Today's the Day
The training hall smelled faintly of sweat, tatami mats, and that lingering tang of wood polish. Sunlight slanted through the high windows, dust motes spinning lazily in the air, completely at odds with the tension between the two boys standing across from one another.
Kenjiro flexed his hands, rolling his shoulders as he breathed slow through his nose. The years had carved discipline into him—routine, repetition, the endless grind of practice—but the thrill of testing himself never dulled. His bare feet sank slightly into the mats, the faint friction anchoring him to the moment.
Across from him, Mashirao Ojiro adjusted his stance, his calm expression hiding the coil of readiness beneath. His tail flicked slowly behind him, brushing the ground with little arcs. It wasn't quite wagging, though it twitched every so often with that nervous energy that came before a spar.
Between them, Toru's voice carried from the sideline."Alright, boys. Friendly spar, first to three points. No bruised egos, got it?"
Her pink sneakers shifted on the mat as her shirt and jeans seemed to float in midair. The faint outline of gloves clapped together. Even after all these years, Kenjiro had gotten used to her half-there presence—clothes visible, body invisible—but he still sometimes caught himself glancing where her face should've been, filling in expressions she'd never show.
Kenjiro dipped his chin. "Got it."
Ojiro mirrored with a small nod, though his tail now curled upward, clearly alert.
Toru raised her hand. "Hajime!"
Kenjiro slid forward immediately, left foot gliding across the mat, hands up in a textbook Karate guard. His breathing slowed, the edges of his perception stretching thin. He didn't dive into his full quirk—not the burning rush of top-speed—but he tilted the dial up just enough.
The world sharpened. The tiny twitch of Ojiro's toes became a tell. The flex of his shoulder muscle a half-second before his strike.
When Ojiro lunged with a straight punch, Kenjiro was already sliding sideways. His body moved without thought, weight shifting, hips rotating. His palm snapped down, redirecting the strike, and his other hand darted up with a counter-thrust aimed at Ojiro's ribs.
Tap!
Point one.
"Kenjiro!" Toru called, the sound like a referee's bell.
Ojiro stepped back, exhaling through his nose. He wasn't rattled. If anything, his calm seemed to deepen, that quiet dignity of his shoring up. His tail uncoiled, sweeping low like a balance bar.
Kenjiro's lips tugged in the faintest grin. He'd spent four years alongside Ojiro, sweating, stumbling, pushing each other through drills until calluses built up. He knew that look. Ojiro didn't want pity. He wanted to earn it.
They reset.
This time Ojiro led with a feint—jab high, tail sweeping low. It was fast, sharper than when they were younger. The tail whip could bruise if he didn't respect it.
Kenjiro's perception stretched further, like pulling a rubber band to its limit. Each motion came in frames. He pivoted back from the jab, heel scraping, then snapped his knee up just in time to deflect the tail's swing. The impact jarred his thigh, but his balance held.
Opening.
He shot forward with a straight punch, hips driving through. Ojiro blocked, forearm absorbing it, but Kenjiro didn't let the rhythm break. He twisted, using the blocked momentum to spin into a backfist.
Tap!
"Kenjiro again!" Toru called.
Ojiro shook out his arm, grimacing faintly, but his eyes were steady. He was down two points, but that only seemed to harden his resolve.
Kenjiro dialed his perception just a notch higher. He wasn't going to gift this spar.
Ojiro advanced faster now, tail snapping side to side like a metronome. His punches were crisp, measured. Kenjiro blocked, deflected, slipped under—but then Ojiro twisted, tail arcing upward in a sudden feint-turned-strike.
Kenjiro ducked low, the tail cutting just overhead, and his fist shot up in a vertical punch that caught Ojiro center chest.
Tap!
"Point! Match!" Toru's voice rang. "Three-nothing, Kenjiro!"
Kenjiro straightened, bowing slightly out of habit. His chest rose and fell, but he wasn't breathless. Years of drills had built his stamina into steel.
Ojiro exhaled, sweat beading on his brow. He returned the bow with equal measure, though his tail swished, somewhere between frustration and resignation.
"You're sharper than ever," Ojiro admitted quietly. "Couldn't close the gap at all."
Kenjiro offered a hand. "You pushed harder, though. That tail feint was new."
Ojiro took the hand, shaking firmly. "Still not enough."
From the sideline, Toru clapped her invisible hands together, her shirt bouncing with the movement. "Geez, you two take this way too seriously. It's just sparring! Though, for the record—" She flipped open a notebook dramatically. "Kenjiro's now leading in all the martial arts we've tried. Karate, Taekwondo, even that brief Judo phase. Ojiro, you've gotta catch up."
Kenjiro scratched the back of his neck, a little sheepish despite the victory.
Ojiro crossed his arms, muttering, "Plain again. Always plain."
Kenjiro smirked faintly. "Reliable, though."
The tail twitched upward, betraying Ojiro's quiet pride.
Scene Break
The three of them sprawled against the dojo wall afterward, sipping water from plastic bottles. Toru sat cross-legged, her visible clothes floating like a scarecrow plopped down.
She jabbed a finger at Kenjiro's hoodie sleeve. "You do realize you're officially the most over-prepared out of us, right? Like… borderline scary levels. You've got speed, technique, stamina. You're basically stacked."
Kenjiro shrugged, rolling the cool bottle against his cheek. "Doesn't mean much if I can't put it all together when it matters. Training's one thing. The real thing's another."
Ojiro nodded slowly, his calm voice carrying weight. "He's right. Real combat isn't points on a board. But… we're close. I can feel it."
Kenjiro tilted his head. "You nervous about next week?"
Toru leaned back, her clothes shifting against the wall. "Uh, yeah. Kinda hard not to be. UA's, like, the school. I keep thinking… what if I blow it? What if they look at me and go, 'Wow, invisibility, how… useful.'"
Her tone was light, but Kenjiro heard the edge under it.
He looked at where her face would be. "You've been training as hard as us. Don't sell yourself short. They'll see that."
Ojiro added, almost shyly, "You're not plain. Not at all."
There was a beat of silence, then Toru laughed softly. "Well… thanks, guys. I guess we'll see soon enough."
Pov switch
The sunlight poured warm through the kitchen window, spilling over neatly laid plates. Toru's parents bustled about—her mom humming, her dad double-checking her bag. Her clothes sat at the table like a normal girl, but the invisible hand gripping the edge betrayed her nerves.
Her mom smiled warmly. "Ready, sweetie?"
Toru straightened, tugging her gloves tighter. "Yeah. I'm ready."
She rose, slinging her bag over her shoulder, the faint shimmer of her sneakers squeaking on the tile.
Her dad's voice carried after her as she stepped toward the door. "Good luck, Toru. Show them what you've got!"
Toru's invisible face lifted, her voice firm. "I will. Today's the day."
Pov Switch
The Ojiro household buzzed with quiet energy. His father adjusted his gi in the mirror while his mother fussed over his bag, stuffing in an extra towel.
Mashirao stood by the door, already dressed neatly, tail swishing with uncharacteristic nerves.
"You'll do great," his mother said warmly. "You've worked so hard for this."
His father clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Remember the hardwork you've put in, your training. Don't doubt yourself."
Mashirao bowed lightly, then slipped his shoes on. As he stepped out, his parents called after him in unison: "Good luck, Mashirao!"
His tail flicked upward, excitement breaking through the calm. Today's the day, he told himself.
Mc's Pov
Kenjiro's room was a mess of notebooks, scribbles of quirk calculations, and training schedules pinned crooked on the wall. His parents stood at the doorway, faces alive with pride and nervous energy.
His mother clasped her hands. "Are you fully prepared? Do you have everything? Snacks, water, notebook—"
His father laughed, but there was a tremor in it. "You've been training for years, son. But this is… well, it's UA."
Kenjiro slung his bag onto his shoulder, his chest tight but steady. He looked at them, at their shining, anxious faces.
"Yeah," he said softly, then firmer, conviction in his tone. "I'm ready. Today's the day."
--End--
(Finally, had to get all threee chapters out and now am tapped, might take a break for a day or two)