Harry's notebook was filling faster than he'd ever expected.
Every spare moment—between classes, after meals, under his blanket at night—was consumed by sketches of circles and arrows, hastily written hypotheses, diagrams that looked more like electrical schematics than anything mystical.
At the top of the newest page he had written in bold, shaky letters:
Spell Model 001 – Lumos (Light Family).
Beneath it, three sub-sections: 001-A (Glow Orb), 001-B (Focused Beam), 001-C (Burst).
It had started with the memory of last night—sitting in the courtyard, failing, failing, failing… until the faintest static had prickled at his fingertips. The fizz had faded before it became anything, but it was enough. Enough to prove he wasn't crazy.
"Magic is energy," he whispered now, sitting in the corner of the orphanage library with a dusty textbook open to a chapter on optics. "Light is energy. If quirks can emit light, then magic should be able to, too."
He flipped the page, tracing a finger down diagrams of visible spectrum, wavelength charts, wave-particle duality. He didn't understand everything, but he didn't need perfect mastery. He needed concepts—anchors he could tie intent to.
Glow for illumination. Focus for direction. Burst for disruption.
He scribbled notes furiously. Each variation had its own page in the notebook. Each page had boxes labeled "Input," "Channeling," and "Output." He approached it like an engineer designing prototypes.
If anyone had looked over his shoulder, they would've thought he was preparing blueprints for a machine.
And in a way, he was.
At lunch the next day, Harry was bent over his notebook again, refining the equations in his head, when someone slid awkwardly into the seat across from him.
Harry looked up to see a mop of green curls and freckled cheeks. Izuku Midoriya hugged a lunch tray to his chest like a shield.
"Um, is it okay if I sit here?"
Harry blinked. No one ever asked that. Usually they just filled seats around him, or ignored him entirely. He nodded. "Go ahead."
Midoriya settled in, opening his bento with the care of a surgeon. For a while, the only sounds were chopsticks clicking and the scratch of Harry's pencil. Then Midoriya's eyes, curious and darting, landed on Harry's notebook.
"Those… diagrams," he said cautiously, "are you… analyzing quirks?"
Harry froze. The page in front of him showed three concentric circles labeled Glow, Beam, Burst. Arrows radiated outward with notes like 'radius of illumination?' and 'intensity vs. focus trade-off.'
He closed the notebook halfway, protecting it instinctively. "Something like that. An experiment."
Midoriya's face lit up like someone had given him permission to breathe. "That's amazing! I do quirk analysis too. Well, not experiments, more… observations. Heroes, villains, how they use their abilities. I track weaknesses, potential counters. Stuff like that." He flipped open his own battered notebook, the cover plastered with stickers, revealing pages crammed with notes and sketches of famous heroes mid-action.
Harry blinked at the density of it. Every page was alive with detail.
"Wow," he muttered before he could stop himself.
Midoriya flushed pink. "It's nothing special. Just… a hobby."
Harry shook his head. "No. That's… that's dedication."
The two boys shared a quiet moment of recognition. Two nerds with notebooks, sitting at the edge of the cafeteria while the rest of the class buzzed with laughter and noise. It wasn't friendship yet, but it was something.
That night, Harry crept back into the courtyard, notebook under his arm. The air was cool, and the broken swing groaned in the wind like an old man.
He opened to the page marked 001-A: Glow Orb.
"Okay," he whispered. "Stable light. Small. Low power. Just glow."
He focused on the model he had drawn—the idea of light as a soft, constant emission. He visualized the parameters: not blinding, not sharp, just steady. He let the intent fill his chest, then funneled it down his arm, through his palm.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A warm glow bloomed above his hand. A sphere of light, faint at first, then brightening to the intensity of a lantern.
Harry's breath caught. His grin split his face.
"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, yes, yes."
The orb hovered, wobbled, then steadied. It cast shadows across the courtyard, reflected in the swing's rusted chains. He could see his own wide-eyed expression mirrored faintly in the windows of the orphanage.
He'd done it. Not an accident. A controlled, stable spell.
"Spell Model 001-A: Lumos," he muttered, writing it down even as the orb fizzled out. "Glow Orb. Success."
He wasn't done.
He turned the page to 001-B: Focus Beam.
This time, he visualized a narrow cone of light, a flashlight beam cutting across the dark. He channeled, funneled, focused—
A thin stream of white light shot from his palm, illuminating the far wall. It flickered when his concentration wavered, but it held.
He laughed. "It works. It actually works."
Sweat prickled his temple, but he pushed on, turning to 001-C: Burst.
"Short. Intense. Like a camera flash."
He gathered energy, compressed it in his chest, and shoved it outward.
A burst of white light exploded from his hand, blinding him for a second. He staggered, blinking spots from his vision.
When his sight returned, he clutched the notebook, heart pounding.
Three variations. Glow, beam, burst.
Spell Model 001—complete.
The triumph didn't last long.
The next day, the bullies were waiting.
"Hey, Scarface," the leader jeered, cracking his knuckles. "Show us that quirk of yours again."
Harry's pulse spiked. Part of him wanted to run. Another part whispered that this was the perfect chance to test the flashbang.
He squared his shoulders. "Fine. You want a show? Here."
He raised his hand, focused on the model for 001-C: Burst. He pictured the surge, the blinding light. He tried to gather energy, compress it—
A fist slammed into his stomach before he could release it. The model shattered in his mind like glass.
Pain stole his breath. Another punch caught his jaw. He staggered, tried again to rebuild the equation in his head, but focus slipped every time a fist landed. It was like trying to solve calculus while being shoved down a staircase.
The bullies laughed as they knocked him to the ground.
"Some quirk," one sneered. "Blinking lights won't save you."
They left him bruised and coughing in the dirt.
Harry curled around his notebook, clutching it like a lifeline.
I can't cast in real time, he realized, bitter and raw. Not like this. Not while fighting. It's too complicated. Too slow.
That night, lying on his bed with ice pressed to his ribs, Harry opened his notebook again. His hand shook as he wrote beneath the Lumos entries:
Observation: Real-time casting unreliable under stress.Problem: Mental modeling collapses with distraction.Solution: Externalize models. Store intent outside the body.
He tapped the pencil against the page, thinking of engineering projects from his old life—how complex processes could be pre-programmed into circuits, leaving the user to flip a switch.
If intent is the formula, he thought, then why not write the formula down? Record it into something I can trigger instantly?
Scrolls. Tags. Carved wood. Inked diagrams.
He scribbled ideas furiously. Circles with runes inscribed, arrows pointing to activation triggers. He labeled the page:
His ribs ached, his lip split anew when he smiled, but the excitement burned hotter than the pain.
"I need a way to make magic as simple as flipping a switch," he whispered to himself.
The blank page ahead seemed to shimmer in the lamplight, like it was waiting for him to fill it.
Harry picked up his pencil, and began.