Arata Tetsuki sat cross-legged on the faded tatami mat in his small bedroom, the soft glow of a streetlamp seeping through the window. The city's hum was a faint whisper, lost in the stillness of his thoughts. His room was simple: a narrow bed, a desk cluttered with dog-eared journals, and a framed photo of his mother, Riku, mid-laugh as she freed a balloon from a tree with her air-step quirk. Her smile was a spark against the grief that lingered since her death when he was eleven. On the desk, a sleek blueprint caught his eye—his father's work, a gadget sketch with the precision of an I-Island scientist. Dad had been a star there, crafting tech to save lives, but he'd stopped staying on the island when Arata was born, choosing a quiet home office to stay close. Arata closed his eyes, breathing slow, and sank into his sea of consciousness.In his mind, a vast, dark sea stretched out, its surface alive with flames that danced like stars. Five burned brighter, each tied to someone whose trust shaped him. The largest was his grandfather, Renjiro, a towering blaze that roared with strength, its heat almost searing. Arata reached for it, thoughts brushing the flame, and a surge of power rippled through him—muscles tensing, senses sharpening. But it slipped away, like grasping mist. It's right there, but locked, he thought, frustration simmering. Why can't I use it?Another flame, smaller and colorless, was his father's. It flickered faintly, like a candle behind fogged glass, dimmed by years of grief since Riku's death. Yet, as Arata focused, a quiet warmth stirred. Dad's a hero at heart, he thought. He built tech on I-Island—gear for pros, shields for civilians. He left that life when I was born, works from home now, but I remember his stories. Saving people, never giving up. That's still him. The flame gave a subtle boost, sharpening his thoughts, steadying his pulse, like a quiet guide. No specific power, just trust—distant but real.Then there was Riku, his mother, her flame a warm, glowing ember that pulsed deep in his chest. It felt like her voice calling him to dinner, her hand ruffling his hair. Touching it, his body felt lighter, as if gravity softened—her air-step quirk, the only power he could wield. Mom's trust gives me this. It's my anchor. Two smaller flames burned nearby, firm despite their size. Katsuki Bakugo's was sharp, jagged, born from the sludge villain rescue where Arata acted on instinct. Izuku Midoriya's was colorless but steady, growing from that moment their eyes met, a shared spark of courage. Izuku's flame felt hopeful, like it could brighten. Beyond these, faint sparks dotted the sea—fireflies in the dark. Kids? Arata glimpsed faces: a boy's grin from a festival years ago, a girl's shy nod from school. Their trust… it's helping me.He opened his eyes, the room snapping back. His quirk was a puzzle, but pieces were clicking. Riku's flame gave air-step, a gift of her trust. The others—Dad, Izuku, Bakugo, those sparks—made him stronger, faster, sharper, but not flashy. It was their belief in him, not raw power. Renjiro's flame was a vault—accessible yet sealed. I'll figure it out, he thought, grabbing his journal.He wrote: Mom's air-step comes when I feel her. Dad's flame… he's a hero at heart, even after leaving I-Island for me. It clears my mind, keeps me steady. The others boost me, but Grandpa's is locked. He paused, pen hovering. A thought gnawed, from a life before, watching My Hero Academia. He knew this world—not every fight, but the big arcs. The League of Villains. The wars. The deaths. Nighteye's face flashed, a hero cut down. Midnight. Others he couldn't name but felt."I won't let that happen," he muttered, gripping the pen until his knuckles whitened. "Not like Mom." Riku's death had shattered him, snuffed his hero dreams. But Izuku's quirkless charge to save Bakugo had reignited something. Arata knew Izuku was the story's heart, the one to carry the world. He doesn't have to do it alone.He tossed the journal aside, grabbed his jacket, and headed to the park. The afternoon sun cast golden streaks across the grass, kids laughing on a playground. His steps felt lighter, senses sharp—those sparks, Dad's hero heart, at work. At the park's edge, a voice called."Tetsuki!"Izuku Midoriya jogged up, green hair bouncing, notebook under his arm. His grin was brighter than the sun, and Arata softened."Hey, Midoriya," Arata said, nodding.Izuku stopped, panting, eyes wide. "That jump you did to save Kacchan? Insane! Like a pro hero! You're trying for U.A., right?"Arata scratched his neck, uneasy. "Dunno. I'm not like you. You've got… that spark.""You've got it too!" Izuku said, bouncing. "You moved when no one else did. That's a hero, Tetsuki! U.A. material for sure!"Arata's chest warmed, Izuku's flame flickering brighter. He gave a rare half-smile. "Maybe. I'm here to back you up, Midoriya. You're the real deal."Izuku blushed, waving his hands. "M-me? Just trying. But you're strong. I saw it!"Arata didn't reply, the words sinking in. They talked, Izuku rambling about All Might's latest fight, hands waving as he mimicked a punch. Arata listened, mind on his mission. Deku's the hero, but I know what's coming. The League, wars… I'll stop what I can.A shout broke through. "Watch out!" A soccer ball rolled into the street, a car speeding closer. Arata moved, Riku's ember flaring. His body felt light, air-stepping in one fluid leap to grab the ball, landing as the car honked and passed. The kid ran up, eyes wide."Thanks, mister!" the boy said, snatching the ball and sprinting off.Arata's heart raced. That was Mom's air-step. But something else—Dad's clarity, those kids' trust—sharpened his senses. They're all with me. Izuku stared, scribbling."That was so cool!" Izuku said. "Your quirk—multi-jump?""Something like that," Arata said quietly. "Still figuring it out.""You'll ace U.A.!" Izuku grinned. "Train together?"Arata nodded. "Yeah. Maybe." It felt right.As Izuku waved goodbye, Arata walked home, sun dipping low. His sea of consciousness flickered—Dad's hero heart, Mom's warmth, Izuku's hope. The League's coming. Deaths. I'll save who I can. At home, he glanced at Dad's blueprint, a hero's work in its own way.He wrote in his journal: Midoriya's the key, but I'm here. Dad's a hero at heart, even now. No one loses like I lost. Riku's photo smiled back. Hope flickered, a spark catching fire."I'm not alone," he whispered, standing taller. Outside, he crouched, Riku's ember pulsing, Dad's clarity steadying him. He air-stepped higher, sparks lifting him. He landed, smiling faintly. U.A.'s next. I'm ready.
