "Your notebooks," I nodded at the open spread where a fresh entry was already taking shape, "just made me stronger. If that's trash, then I'm the Pope." Izuku snorted. Then snorted again. And then suddenly laughed—quietly, but completely sincerely. "Thank you, Kaburaya-kun." "Anytime, Green." I clapped him on the shoulder. "And hey… drop the 'kun.' Seiha. Just Seiha." He raised his eyes to me. There was something in them I hadn't seen before. Maybe hope. Maybe gratitude. "Then… Izuku. Just Izuku." "Deal." We stood there a little longer. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, flooding the garbage beach with orange. Somewhere in the distance, the surf rumbled. "Listen, Izuku." I turned to him. "What about you? Planning on U.A.?" His face darkened for a moment. "I… yes. I want to. But…" He fell silent. I knew what he wouldn't say. I knew he was thinking about his Quirklessness. And again, I didn't push. The time wasn't right yet. But I did know what question I'd ask him in a day or two. "Alright, never mind." I shrugged. "If you decide to—see you at the entrance exams." "Do you really think so?" he asked quietly. "That I can do it?" "Dude." I looked him straight in the eyes. "In ten minutes you came up with a tactic that would've taken me a month at best to figure out on my own. You see things others don't. If that's not the potential of a Hero, I don't know what is." Izuku lowered his eyes. His fingers gripped the notebook so hard his knuckles went white. "Thank you," he breathed out. "Seriously. I… I really needed to hear that." "Anytime." We fell silent. Each thinking his own thoughts, watching the sunset. Me—about how I'd just gained an ally with the sharpest analytical mind in all of Japan. Him—about something I couldn't know. But it seemed that for him, this conversation meant more than it did for me. "Alright." Izuku finally snapped his notebook shut. "I have to go. Mom will worry." "Go on. See you at school tomorrow." He nodded, turned, and walked toward the beach exit. At the concrete parapet, he turned back. "Seiha-kun!" "Yeah?" "I…" He faltered. "I'll come up with more. You have a really interesting Quirk. I'll write down everything I think of and show you tomorrow." "Looking forward to it." I waved. Izuku smiled—for the first time all evening, not shyly, but openly—and ran off. I stayed on the beach alone.

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For a while I just stood there, staring at the darkening sky. Thoughts swirled in my head. Disarmament via Mark on a weapon. And that was just the beginning. If Izuku came up with that in one evening—what could he come up with in a month? In a year? I pulled off my right glove and picked up a stone. The Mark was still on the skateboard Izuku had leaned against the barrel before leaving. I threw the stone—it obediently slammed into the board. Another stone. Another. Every time, a precise hit. I'd need to practice against a moving target with a weapon. Against multiple targets. Against an opponent who knew about my Quirk and tried to counter it. A mountain of work ahead. But with an ally like Izuku, I felt far more confident than I had yesterday. I grabbed my backpack and headed for the exit. At the concrete parapet I stopped, threw one last glance at the beach. Tomorrow, training again. Tomorrow, school again. Tomorrow—another day to get one step closer to U.A. And maybe, one step closer to proving to a certain loud blond that power isn't just explosions. I pulled on my glove and walked briskly toward the children's home. Behind me, the ocean darkened. Ahead, a new day of training and discovery awaited.