The classroom hums with muted chatter and the soft rustle of papers—a background noise I've long learned to tune out. I sit alone at the back, next to the window where pale sunlight slips through the glass, casting shifting shadows across my desk. The air smells faintly of chalk and the dampness lingering from this morning's rain. Outside, a patchwork of grey and white clouds drifts lazily, as if even the sky itself is weary of the day's monotony.
I am Kagami Mimoto. Fifteen years old. A master of silence. My long white hair falls in gentle waves down my back, catching the light with an almost ethereal glow. My eyes shift through colours, ever-changing, but they betray nothing—no sadness, no irritation, no anger—only a stillness that unsettles those who meet my gaze.
The classroom feels suffocating—not because of the lessons, but because of the people around me. Their raw energy, their fireworks, loud and unfiltered. Mine, however, is locked away behind walls of numbness, built brick by brick over the years with my quirk.
Whispers drift from a nearby table.
"Look at her... always alone, like she's better than everyone else."
"She's not even human—so cold, so empty."
I don't respond. My eyes return to the window, where a single raindrop traces a slow path down the glass. Their words once stung like fire, but now they dissolve into silence. I have learned to build walls strong enough to keep them out.
Then Mr. Tanaka's voice cuts through the murmurs. "Who can solve this equation?" Silence follows; no one volunteers. His eyes scan the room, finally resting on me. "Mimoto."
Snickers ripple behind me. They expect hesitation, failure. But I only glance at the board, the answer arriving naturally. "Negative six," I say softly.
Mr. Tanaka blinks, then nods, confirming. "Correct."
The whispers resume.
"Show-off."
"Textbook robot."
"Creepy doll."
I let the words wash over me. Turning back to the window, the soft patter of rain fills the quiet they leave behind. Nothing they say can change who I am.
When the lunch bell rings, relief floods the room. Students pour out, chasing seats and friendship. I gather my things slowly, no rush—I know exactly where I belong.
The cafeteria is a cacophony of laughter and chatter, the best tables already claimed by tight-knit groups. I slip to my usual corner by a window, watching without being seen—a ghost in the crowd.
I unwrap my bento, packed carefully by Madeline this morning—perfectly arranged rice, pickled vegetables, grilled fish still warm with a touch of home. A comfort, yet a duty, is more than a pleasure.
Across the room, Ayaka Ito and her clique catch my attention. I sense her gaze even before she approaches. The whispers follow her like a shadow.
"She's so weird, always alone like some tragic manga heroine."
"Maybe she thinks she's too special for normal people."
"She doesn't even enjoy her food."
A shadow falls over my table. I look up—Ayaka stands there, arms crossed, an amused yet scornful smirk playing on her lips.
"Hey, Mimoto," she says, tilting her head. "Don't you get bored eating all alone?"
I meet her eyes briefly, then return to my meal. "No," I answer plainly.
Her smirk falters for a fraction of a second. She expects anger, fear, or defence. I offer none.
Leaning closer, she lowers her voice. "People talk about you. They wonder if you even feel anything."
I pause, chopsticks hovering. "Do they?" My tone is flat, detached.
She taps the table impatiently. "It's unsettling. Like a ghost haunts this school—no friends, no feelings... just staring out the window like some sad movie."
I meet her gaze, steady and unyielding. For the first time, my eyes settle on one solid colour—deep, unreadable. "And?"
That silence throws her off balance. She shifts, uncertain. She wanted denial. I give her silence instead.
Scoffing, she flips her hair and walks away, her entourage trailing behind, giggling. I don't watch them leave. I return to my bento as rain begins again—soft, steady, relentless.
Their voices fade. The quiet grows.
I eat mechanically, tasting nothing, while a quiet ache stirs beneath the numbness. Watching others laugh and connect, I feel an undeniable truth: despite my strength, despite my quirk, I am utterly alone. And though I've built walls to keep the hurt out, a small part of me still craves warmth, real connection.
When the authentic final bell rings, the rain stops. I walk home through a park where trees sway gently, their leaves still wet. Children's laughter drifts faintly—the kind of sound I once cherished before my quirk changed everything.
Approaching the imposing gates of my family estate, I pause. The mansion looms—elegant but cold—a symbol of wealth and high expectations. Before I reach the door, it swings open. Sebastian Aldric, the ever-composed butler, stands waiting, his gaze calm and assessing.
"Welcome home, Kagami," he says smoothly. "Your father is in his studio. Dinner will be ready shortly."
"Thank you, Sebastian." I nod politely.
Inside, the polished halls smell of wood and fresh paint, silent in a way that feels heavy with history and expectation. Madeline, our maid, appears, arms crossed, teasing but caring.
"You're late," she chides gently.
"Just a few minutes," I reply.
She smirks. "A few minutes is enough to get into trouble. You'd start a fight just by looking at someone."
We share a brief smile, but beneath it, I feel her worry. "I ate lunch today," I add.
"Good. You eat like a sparrow." She gestures down the hall. "Go on, your father's waiting."
His studio bursts with creativity—canvases lean, sculptures catch the light. The smell of paint and clay fills the air, soothing old memories. My father sits in his wheelchair, steady and focused on a canvas shimmering with colour.
"Kagami," he says warmly without looking up, "how was school today?"
"Same as always," I reply softly.
He sets down his brush, eyes studying me with quiet intensity. "You're quieter than usual."
I shrug, eyes drifting to the canvas.
He reaches for my hand. "You don't have to say anything. I'm here."
His words tighten my chest. I want to tell him about the whispers, the loneliness, the weight of it all. But the words stay lodged in my throat. I nod.
"Dinner soon," he smiles, picking up his brush. "Stay awhile and watch."
I settle beside him, the rhythmic brush strokes filling the space between us. Watching him paint—the raw, honest expression of colour and shape—I wonder what it would be like to express myself so freely. To let emotions flood out instead of locking them away.
The canvas shows a storm-darkened sky over golden fields—a clash of forces.
"Powerful," I say quietly.
He chuckles softly. "Storms change everything, whether we're ready or not."
I exhale, thoughts heavy. Can I change? Are my walls too high? Or am I just too comfortable behind them?
For now, I let the moment linger. Here, I don't pretend. I'm not a ghost. I am me.
Later, after dinner in the grand hall, we relax in the living room. My father turns on the TV. A breaking news report flickers:
"Middle school boy rescues classmate from sludge villain!"
The screen shows chaos, a monstrous sludge trapping a student. Then a blur of white and green streaks in—All Might. His heroic punch saves the day. The rescued boy trembles but shines with awe and hope.
That spark settles deep inside me—the raw wonder of believing in something greater.
I shift, watching the slow-motion replay. All Might is hope made flesh—unhesitating, unyielding.
My father smiles. "All Might always makes an entrance."
I nod, but my eyes stay fixed on the boy's face. I don't know him, but I envy his belief—his reason to fight, to keep moving forward.
Before my quirk, before I became the girl whispered about—quiet, distant, unreadable—I had that too.
My fingers curl slightly on the couch.
"...Do you think heroes ever feel lonely?" I ask.
He looks surprised. "Even the greatest do. They carry burdens, but they keep going because they believe—and they're never truly alone."
Not truly alone.
I watch the boy wipe his eyes, looking up at All Might as if answers had just been found.
Maybe... maybe I can still find mine.
My father studies me. "Kagami, what's on your mind?"
I take a breath, steadying myself. "I want to apply to U.A. I want to be a hero."
The words hang heavy. I've thought this before, but now it's real.
He doesn't react immediately. Then, slowly, he says, "A hero, huh? Are you sure?"
I nod. "I don't want to just exist. I want to exist more than what people see."
His face softens. "More than the quiet girl?"
More than whispers. More than walls. More than fear.
"Yes."
The room falls silent but for the TV's hum. His next words warm me.
"Ifollowing's what you want, you have my full support."
A breath escapes me—relief, hope.
He leans back. "U.A. won't be easy. But if anyone can do it... It's you."
A small flame stirs inside.
Sebastian nods approvingly. Madeline passes by, smiling knowingly. "About time. With a quirk like yours, this was inevitable."
I shake my head. "Like I was doomed from the start."
Madeline smirks. "Not doomed—meant for more than shadows."
Sebastian adjusts his cuffs. "U.A. is fitting for your calibre."
Their faith surprises me, as if they'd been waiting for me to see it myself.
My father chuckles. "Seems I was the last to know."
Madeline smiles. "We knew you'd come around."
I look down, turning it over. Maybe they're right. Perhaps I always wanted it, but I was just too afraid to admit it.
Now, the words are spoken. The future doesn't feel distant anymore.
It feels real.
It feels possible.