Three months.
That was how long it had been since the first time Kenjiro saw footprints appear in the sand beside him, faint indentations from someone unseen. In that time, what had started as confusion and awkward stares had grown into something familiar, steady. He'd stopped wondering whether Toru would show up at the beach — now, he simply expected her.
And sure enough, there she was.
Or at least, her shoes and clothes were.
The sun hung low over the water, smearing gold across the tide. The beach was half-empty, the season slipping toward cooler weather, but the sand still warm enough that it steamed faintly in the breeze. A shirt and joggers with a pair of bright sneakers trotted toward him, kicking up sand.
"You're late," Kenjiro called, hands on his hips.
"You're fast," her voice answered, laughing. "You're not allowed to complain about waiting."
Kenjiro smirked. He'd learned that arguing with an invisible girl was useless; she always had the last word. "Fair. You ready to get smoked again?"
"Please. You burn your sneakers out before I even finish counting."
Their banter had become its own rhythm. Toru kept time, A scavenged radar gun from a sports store, some phone apps,held the stopwatch, scribbled results in the battered notebook Kenjiro carried everywhere. Together, they'd pieced together enough data to make a math teacher proud — acceleration bursts, distance covered, average pacing. Enough to finally calculate his top velocity.
And the number still didn't feel real.
Seven hundred miles per hour. Just shy of the speed of sound.
Kenjiro still couldn't believe it. Every time Toru waved the notebook in front of him, the numbers stared back like they belonged to someone else. Seven hundred. A figure that would put him on the same playing field as most pro heroes he'd only ever seen on TV(and maybe even the top 10 except for maybe almight).
"Okay," Toru said now, clapping her hands — or at least producing the sound of clapping. "One more test before you collapse into the sand dramatically like last time."
"I did not collapse dramatically," Kenjiro said.
"You groaned, rolled over, and mumbled something about cosmic treadmills. That's drama."
Kenjiro flushed. "That was a legitimate thought experiment."
"Uh-huh. Totally serious. You're gonna build some giant treadmill from space debris."
He muttered, "Could happen," before crouching low, feet digging into the sand. His skin prickled with the familiar current of energy that surged whenever he tensed to run.
The world tilted. Sound stretched. Then he was gone.
Sand blasted behind him in plumes as he tore across the beach, feet hammering, body alive with a speed that no longer terrified him. He'd learned to control it — mostly. When he wanted to slow, he leaned into the friction, rolling his weight just so, kicking up long trenches in the sand as he skidded to a halt near the waterline. His sneakers smoked faintly, but held.
He straightened, breathing hard but not ragged, and looked back at the faint figure-shaped indentations jogging toward him.
Toru lifted the stopwatch. "Eight-point-nine seconds across three hundred meters."
Kenjiro wiped sweat from his brow. "And that's…?"
"Fast," she said simply, and he grinned.
Two Months Ago
It had been one of their quieter afternoons. The waves were calm, the gulls circling overhead lazy, and Kenjiro had just collapsed onto the sand after another round of test sprints. Toru plopped down beside him, kicking up a spray of sand with her sneakers.
"You ever think about it?" she asked suddenly.
He rolled onto his elbow. "Think about what?"
"Being a hero."
The question hit him harder than a stumble at full speed. He stared at the horizon for a long moment before answering.
"…Yeah," he admitted finally. "It's probably what I'll end up doing. I mean—what else do you do with a quirk like mine? Pretend I'm normal? Work in a delivery service?" He snorted. "No way. If I can run this fast, I should use it for something bigger."
Toru had tilted her head—at least, he thought she did; the gloves shifted just enough. "Good answer. You'd be great."
"You sound like you've thought about it, too," he said.
She laughed lightly. "Duh. Who wants to go to U.A. without at least thinking about it?" Then, a beat quieter, "I don't know what my path looks like, though. Invisibility isn't exactly flashy."
Kenjiro had frowned at that. "Not flashy? Are you kidding? If I couldn't see you, you'd have beaten me ten times over by now. Sneaking past villains? Ambushing them? Spying? You've got options."
She had gone quiet at that, then said softly, "…You really think so?"
"I know so."
The silence after that wasn't heavy—it was comfortable.
Present Day
Back in the present, Kenjiro sat cross-legged in the sand, staring at his shoes. The soles were blackened again, faint wisps of heat curling upward. He poked one with a stick like it might explode.
"You need, like, special gear," Toru said, plopping down beside him. "Hero sneakers. Or rocket-resistant sandals. Or… socks made of dragon scales."
"Super practical," he said dryly.
"Better than catching on fire."
He groaned. "True."
Now, weeks later, the question was different. Kenjiro was back at the beach, pacing while Toru trailed after him with floating sneakers.
"Okay," he said, scratching his neck. "I've been thinking about something. Combat."
Toru gave a little laugh. "You? Combat? You're already pushing Mach speeds and you're worried about punching?"
"I'm serious," he said, turning to face her. "Speed's great for running and dodging, but what if I actually had to stop someone? Right now, I'd probably just… I don't know, crash into them and hope they fell first. That's not exactly heroic."
Her sneakers shifted in thought. "…Fair point."
"I think I need to learn how to fight. Properly. Martial arts, boxing, something. Enough so I don't look like I'm swatting flies." He paused, then nudged her with a grin. "But hey, what about you? What's your plan? You gonna hero it up too?"
She laughed again, but this time with a nervous edge. "My plan? Honestly? Hide behind you and hope you don't trip."
"C'mon, Toru." He gave her a look. "You're invisible. That's already half the battle won. Imagine if you learned some fighting moves on top of that. No one would stand a chance."
She kicked sand at him, playful. "Alright, alright, fine! Maybe I should start training too. But I'm not joining your cosmic treadmill experiments."
Kenjiro grinned. "Fair enough."
That Evening
Dinner was simple: rice, grilled fish, and his mom's favorite pickled vegetables. The smell filled the kitchen, warm and grounding. Kenjiro picked at his plate, heart thumping faster than it had on the beach.
"Hey… Mom, Dad. Can I ask you something?"
They both looked up, forks paused.
"I was thinking… do you think you could sign me up for some kind of martial arts? Like… karate, or boxing, or judo, or… whatever's around."
His mom blinked. "Martial arts?"
"Yeah. Just—I've been running a lot, and I realized speed isn't everything. If I want to get better, I need to learn how to actually fight."
His dad rubbed his chin. "Huh. Can't say I know much about it. I mean, I watched a Kung-fu movie once…"
His mom chuckled. "Same here. Honestly, I wouldn't know the difference between karate and jiu-jitsu if you spelled it out for me."
Kenjiro leaned forward earnestly. "That's okay. I can look it up, maybe even visit a few gyms. I just… need your permission. And maybe help finding somewhere legit."
For a moment, the table was quiet, then his mom smiled. "If it's important to you, we'll figure it out."
His dad nodded. "Yeah. We'll check what's nearby this weekend. Might even be fun to watch you learn."
Kenjiro grinned, relief washing over him. "Thanks. Really."
And as he cleared his plate later, one thought stuck in his head:If he was going to run headfirst into this hero thing, he'd better make sure he knew how to throw a punch, too.