The Marked Trajectory

The morning started with Koji nearly breaking his finger on my bed. "Seiha, get up! You'll oversleep!" He was banging his foot against the frame, his finger extended half a meter and poking at the light switch. I cracked an eye open, glanced at the clock, and shut it again. "Koji, there's still fifteen minutes till wake-up. If you don't shut up right now, I'll throw your pillow — and the mark's somewhere on the beach." "You wouldn't dare!" "Wanna bet?" Koji stepped back just in case. I mentally checked a box: reputation works. Breakfast passed as usual: watery soup, rice, and the sour faces of my tablemates. Takumi was nodding off — apparently, he'd been reading late again, using his night vision. Ryohei chewed silently, staring at a fixed point. His skin had a pale greenish tint this morning, either from lack of sleep or a simple unwillingness to talk to the world. I quickly swallowed my portion and headed for the exit. Gloves in my pocket, a change of clothes for after-school training in my backpack. Yesterday's conversation with Izuku wouldn't leave my head. Disarming. Mark on a weapon. But what if not just knocking it away? What if I took it further? The thought spun somewhere in the back of my mind, refusing to take concrete shape. Maybe Green, with his analytical brain, could help me hammer it out. It was a fifteen-minute walk to Aldera Junior High. In that time, I ran through a couple of training scenarios in my head and concluded that I definitely had to test the mark on a moving weapon. If an enemy was brandishing a knife, could I touch the blade in time? What if it wasn't a knife, but a gun? What if... A familiar boom cut through my thoughts. Barely a hundred meters from the school gates, something exploded. I flinched and broke into a run. I rounded the corner and froze. Bakugo. He stood over someone sprawled on the ground. Smoke still curled above his palms. A couple of bystanders from a parallel class lingered nearby, but they quickly dispersed as soon as Bakugo snarled at them. "Watch where you're going, idiot!" he growled. The person on the ground stirred, pushed himself up on his elbows, and I recognized him. Izuku. Oh, hell. "I... I was just walking," he mumbled, getting to his feet. His backpack had slipped off his shoulder, notebooks scattered across the pavement. "I didn't mean to, Kacchan..." "Didn't mean to?!" Bakugo stepped closer and grabbed him by the collar of his uniform. "You worthless Deku, always getting in the way! Not only are you Quirkless, but you're blind too?!" The word cut through the air. I froze in place, a dozen meters short of them. "Quirkless." Bakugo had just said it. Not "weakling," not "loser." He said "Quirkless" — the way people talk about those without a Quirk. And judging by how pale Izuku had gone, it was the truth. I remembered the very first episode of the anime, where it was clearly and plainly stated that he was Quirkless. Deep down, I'd been hoping I was in one of those few realities where he had a Quirk, even a weak one... But no, looking at Izuku's pale face, I understood: this was it. Not a spoiler, not a rumor. A fact. Quirkless. And he wants to go to U.A. Something flipped inside me. Not pity — God forbid. Respect. This kid, without a single ability, without support, saddled with a nickname that meant "useless," still analyzes Quirks, dreams of being a hero, and yesterday, in half an hour, came up with a tactic that would've taken me a month to figure out. And all the while, he never said a word about himself. "Let him go, Firecracker." My voice came out flat. Almost bored. Bakugo jerked his head around and stared at me as if I'd said something obscene. "What?" he hissed. "Let him go. School starts in five minutes. You'll be late, and then you'll have to explain to the teacher why you were blowing up the sidewalk instead of heading to class." Bakugo grimaced but loosened his grip. Izuku stumbled back, gasping for air. I stepped closer and placed myself between them. "You," Bakugo jabbed a finger into my chest. "You've got a big head, new kid. Think 'cause you mouthed off at the gate you're a hero now?" "Two years left till I'm a hero," I shrugged. "But I'm already past needing to tear others down to feel big. Give it a try — it's a nice feeling." He looked momentarily stunned. In his worldview, I was supposed to either attack or back down. This was neither. Just words. Offensive ones, even without shouting. "You hang around this worthless Deku," he snarled, nodding at the hunched Izuku. "Think that makes you cool? Think that if you shield a Quirkless, you look better?" "I'm not shielding anyone," I said calmly. "We're just acquaintances. But if you think a Quirk makes a person worthwhile and the lack of one makes them trash, then I've got bad news for you." "What news?!" "There are plenty of heroes with crappy Quirks who became great. And plenty of people with amazing Quirks who became nothing. A Quirk is a tool. And a tool without a brain is just junk." Bakugo ground his teeth. Nitroglycerin sparked on his palms again. "You're asking for it," he said through clenched teeth. "Maybe. But not here and not now. The bell rings in three minutes." I pointedly turned my back on him and bent down to pick up Izuku's notebooks. I gathered them and shoved them into his hands. "Let's go." Izuku looked at me with huge eyes. They held something between gratitude and panic. I nudged him lightly toward the gate. Bakugo didn't move. Only when we'd walked a dozen steps did another explosion boom behind us — he'd probably blasted a wall or a trash can out of rage. "I'll remember this!" came after us. "You already said that," I tossed over my shoulder. We walked to the classroom in silence. Izuku didn't utter a word, just clutched his notebooks to his chest as if they could protect him from the whole world. Once we'd sat down at our desks, I glanced sideways at him. He sat with his head down, not even trying to write anything before the start of class. Shoulders slumped, fingers locked together. I suddenly realized that in two days at this school, I'd never heard any of our classmates address him with anything but contempt. Except maybe the teachers. And even they just ignored him, like an empty space. Damn it. Alright. Classes now, figure it out later. I wasn't about to pry into his soul and stage dramatic scenes, but a few things needed clearing up.

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The lessons ended. I deliberately lingered at my desk, pretending to copy the schedule while the classroom emptied. Bakugo left among the first — shot me a brief glare full of venom and slammed the door so hard the glass rattled. Izuku packed his things too and headed for the exit almost soundlessly. I caught up with him in the hallway. "Hey, Green. Hold up." He flinched and turned around. He looked as if he expected me to join in on the bullying now — like I'd only made fun of Bakugo for show and was about to say something hurtful. "What?" he asked quietly. "You promised yesterday to show me your notes. About my Quirk." He blinked. The tension in his face eased slightly, replaced by surprise. "You... really want to see them?" "I want to see them today. Right now. Let's go to the beach." He fell silent. I could see the gears turning in his head. Then he nodded — slowly, hesitantly. "Alright. But... Kaburaya-kun..." "Seiha." "Seiha-kun..." he stumbled. "You heard what Kacchan said. About me." "I heard." "And you still want to..." "Izuku," I stopped in the middle of the hallway and looked down at him. "I couldn't care less whether you have a Quirk or not. Yesterday, you broke down my ability in ten minutes — better than I did in a week. Your brain works on a level most people's never will. If someone thinks you're worthless because you're Quirkless, that's their problem, not yours." Izuku's eyes glistened suspiciously. He blinked rapidly and looked away. "Thank you," he whispered. "But... you don't understand. Being Quirkless is... everyone around, the whole system... it's like..." "Like being a fish that can't swim?" I supplied. "I get it. But you know what? A fish that learns to walk will outrun any shark. Simply because it can do something the sharks don't expect." Izuku lifted his head. His eyes held bewilderment mixed with something else. It seemed no one had ever said anything like that to him before. "Alright," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let's go. I've got an idea that needs testing. And you're the only one who can help me hammer it out." "An idea?" he perked up instantly, like a child promised a new toy. "What kind of idea?!" "I'll tell you on the way."

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Dagobah Beach looked the same as ever: mountains of junk, the smell of salt and rust, seagulls crying overhead. I dropped my backpack onto the sand and turned to Izuku. "Notes first." He pulled out a notebook and opened it to the right page. I'd expected a couple of paragraphs. Instead, I saw a full spread filled with tiny handwriting, complete with diagrams, arrows, and margin notes. "So... I structured it by category," he began, a little nervously. "First — ranged attacks. That's pretty straightforward, but I thought about how you could use different types of projectiles: stones, metal balls, something sharp, something blunt. The problem is you depend on available materials. So you either need to carry a set of projectiles with you, or train to use your environment." "Makes sense," I nodded. "Second category — close combat. This is trickier: the mark requires bare-handed touch. If an enemy knows that, they'll block your attempts to make contact. So you need to train your touch speed. Boxing, fencing, something like that. Or use diversionary tactics." "Right," I nodded again, flipping through the pages. The third category was titled "Unconventional Applications." "This is the most interesting part," Izuku caught fire. "I thought about how you can place a mark not just on an enemy or their weapon. You can mark elements of the environment. For example, you put a mark on a wall behind the enemy, then throw something heavy. The projectile flies toward the wall, but with the enemy in the way — they take a hit in the back." "Or in the back of the head," I added. "Not bad. Really not bad. Though the projectile would probably curve around the obstacle." "You could also mark items the enemy is wearing: a belt, boots, parts of their costume," he flipped the page. "But that's harder to pull off. You'd need to know in advance what they're wearing, and manage to touch it." "Okay," I closed the notebook and handed it back. "This is all great. But I've got something else." "What?" I pulled off my right glove. "Yesterday, when we were testing disarming, I thought: do I actually have to throw the object?" Izuku frowned. "Not throw? But then how..." "Watch." I walked over to a rusty pipe sticking out of a pile of junk. "I touch the target with my bare hand. Place the mark." I pressed my palm to the pipe and fixed the mark. Then I stepped back a couple of meters and picked up a hefty stone. "Up till now, I've always thrown the projectile. But my Quirk works a little broader than that. I don't have to perform a throwing motion. I just need to touch the object with my marked hand and focus on it flying to the target." Izuku froze with his mouth open. "You mean..." "Exactly." I placed the stone on my palm, closed my eyes, and concentrated. Not a throw. Just an order to fly. The stone twitched, lifted off my palm, and shot toward the pipe with a quiet whistle. A thud. A dent in the rusty metal. "It works!" Izuku breathed. "You didn't even throw it! You just... commanded it?!" "Yep," I smirked. "Now imagine the scenario. I place a mark on a wall. Then I touch an enemy's weapon or shield with my marked hand. And it flies to the wall. If the villain is holding on tight — it yanks their arm. Hard enough to make them lose balance. Or even go flying." Izuku practically jumped. "That's... you can send an enemy flying along with their weapon! If they don't want to let go!" "Exactly." I placed another stone on my palm. "Want to hold onto your knife? Fly with it, buddy." "But that's not all!" he started pacing across the sand, wound up. "You can use this to move allies! Or for evacuation! If a person has gear on them, you can mark it and send them flying!" "Hold up," I raised a palm. "Ally evacuation — that's serious. Gotta test it carefully. A living person isn't a stone. If you yank too hard, you could hurt them. And there's no braking system." "Yes, of course," he nodded rapidly. "But the concept itself! It's genius! You're turning your Quirk's weakness into a strength!" "Weakness?" "Well... the fact that you depend on physical touch. Everyone thinks that's a limitation. But you're making it so that a single touch is enough to neutralize an enemy. No need to punch, no need to jump into a fight. You touch, step back, launch a projectile, and the enemy is disarmed or thrown back." I nodded, looking at my palm. Another thought was swirling in my head that I decided not to voice yet — about an intermediary for re-assigning the mark in midair. That was for the future. First, I needed to polish the basic mechanic. "Alright, let's test it," I said. "Grab the board. You'll be the villain with a knife." Izuku paused for a second. "Do... do you have to call me a villain?" "Well, if you prefer, you can just be an extra. Good enough?" "Extra — sounds dignified," he smiled and reached for the skateboard. I nodded at a rusty refrigerator about ten meters away. "See that heap of metal? That'll be the wall. The target." "Got it." He stood facing the refrigerator, clutching the board to his chest. "I'm ready." I pulled off my right glove and pressed my palm to the freezer-burned side of the refrigerator. Warmth in my fingers — mark set. Now the main part. "Hold on tight," I warned. "Imagine it's your favorite knife and you'll never give it up." Izuku gripped the board until his knuckles went white. I walked up to him and touched the edge of the board with my marked hand. Closed my eyes, focused. Not a throw. A command. The board shuddered. "Oh," said Izuku. And then he was dragged. He didn't go tumbling — the board lurched toward the refrigerator, and Izuku, faithfully obeying the order to "hold on," skidded his heels through the sand, flailed his arms, but stayed on his feet. The board thumped against the rusty side of the refrigerator, and Izuku himself slammed into it chest-first. "Alive?" I asked. "Alive!" He turned around, and a completely happy smile lit up his face. "It dragged me! Like a tow rope! This... this is incredible!" "Let me guess," I grinned. "You want to go again?" "Yes!" We repeated it three more times. Each time I slightly increased the distance, and each time the pull grew stronger. On the fourth attempt, Izuku couldn't keep his footing — he toppled sideways, laughing and spitting out sand. "Enough," I offered him a hand. "Otherwise you'll show up to school tomorrow covered in bruises, and Bakugo will think I beat you up." "He won't," Izuku stood up, dusting himself off. "He knows I'm always covered in bruises." It was said matter-of-factly, without a hint of complaint. Just a statement of fact. Something tightened unpleasantly inside me, but I didn't let it show. "So," I said, pulling my glove back on. "The method works. If an enemy has gear they don't want to lose — a shield, a weapon, even a helmet — I can yank them along with it. Either they drop the item and lose it, or they fly after it. Either way, they're distracted, disoriented, and I've got a couple of seconds for the next move." "Or for a retreat," Izuku added. "You don't have to engage in close combat. Yank the enemy, they fall, you change position." "Exactly. But there's a catch." I raised a finger. "The projectile's flight speed increases with distance. If I'm too far away, the yank will be too strong. Could cause injury." "So for this tactic, you need medium range," he immediately started scribbling in his notebook. "Not too close, so you have time to react, but not too far, to avoid causing harm." "Spot on, Green." We fell silent. The sun was already dipping toward sunset, painting the trash heaps in orange and pink. I picked up my backpack and slung it over my shoulder. "Tomorrow here again?" Izuku asked. "Tomorrow. And the day after. And all the way until the entrance exams." He nodded. At the concrete parapet, just before we parted ways, he suddenly said: "Seiha-kun. What you said this morning... about a tool without a brain. And that a Quirk isn't the main thing. Do you really think that?" "I really think that." "Then..." he faltered. "Then, maybe... I can find a way too." "Not 'maybe'," I looked him straight in the eye. "You will." He smiled — not shyly, but somehow differently. With hope. And he ran off home. And I headed back to the children's home. A thought was turning in my head: "disarming by sending" — sounded clunky, but it worked. Just needed to come up with a shorter name. And find a way to practice against a real opponent, not an extra with a board. But that was a matter for other days.