The Search Begins
The next few days blurred together with restless energy. Kenjiro's body always hummed with that afterburner itch now—like if he sat still too long, the electricity under his skin would crackle and push him forward. Running helped, but even that felt hollow after the talk he'd had with Toru.
Combat. Fighting. Not just moving fast.
It stuck in his head like sand in a shoe.
So when his parents finally agreed to take him around to different martial arts schools, he was practically vibrating in the back seat of the car, sneakers tapping against the floor mat. His mom had printed a little list—karate, judo, a boxing gym that was way too close to a fish market, and a taekwondo dojo she'd circled twice.
His dad kept the wheel steady, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. "Remember, Kenjiro, it's not about what looks the flashiest. It's about what suits you—your body, your quirk, and your discipline."
"I know," Kenjiro muttered, though his heart drummed like a jackhammer. "I just… wanna see what feels right."
His mom chuckled. "That's the spirit. But don't be discouraged if it doesn't feel natural at first. Every art takes years to really understand."
Kenjiro only nodded, staring out the window as buildings slid past. He didn't want "years" to pass, He wanted to start now.
Stop One: Karate
The karate dojo sat on the second floor of a clean, old-looking building. When Kenjiro stepped inside, the first thing he noticed was the sharpness of everything—the crisp white gi uniforms, the echo of "OSS!" whenever someone bowed, the way the instructor barked commands like a drill sergeant.
A class was already underway. Kids about his age punched in unison, fists snapping out like pistons. Their feet slammed the wooden floor in a rhythm that rattled the air.
Kenjiro's eyes lit up. It looked… controlled. Precise. Powerful.
"This one teaches striking with hands and feet," his mom whispered beside him. "Strong stances, linear attacks. Discipline above all."
Kenjiro watched a boy nail a punch so hard the air popped. He could almost imagine himself doing the same, zipping forward at 700 mph and slamming a fist before anyone could react.
But then, as the class shifted into kata—structured forms, flowing motions—Kenjiro felt his buzz dim slightly. It was beautiful, but rigid. Like memorizing choreography.
He leaned toward his dad. "Feels… stiff. Like, I get it, but if I'm moving this fast, would I even have time to line up stances?"
His dad smiled knowingly. "That's part of the lesson. Structure before improvisation. But if it doesn't click, we keep looking."
Kenjiro gave the karate class one last, respectful glance, then followed his parents back out.
Stop Two: Judo
The judo dojo smelled faintly of mats and sweat. Inside, the floor was padded wall to wall, and kids in blue and white gis were grappling like wild animals. Throws cracked through the room, bodies flipping and slamming with alarming force.
Kenjiro's eyes widened. "Whoa."
One kid got launched over another's shoulder and hit the mat with a thud that rattled Kenjiro's bones. But then the boy bounced back up, grinning, and went for another grip.
"Judo's about using an opponent's force against them," his mom explained softly. "Leverage, balance, momentum."
Kenjiro thought about his quirk. Momentum. Yeah, he had plenty of that. If someone grabbed him while he was running, could they just flip him like that? The thought made him shiver.
"Feels dangerous," he muttered.
His dad folded his arms. "Dangerous, but effective. This could teach you how to control momentum instead of being controlled by it."
Kenjiro chewed on that. He liked the idea, but… when he imagined himself training here, he mostly saw himself breaking people's arms by accident. The speed in his body felt too explosive for something so grip-heavy.
After watching another throw end in a spectacular tumble, he shook his head. "Not for me."
Stop Three: Boxing
The boxing gym was loud. Not just from the thud-thud-thud of fists on heavy bags, but from the constant shouting of a coach in a sweat-stained hoodie. The air reeked of liniment oil and fish from the market downstairs.
Kenjiro wrinkled his nose, though his ears perked up when he saw a boy his age darting quick jabs into a speed bag. The bag rattled like a drumroll, and Kenjiro found himself tapping his foot in rhythm.
"Footwork, reflexes, punches," his dad said. "Pure striking. Simple, but not easy."
Kenjiro could definitely picture himself weaving between blows, then snapping out punches faster than anyone could track. But… no kicks. No throws. Just fists.
"Feels… limited," he said after a minute. "Like, what if someone comes at me with a weapon, or from behind?"
His mom nodded. "You're thinking like a hero already."
Kenjiro gave the boxing gym another sniff of fish stink and quickly voted to move on.
Stop Four: Taekwondo
The taekwondo dojo was bright, open, and buzzing with energy. When Kenjiro stepped inside, he immediately heard the sharp snap of feet striking pads. Kids in white doboks leapt and spun through the air, their kicks whistling like blades.
Kenjiro froze, eyes wide.
It was beautiful. Not rigid like karate. Not suffocating like judo. Not one-dimensional like boxing. This was movement. Speed. Rhythm. His heart surged as a girl his age did a spinning kick that cracked the pad with a thunderclap.
The instructor—a tall, calm man with gray at his temples—glanced at the new arrivals and gave them a warm bow. "Welcome. Taekwondo is the art of both hands and feet, but the legs are our wings. Here, you'll learn discipline, but also freedom. Power, but also control."
Kenjiro swallowed. His legs tingled, as if already itching to move like that. He imagined himself running, stopping, spinning into a kick at lightning speed. His whole body buzzed with possibility.
His dad's smile was small but knowing. "Looks like this one speaks to you."
Kenjiro nodded quickly. "Yeah. I… I wanna try this."
Scene Break
After the class wrapped, Kenjiro waited near the edge of the mat while his parents spoke with the instructor. That's when he noticed another boy lingering by the wall, toweling sweat from his face.
The boy was about his age, hair neatly trimmed, posture straight. But what caught Kenjiro's attention was the tail—long, muscular, swishing idly behind him like it had a mind of its own.
Kenjiro blinked. "Whoa. That's real, right?"
The boy stiffened, turning sheepishly. His cheeks pinked. "Uh… y-yeah. It's real." He shifted, as if suddenly self-conscious. "Mashirao Ojiro."
Kenjiro grinned. "That's awesome. I'm Kenjiro. First day here."
Mashirao gave a polite nod. "Hi, Taekwondo's good. Teaches balance, kicks, speed. I… like it." He fumbled for words, his tail curling slightly around his leg. "It… helps me not trip over this thing."
Kenjiro laughed. "Man, if I had a tail like that, I'd be swinging off streetlights."
Mashirao looked both mortified and flattered at the same time. "It's not… flashy. People think it's plain."
"Plain? Dude, it's a tail, i've seen alot worse than just a tail,That's the opposite of plain."
Mashirao blinked, then cracked a small, reluctant smile. His tail wagged just once before he caught himself.
Kenjiro leaned in, lowering his voice. "So… you wanna be a hero too?"
Mashirao hesitated, then nodded firmly. "Yeah. But most people don't think i can do much because of this." He glanced at his tail. "So i'm putting in the hard work."
Kenjiro felt a spark of respect burn in his chest. "Then we'll work hard together."
That night, Kenjiro called Toru, settling on his bed. "Toru, you gotta hear this. I found the place. Martial arts, but like—movement, speed, spinning kicks, all of it. You'd love it."
Her voice crackled through the line, curious. "Taekwondo, right? My cousin tried that once. Said her legs hurt for weeks."
Kenjiro laughed. "Yeah, but think about it—if you're invisible, people won't see where you're kicking from. Imagine the chaos."
There was a pause, then a little giggle. "Okay… you're selling me. My parents are super cautious, but if I spin it as, like, 'self-defense,' maybe they'll say yes."
A Week Later
When Toru showed up at the dojo, sneakers floating through the entrance, Mashirao nearly jumped out of his skin.
"W-what—?!"
Kenjiro laughed. "Relax, she's with me. Mashirao, meet Toru."
"Hi!" Toru chirped, her gloves waving.
Mashirao blinked, then gave a polite bow. "Um. Hello."
As the three of them warmed up together, Kenjiro found himself grinning. Toru's chatter filled the space where Mashirao's shy silences usually sat, and slowly, the boy began to loosen up.
"You're really good at kicks," Toru told him after practice one day.
Mashirao flushed, tail flicking nervously. "I-I've been practicing for a while. My dad says hard work is more important than talent."
"That's noble," Kenjiro said honestly.
Mashirao looked down, embarrassed, but Kenjiro caught the faint wag of his tail.
Scene Break
The next weeks were full of sweat and sore muscles. Kenjiro's legs screamed after every session, but he grinned through it. The kicks felt natural, like an extension of his running. Toru joked constantly, sometimes throwing off her balance mid-kick because she was laughing too hard. Mashirao, meanwhile, was litte more quiet and reserved.
After class one evening, Kenjiro flopped onto the mat, sweat dripping. "Man… this is just the start. But I'm not stopping here. Taekwondo, karate, judo, whatever. I'm learning everything I can."
Mashirao tilted his head. "That's… ambitious."
Kenjiro smirked. "So's being a hero."
Toru giggled, tossing her towel at him. "Guess we're all ambitious, then."