The Marked Trajectory

I was almost out the gate when I heard the familiar explosion behind me. Damn. The morning had started surprisingly peacefully. Koji hadn't barged into my bed, Takumi hadn't snored, Ryohei had been a normal human colour. I'd even managed breakfast without incident. I'd walked to school calmly, meeting no one on the way. During lessons Bakugo had drilled holes into me with his stare, but he'd kept quiet—apparently yesterday's clash had got to him deeper than he'd let on. Izuku had turned around a couple of times, but I'd pretended to be fully absorbed in the material. And now—again. I quickened my pace, rounded the corner of the school fence, and my eyes landed on the familiar picture: Bakugo was standing over Izuku, who was sitting on the ground hurriedly gathering his scattered notebooks. His backpack was lying in a puddle—it had rained the day before, and the dips in the asphalt hadn't dried yet. "How many times do I have to spell it out, Deku?!" Bakugo snarled. "Stop getting under my feet! Why do you even come to school? You think if you sit there quietly, someone will notice you? Who needs a worthless nobody like you?!" "I just... I didn't do it on purpose, Kacchan..." "You never do it 'on purpose'! Your very existence is one big 'not on purpose'!" I came closer. Bakugo spotted me and bared his teeth. "Oh, look who showed up. The little protector. What, gonna lecture me about tools and brains again?" "No," I shrugged. "Today I'll just ask: haven't you got any other hobbies? Maybe you could join a club? Embroidery, origami..." "What?!" "Well, look. Every day after school you stand around yelling at the same person. That's not intimidation any more—it's a routine. You've turned into a nitroglycerin alarm clock." Izuku let out a quiet gasp behind my back. He'd probably expected Bakugo to explode—literally. And Bakugo did explode—his palms crackled, his face twisted. "You..." he hissed, taking a step towards me. "You think just 'cause you transferred and act all cool, you can do whatever you want?!" "I'm not acting cool. I'm acting like someone who wants to get home in peace. Without explosions, without shouting, without all this," I swept my hand around. "You've actually got a Quirk yourself, and not a bad one. How about, instead of tormenting a classmate, you train? You've got two years until U.A." Bakugo froze. For a second, something close to doubt flickered in his eyes, but he crushed it at once with a fresh surge of anger. "Don't you dare tell me what to do! I'll decide for myself!" "So decide," I raised my hands in a placating gesture. "While you're deciding, we'll be on our way. Izuku, you okay?" "Y-yes," he got to his feet. The notebooks were wet, the backpack too. He clutched it to his chest, water dripping from the corner. Bakugo spat on the asphalt, turned around and strode away. No extra explosion, no threats. He just left. I mentally ticked another box: it seemed the pattern was starting to crack. Or maybe not. We'd see. "Thanks, Seiha-kun," Izuku said quietly, once Bakugo had disappeared around the bend. "But you shouldn't have... now he'll be after you as well..." "He's had it in for me since day one," I waved a hand. "One grudge more, one less. Want to go to the beach?" "Now?" he looked at his wet backpack in confusion. "But my notebooks..." "We'll dry them. There's wind, salt, and heaps of rusty junk there—perfect conditions for drying paper." Izuku gave a weak smile. "Alright. Only I need to stop at home first... actually, no," he cut himself off. "Mum will worry if she sees wet things. Better straight to the beach." I didn't ask. I just nodded, and we set off.

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Dagobah Beach greeted us with the same mountains of rubbish. Over a week of training I'd managed to make myself a little at home here: I'd cleared a patch by the water, dragged over a few tyres, a rusty barrel and a chunk of concrete slab using my Quirk—an improvised open-air gym. Izuku surveyed my set-up and whistled. "You're here every day?" "Almost. There's not much room to spread out at the Children's Home. And it's quiet here—nobody's yelling or trying to lengthen a finger into my ear." "Who's trying to do that?!" "My roommate. Long story." We dropped our backpacks. Izuku laid his wet notebooks out on the rusty bonnet of some ancient car—let them dry. I pulled off my school blazer and was left in my T-shirt. "Right then, Green," I sat down on a tyre and gestured for him to sit opposite. "We need to talk." "Talk?" he tensed up. "Did something happen?" "No. It's just..." I rubbed the bridge of my nose, searching for the right words. "We've been training for a few days now. You help me with tactics, I show you the tricks of my Quirk. It's all great, it all works. But there's one thing I don't get." "What?" "You want to get into U.A., right?" He went still. Then he slowly nodded. "Yes. I want it badly." "Good. I want it too. And I work myself to the bone every day, because I understand: without a Quirk that can 'one-shot kill', I'm not getting in. But you," I jabbed a finger in his direction. "You have no Quirk at all. And I haven't exactly noticed you working out." Izuku went pale. Then red. Then pale again. He opened his mouth, closed it, dropped his head. "I..." he began, and fell silent. "Skip the 'I'," I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "I'm not having a go. I'm asking. Yesterday you said you want to find a way. And I believe you. But faith is faith, and muscles won't grow by themselves. What are you doing right now to make sure you don't wash out in the very first stage two years from now?" Silence. Gulls screamed overhead. Waves beat against the shore somewhere beyond the mounds of junk. "Nothing," he whispered at last. "I'm doing nothing. I just watch heroes, write down their moves and... and that's it." "Why?" "Because..." he clenched his fists. "Because I don't know how. Everybody says you can't do it without a Quirk. The teachers look away. My mum cries when I bring up U.A. Kacchan... you heard what Kacchan says. And I thought—maybe they're right? Maybe I'm just a crazy person who believes in the impossible?" I watched him and kept quiet. Not out of pity—I was just letting him get it out. "But I still want it," he raised his eyes, and burning in them was that very thing I'd noticed on the first day. Stubbornness. A mute, granite-hard, illogical stubbornness. "I want to be a hero. Even if everyone around me thinks it's nonsense. Even if the chance is one in a million. I can't just give up." "That's the right attitude," I nodded. "But attitude alone isn't enough." "I know!" he jumped to his feet. "I know, but what am I supposed to do?! I have no Quirk, I have no money for an expensive gym, I have no connections! I'm just a plain Quirkless kid from a completely unremarkable family!" "Sit down." He sat. "First," I bent one finger. "You have a brain. And it works in ways ninety per cent of people with Quirks will never be able to manage. That's already not 'nothing'. Second," I bent a second finger. "You have two arms, two legs and a pulse. That's enough to start." "But how?!" "Elementary. Running, push-ups, sit-ups. I do laps around these rubbish heaps every day. You can join in." Izuku blinked. It seemed the idea was so simple he'd simply never considered it seriously. "You're suggesting... we train together?" "Exactly. I need someone to kick me towards agility and reaction time anyway. With my Quirk, I'm fixated on my arms. But legs, dodging, manoeuvrability—I'm a complete zero there. You can help with the analysis: how to move better, where to evade, how to hold distance. And I'll help you with strength training. Basics, Green. The dumbest basics, which for some reason no one ever gave you." "But..." he hesitated. "I don't even know where to start. I've never..." "I do," I stood up and walked to the water's edge. "Nothing complicated. We'll start small." He came and stood next to me. He looked at the waves, at the sunset, at the junk scattered along the shore. "Why are you doing this?" he asked suddenly. "Why are you bothering with me at all?" "Because you're interesting," I answered honestly. "You have no Quirk, yet you understand Quirks better than anyone else in that school. You're smart, but you let all sorts of Firecrackers walk all over you. You want to get into U.A., but you've never even tried a push-up. That's... intriguing." "That sounds like a description of a test subject," he chuckled. "Well, in a way. I'm a kind of experiment myself. Let's see which of us gets results faster—a guy with an allegedly useless Quirk, or a guy with no Quirk at all." Izuku turned to me. A smile slowly spread across his face—uncertain, but genuine. "That sounds like a challenge," he said. "It is. Do you accept?" He wiped his nose on his sleeve, took in the beach, his wet notebooks on the bonnet, my tyres and the rusty barrel. And nodded. "I accept." "Great. Then we start right now." "What, right now?!" "Why wait? The sun's still high, I've got about two hours until lights-out at the Home. Warm-up, a run, then I'll show you the basic exercises. No weights, just bodyweight. Think you can manage?" "I..." he swallowed. "I'll try." "Now that's the right answer."

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Fifteen minutes later Izuku was lying on the sand, gasping for air. "I thought... it'd be easier..." he croaked. "Everyone thinks that," I stood over him with a bottle of water we'd found in a pile of rubbish. Clean, sealed—some local homeless guy must have set up a stash here. "The first time's always the hardest." We'd only run a kilometre. For me, a warm-up; for Izuku, a marathon. The guy was in such terrible shape I seriously wondered how he'd ever planned to take the entrance exam. On willpower alone? Although... given that in canon he gets All Might's Quirk and training from him... maybe in the original it had been like that. But here and now—no superpower on the horizon. Only his own muscles. "Get up," I held out my hand. "Sit-ups and push-ups still to go." "How many?" he groaned. "To start with—as many as you can. I'm not setting records on day one." He stood. Swayed, but steadied himself. I showed him the technique—simple knee push-ups, because he couldn't manage a single one from straight legs. Sit-ups—crunches, no jerking. Plank—ten seconds, and he collapsed. "I... I'm a complete zero," Izuku breathed, staring at the sky. "You're not a zero. You're a starting point," I sat down next to him on the sand. "In a week you'll be running two kilometres. In a month—five. In six months—you'll be the one pushing me." "You really believe that?" "I believe in systems. If you do the same thing every day, the result will come. Not right away, not quickly, but it will come." He fell silent. Then he sat up, hugging his knees. "You know..." he began quietly. "I always thought there was a chasm between me and those with Quirks. That I'd never be able to catch up. That the only way to become a hero was a miracle." "And now?" "Now..." he clenched his fists and looked at them as if seeing them for the first time. "Now I think: maybe a miracle is just a lot of hard work. Which I hadn't even tried to start." "Exactly," I clapped him on the shoulder. "Work, discipline, and more work. No magic. Well, almost none." He smiled. More confidently this time. "Seiha-kun... can I come here every day? Not just to help with tactics. To train. Together with you." "I'm all for it. But bear in mind: I get up early. At the Home it's rise at six-thirty, by seven I'm here." "I'll come at seven," he said firmly. "Every morning. An hour of training before school. And an hour after." "Starting tomorrow, then," I got up and offered him my hand. "Meet here. Don't be late, Green." "I won't be late," he shook my hand, and this time his grip was a little firmer than before. "And one more thing," I held onto his hand. "About Bakugo." Izuku tensed up at once. "I won't step in every time," I said. "You need to learn to stand up for yourself. Not now, not tomorrow. But someday. Because at U.A. no one's going to babysit you." "I understand," he nodded seriously. "I... I'll try." "'Try' again," I smirked. "Alright, for now that'll do. But in a month I want to hear 'I'll do it'. Deal?" "Deal." We gathered our things. The notebooks had dried, leaving salt stains on the pages. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed towards the parapet. "Seiha-kun!" Izuku called out when we were ten metres apart. "What?" "Thank you," he stood against the sunset, the orange sun reflected in his eyes. "For asking. And for offering." "Don't mention it," I waved a hand. "Tomorrow at seven, Green. Don't oversleep." "I won't!" I watched his retreating figure. Scrawny, awkward, with a goofy walk. But right now he was walking just a little faster than usual. The tiniest bit. But he was walking.

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I got back to the Children's Home after dark. Honda-san met me at the entrance. Hiding behind a pillar and slipping past unnoticed was impossible even in theory. "Training again?" she asked, running her eyes over me. "Yep." "And how's the progress?" "Found myself a sparring partner." "Someone from the Home?" "No. From school. A boy named Midoriya." Honda-san raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. She just nodded and waved a hand towards the canteen. "Dinner's gone cold, but I asked them to save you a portion. Be quick—lights-out soon." "Thanks." I went into the canteen, swallowed the cold rice and headed for the room. Koji, Takumi and Ryohei were already there. Koji was drawing something in a notebook, tongue sticking out. Takumi was reading. Ryohei was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His skin was a calm shade of grey. "Where were you?" Koji asked, not looking up from his drawing. "At the beach. Training." "With that guy from school?" "With him." "Is he really Quirkless?" I froze halfway to my bed. Turned to Koji. "How do you know?" "Word gets around," he shrugged. "And you're training with him?" Ryohei chimed in without turning his head. "Why?" "Because I see potential in him," I sat on the bed and pulled off my trainers. "He's got brains enough for ten. And he doesn't give up. That's already more than a lot of people have." Silence fell over the room. Takumi even lowered his book. "You're weird," Koji concluded and went back to his drawing. "But that's cool. Let him come round. I want to see a Quirkless guy who wants to get into U.A." "You'll see him yet," I lay down and stared at the ceiling. "Tomorrow at seven in the morning." "AT SEVEN?!" Koji howled. "Are you going to drag me up at seven now too?!" "You volunteered to be overseer," I reminded him. "So get up." Koji groaned and buried his face in his pillow. Ryohei snorted, and Takumi laughed quietly—a rare sound I'd heard only a couple of times in all my time at the Home. I closed my eyes. Tomorrow was the first day of real joint training. Running, basics, agility drills. We'd see if Green could keep up the pace. We'd see if I could. But one thing I knew for sure: if that kid didn't stray from the path, in two years' time at the U.A. entrance exam someone was in for a very big surprise. And I really wanted to see it.