U.A.'s morning light felt heavier than usual.
The chatter in Class 1-A wasn't the kind that came before a fight or an exam — it was sharper, filled with names. Hero names. Agency names.After the Sports Festival, hundreds of offers had come in from all over Japan, and every student's desk was now littered with neatly stacked envelopes bearing hero insignias.
Aizawa barely looked awake, but his tone was steady. "The offers are sorted by performance," he said, tapping his tablet. "Think before you choose. Popularity doesn't equal training."
Harry flipped open his own folder. A small pile — not large, but more than he expected. Some from minor rescue teams, a few from gadget support labs, one or two from tactical analysts who seemed to have read his field reports.He thumbed through the names until his hand stopped.
Sir Nighteye.
The name was printed in precise lettering, with a handwritten note clipped to it:
"For a student interested in precision and foresight. — M. Nighteye."
Midoriya's chair creaked as he leaned over. "Wait — Nighteye? As in All Might's old sidekick?"
Harry nodded slowly. "That's what it says."
Bakugo scoffed from two rows back. "Why the hell would he pick you? He's a data freak, not a magician."
Harry ignored the jab. He reread the note again, then closed the folder.A man who worked beside All Might… a mind that dissects victory itself.It was exactly the kind of challenge he wanted.
Ochako turned in her seat, smiling. "You should go for it, Harry. He's one of the smartest pros alive. You'd probably get along."
Harry smiled faintly. "Maybe. I like people who think before they swing."
Aizawa yawned. "Fill your forms by the end of the day. Don't regret your pick later."
Harry looked once more at the letter. There was something unsettling about the neatness of the handwriting — as if even the ink obeyed orders.He signed the acceptance form without hesitation.
That evening, Harry took the long way home. The city lights flickered off mirrored glass, catching the edges of clouds like lines on a map.He had chosen mentors before — books, blueprints, long-dead wizards who left fragments of brilliance behind — but this was the first living teacher who might actually understand him.
All Might had charisma and faith. Aizawa had grit and instinct.Sir Nighteye… had calculation.
"If I'm going to survive in a world of quirks," Harry thought, "I need to learn how to plan ten moves ahead — not just cast faster."
He passed by a convenience store, picked up a pack of instant noodles, and walked the rest of the way to the orphanage rooftop — his workshop, his quiet refuge.The city hummed below. The stars were faint tonight, swallowed by neon haze, but that suited him fine. His focus wasn't on stars.
It was on the small silver chain laid out before him.
The Runic Control Necklace wasn't particularly beautiful. Just a thin thread of silver and a small crystal pendant, cut flat on one side to house a faintly glowing rune circle.He'd been working on it for two weeks, ever since the Sports Festival. Tonight, it would finally be complete.
Its purpose was simple in theory and nightmarishly complex in practice:allow Harry to control multiple summons while still casting combat spells freely.
Until now, the mental strain of keeping two wolves active meant his other spells faltered — the mind could only split in so many directions. But the necklace, if he'd done it right, would divide that burden. It wouldn't add magic; it would balance focus.
He set the pendant on the table and carefully traced the final runes with his stylus — an anchor sigil for stability, a line for distribution, and a faint spiral for focus flow.Each rune flared briefly as it settled, like breaths of blue fire vanishing into the metal.
Harry breathed out, heart steady. "Moment of truth."
He placed the necklace around his neck. The metal was cold against his skin, then warm. The pendant pulsed once.
He closed his eyes."Wolf," he whispered.
The first one appeared beside him in a swirl of vapor — fur made of mist and faint silver light. Then, without pause, he reached deeper and pulled again.
A second wolf uncoiled from the air, growling softly as it solidified.
The difference was immediate — no headache, no flicker, no fading edges.For the first time, both summons stood without dragging at his concentration. They breathed, padded, moved independently, and his mind felt clear.
He exhaled, almost laughing. "You're both alive. And I'm not dead. Excellent."
To test further, he flicked a Gale card forward with his ring hand. The magic snapped outward cleanly, scattering loose papers. The wolves didn't falter.Then he used a Bind card, targeting a rooftop vent. The blue ropes coiled perfectly around the metal cylinder, no delay, no collapse.
Harry dropped back into his chair, grinning like an idiot. "It works."
He tilted his head back to watch the city lights.
For months he'd been building out of fear — fear of being helpless, of being quirkless, of being useless. Every spell, every card, every rune came from a need to not die.But this one felt different. Calmer.Something meant for living.
He ran a finger along the pendant. "Tomorrow's another kind of test."
The next morning came fast.
Harry arrived at Sir Nighteye's agency just past eight.The building looked nothing like a hero's office — more like a law firm or a research lab. Polished marble floors, glass walls, faint scent of ink and citrus.Receptionists typed quietly behind soundproof panels.The only hint of hero work was a single framed poster on the wall — an old photo of All Might, annotated in neat, tiny handwriting with numbers and angles.Force vectors, timing, follow-through.
Harry stared at it for a moment. Whoever worked here didn't idolize; they analyzed.
A woman in a tight blue bodysuit and a bubble-like visor waved from the end of the hall."Hey there! You must be the student. Harry Potter, right? The Wizard?"
Harry straightened his robe. "That's me."
She smiled — bright and a little teasing. "Name's Bubble Girl. Welcome to Nighteye's agency. He's... particular. Don't take anything personally, okay?"
"Particular how?" Harry asked as they walked.
"Everything has to make sense. He times people when they talk." She grinned. "You'll see."
Harry felt his pulse quicken. "Sounds fun."
They passed through a long hallway into what looked like a small training area — polished wooden floors, open space, minimal decor.A figure stood near the far wall, straight-backed, long-limbed, glasses catching the light.
Sir Nighteye didn't look up immediately. He was reviewing data on a tablet — possibly Harry's performance from the Festival.When he did look up, the air seemed to shift. His eyes were sharp, not cruel, but dissecting.
"Harry Potter," he said at last. His voice was smooth, controlled, and somehow precise. "Or should I say, The Wizard?"
Harry gave a small bow. "Sir Nighteye. It's an honor."
"Honor," Nighteye repeated, as if weighing the word's validity. "A quaint concept. Let's see if you can back it with data."
Harry blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You've studied. Invented. Created systems to offset your limits." Nighteye set down the tablet. "That's admirable. But data must be tested."
He gestured toward the center of the room. "You have one minute to touch me. Anything goes — cards, magic, tactics. I will not attack you unless provoked."
Harry exhaled slowly.A test, then.A simulation of everything he'd learned — speed, control, prediction.
Bubble Girl winced from the sidelines. "He's in one of those moods."
Nighteye adjusted his tie. "Begin whenever you're ready."
Harry flicked his fingers. A Speed Burst card slid into his hand. He pressed it between his palms and whispered the activation rune.The magic surged through his legs — weightless, fast.
Then he threw a Bind card forward, a blue arc snapping toward Nighteye.
Nighteye sidestepped without even looking. "Predictable vector. Your anchor point was too high."
Harry grinned, already moving — Gale in his left hand, Flashbang in the right.He tossed both. The air split, light flared —Nighteye turned his head a fraction of a second before the burst, eyes narrowing. His hand caught a paperweight midair and deflected the light like a mirror.
Harry's heart jumped. "He knew—"
"Foresight," Nighteye said calmly, stepping forward. "Activated the moment you entered the room."
Harry understood now. The test wasn't about speed. It was about adaptability — the ability to think beyond the next move, to outplay someone who already saw the outcome.
He slid back two steps, slipping another card between his fingers."Then let's see what the future looks like when you can't see me."
He flicked the Veil card. A curtain of dense mist bloomed across the floor, swallowing both of them in soft gray.For a moment, silence — and then, Harry's voice, calm and distant.
"Let's play."
A flash of motion — Bind, Rope, Gale, thrown from different angles, ricocheting through the fog.Each card sang in its own rhythm, weaving confusion.Nighteye moved through it like water, deflecting most — but one caught his sleeve, tugging him just slightly off balance.
Harry surged forward — his palm glowing faintly, Lift magic under his feet —And touched Nighteye's shoulder.
The fog cleared in an instant.
Harry's hand trembled just slightly from the exertion. "Touched."
Nighteye adjusted his glasses, expression unreadable. "Forty-nine seconds."
He looked down at his sleeve — the faint mark from the Bind spell still visible."Well done. You used misdirection instead of power. You improvised. Not efficient, but… adaptable."
Harry straightened. "Adaptation is a kind of foresight, isn't it?"
For the first time, Nighteye smiled — small, tight, almost reluctant. "Perhaps. You'll fit here."
Bubble Girl clapped once, grinning. "He actually smiled! You're the first one this month!"
Harry exhaled, relief washing through him. "Then I passed?"
"For now." Nighteye turned toward the door. "You start tomorrow. Eight sharp. Dress for work, not theater."
Harry couldn't help but grin. "Understood."
As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of the All Might poster again — annotated and worn, words scrawled over triumph.For a moment, he wondered if someday someone would study him the same way — every rune, every misstep, every small victory dissected for meaning.
The thought didn't scare him.
It excited him.