Arata Tetsuki perched on the edge of a weathered park bench, the morning sun filtering through the canopy of ancient trees, casting a mosaic of light and shadow across the grass. The air carried the faint scent of dew and earth, a rare calm before the storm of the U.A. entrance exam. Kids darted nearby, their laughter rising as they chased a soccer ball, their voices a soft backdrop to his focus. He adjusted his worn sneakers, feeling the familiar ache in his legs from days of training since the sludge villain incident. His quirk was a puzzle, and he was determined to piece it together.Closing his eyes, he sank into his sea of consciousness—a vast, inky expanse where five flames burned like stars against the dark. The largest was Renjiro's, a towering blaze that roared with untapped strength, its heat brushing his mind when he reached for it. But it slipped away, locked behind an unseen barrier. Why can't I use it? he wondered, frustration simmering. Another flame, smaller and colorless, belonged to his father. It flickered faintly, like a candle behind fogged glass, dimmed by years since Riku's death. Yet, as he focused, a quiet warmth stirred. Dad's a hero at heart, he thought. He was a top scientist on I-Island, building tech to save lives—gear for pros, shields for civilians. He stopped staying there when I was born, brought his work home to be with me. His stories of heroism still echo. The flame sharpened his thoughts, steadied his pulse, a subtle guide born of trust.Riku's flame glowed next, a warm ember pulsing deep within, feeling like her hand ruffling his hair or her voice calling him to dinner. Touching it, his body lightened, gravity softening—her air-step quirk, the one power he could wield. Mom's trust gives me this, he mused, a bittersweet anchor. Two smaller flames burned nearby: Katsuki Bakugo's, sharp and jagged from the sludge rescue, and Izuku Midoriya's, colorless but steady, born from that shared glance of courage. Izuku's felt hopeful, like it could grow. Beyond them, faint sparks danced—fireflies he couldn't yet name. He lingered on them, faces flickering: a boy's grin from a festival years ago, a girl's shy nod from school. Kids I helped, he realized. Their trust is part of me.Opening his eyes, Arata leaped, air-stepping to a low branch with a graceful arc, then dropped to the ground. His landing was smoother than before, his reflexes sharper. Those sparks, he thought, testing a vault over a bench. Mid-jump, a rustle caught his ear—a kid's shout—and he twisted, landing cleanly. They're boosting me. His meta-knowledge stirred, a shadow from another life watching My Hero Academia. The League of Villains, the wars, the deaths—Nighteye's face flashed, a hero cut down. And above it all, All For One, the puppet master, his power a looming threat. He's out there, planning. I don't know his full game, but I'll stop him. For Mom, for Deku.He moved through his routine, scaling a low wall and leaping to grab a branch, letting Riku's ember guide him. The park was alive—birds chirping, leaves rustling—but his focus narrowed. A voice broke his concentration. "Tetsuki?"He turned to see Hana, a classmate from middle school, standing with a notebook hugged to her chest. Her dark hair fell over her eyes, a shy smile tugging at her lips. Last year, she'd struggled with class notes, and Arata had quietly helped her, not thinking much of it. Now, she stepped closer, her sneakers scuffing the dirt."Hey, Hana," he said, brushing off his hands.She fidgeted, glancing at the ground. "I saw you training. You're… you're a hero, Tetsuki. That time with my notes—it got me through the semester. I didn't think it stuck, but it did. You're amazing."Arata scratched his neck, unused to praise. "Just did what I could. You figured it out yourself."Her smile widened, a hint of confidence breaking through. "Maybe, but you started it. Are you going for U.A.? You've got that hero vibe—quiet, but strong.""Maybe," he said, a warmth stirring in his chest. He felt it in his sea, a spark flaring brighter—Hana's trust joining the others. Her help's part of this, he thought. Like the festival kid. He gave a small nod. "Thanks, Hana. Means a lot."She blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Good luck, then. I'll be rooting for you." With a wave, she turned and walked off, leaving Arata with a quiet resolve.He resumed his training, vaulting another bench, but a sudden noise—a kid's yell—made him pivot. His hearing sharpened, and he spotted a soccer ball rolling toward the street, a car speeding closer. Those sparks again. He air-stepped, a fluid leap carrying him to the ball just in time, snatching it as the car honked past. The kid, a boy with a familiar grin, ran up, eyes wide."Thanks, mister!" the boy said, grabbing the ball. "You saved it again—like at the festival!"Arata froze, the memory clicking. The festival kid. Years ago, he'd caught this boy's kite from a tree, a small act he'd forgotten. Now, the kid's trust glowed in his sea, a spark joining Hana's. "Just be careful," he said, ruffling the boy's hair. The kid beamed and dashed off.His heart raced. Two sparks—Hana, the festival kid. They're boosting my reflexes, my awareness. He sat on the bench, catching his breath, and thought of All For One. If he's behind the League, I'll need this trust to protect Deku. One For All's in him, and All For One wants it. His meta-knowledge deepened—wars, deaths, Nighteye's fall. I don't know every move, but I know enough. I'll change it.Back home, he climbed to his room, the familiar creak of the stairs grounding him. At his desk, Dad's blueprint—a gadget from his I-Island days—lay under the lamp, its lines precise, a testament to his hero heart. The old man worked quietly downstairs, his presence a steady force. Arata grabbed his journal, the pages worn from late-night scribbles. He wrote: Mom's air-step comes from her trust. Dad's flame clears my head, keeps me steady. Kid sparks—Hana, festival boy—boost my reflexes. Grandpa's locked, tied to something big. All For One's out there, leading the League. I'll stop him, save Deku's world.He flipped back, rereading entries. The League's rise, All For One hunting One For All, heroes falling. Nighteye's death—I won't let it happen. A memory surfaced—Renjiro skipping a U.S. mission because Arata was born, an ambush planned. Was All For One behind it? Mitsushi Tomi was there… what's his role? He sketched a rough timeline: Renjiro's choice, the ambush, All Might's quirk mystery. Grandpa's survival changed things. Maybe All For One's plan shifted.He stood, stretching, and stepped outside. The evening sky deepened, stars peeking through. He crouched, feeling Riku's ember pulse, Dad's clarity steadying him, the kids' sparks lifting his leaps. He air-stepped, soaring higher than before, the park blurring below. Landing softly, he felt Izuku's trust grow, a quiet bond from the rescue. U.A.'s next, he thought. All For One won't win. I'll be ready for him.Inside, he added to his journal: Hana's notes, the festival kite—small acts, big trust. Deku's flame will burn bright with One For All. I'll protect him, stop the shadow. Grandpa's quirk… the key's close. He closed the book, glancing at Riku's photo—her smile a beacon. Hope flickered, a spark catching fire. I'm not alone.
