Neito woke up the next morning feeling a wave of relief wash over him. Yesterday had been hectic—they'd stayed out for hours, and it had taken a toll.
"Man, that's way too much work for my four-year-old body."
He muttered, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his messy blonde hair. Today was the day he'd finally start his quirk training.
Quirks—superpowers or meta abilities—were what he loved to call them, because that's exactly what they were.
"So, first thing: I need to make a checklist of my abilities and weaknesses, then figure out how to improve."
He thought aloud, yawning lazily as he started his morning routine.
Normally, he'd have to go to school, but since he'd just gotten his quirk, kids got a week off—a grace period to adjust before causing chaos in class.
Heh, it's less a break and more damage control, Neito chuckled to himself while splashing water on his face.
Being so independent at four was unusual, but Neito didn't see the point in pretending to be childish. Why bother? In a world full of quirks, anything out of the ordinary could be explained with quirks.
"Neito, are you awake? Oh, there's my boy! You really don't give me a chance to baby you, huh? Look at you, getting up all on your own."
His mom cooed from the doorway.
Neito chuckled. At his age, even just waking up solo was cause for praise. It still felt a little surreal, but he was used to it by now.
"I'm up, Mom. Good morning,"
He replied cheerfully. She fussed over him for a few moments before heading off to do her own things, and Neito returned to washing up.
After breakfast, the rest of the day was his. The life of a four-year-old: wake up, eat, then do whatever you want.
"Mom, can you help me with my quirk?"
Neito called out, he was ready to start training. His quirk was still immature—he could only hold a copied quirk for about a minute before it expired.
His mom came over after hearing his call, wiping her hands and curious.
"What do you need help with, Neito?"
He explained
"Can you help me train? I want to figure out how to make my quirk last longer."
She wasn't surprised; every kid wanted to use their new powers all the time. At least Neito wanted her help, so she could keep an eye on him.
"Of course, sweetie. I'll get your quirk certificate, and we'll start."
Neito nodded and sat down in front of the TV, watching All Might in action while waiting. The certificate detailed every part of his quirk— there was no need to guess or calculate anything on his own.
Soon, his mom returned with the certificate and a notepad, sitting beside him with a warm smile.
"Do you want to start now, or wait until All Might's done?"
She asked with a playful grin. All Might was the symbol of peace and the strongest hero around, so it was common for kids to idolize him.
But Neito wasn't very interested. He knew everything about All Might's quirk—and also knew his days were numbered.
"No, let's start now."
Neito said, turning off the TV. His mom sighed, distressed by how sensible he was. She then started reading from the certificate:
"Quirk: Copy. User can copy the quirk of anyone they touch. The copied quirk lasts 50-60 seconds. User can copy only one copied quirk at a time."
She paused, pen in hand.
"I think there are two ways to improve your quirk: increase the time you can hold onto a copied quirk, or increase the number of quirks you can copy."
Neito nodded. That was about it. But he had one specific goal in mind.
"I want to make my time limit longer, but what I actually want is to copy a quirk permanently."
His mom blinked in surprise but thought it sounded possible.
"The doctor said your quirk's nature is to copy, theoretically it should be possible to copy a quirk permanently, but how should we train for that."
She paused, thinking hard. Her pen hovered as her hair fluttered—a sign which meant she was deep in thought. Quirks changed everything, even the way people acted.
"What if you kept copying a quirk over and over, so your body got used to it? Like, as soon as one copy expires, you copy it again immediately?"
"Your quirk will remember the change from muscle memory, allowing you to copy it permanently."
She mused aloud. Neito liked that idea—it was close to what he'd been thinking.
"I think I can do that."
He said confidently. But she pointed out a problem.
"But your time limit is too short for that to work. Even if you copy my quirk, you'd have to keep touching me every minute to keep it active. It's not practical."
She looked apologetic.
"I thought of this idea because my quirk works similarly. The parts I change most often are the easiest to morph. But this idea not be possible for you to use."
Neito understood her concerns, but it didn't matter. His mom's theory was doable—it ran in the family, after all. And he'd already thought of a workaround for his problem.
"I don't have to touch you all the time, I can activate my copy with hair alone. I touched your hair yesterday, and it worked."
Her eyebrows shot up. That was a good sign.
"But does it work if the hair's detached? Try it."
She plucked a long strand and handed it to him with a big smile.
Neito had a flash of suspicion, half expecting her to yell "Eat it!" like All Might—but no. He just got her hair, no trauma involved.
He touched the loose strand of hair, and immediately, his own hair fluttered in surprise as the copy activated.
"Ha! It works! Give me your hand, I'll fix it for you sweetie."
His mom said. Neito held out his hand, curious what she'd do. She proceed to tie her hair around his left pinky finger—a clever trick she used whenever she had excess hairfall from overusing her quirk.
Neito twitched his eyes. Not what he imagined, but a pretty smart idea.
"There! Now it's tied to your finger, so it's always touching your hand. When the time limit ends, it'll copy again instantly—no delays."
She beamed, proud of her solution.
Neito silently accepted this. This was a bit weird but frankly better than his plan. At least his quirk training was easier than Invisible girl having to train without her clothes.
That had to count for something, right?