The courtyard smelled of cut grass and cold air. Dawn was still soft; the campus moved slow — students scattered between classes, laughter and steps like distant metronomes. Ren found Todoroki beneath a row of maples, hands in his pockets, watching the clouds. He looked quieter than usual, as if the world had been reduced to the measured inhale and exhale of his chest.
Ren sat down beside him without ceremony. "Todoroki," he said. "Quick question."
Todoroki glanced at him. "Yes?"
Ren folded his hands together, careful to make the motion look casual. "Is there a place on campus — a lab, workshop, or support room — where someone could design and fabricate a costume? I mean, like a hero outfit. Reinforced, with integrated support gear."
Todoroki blinked once, then nodded slowly. "The Support Course labs. Mei Hatsume's workspace, and the faculty support department. They handle prototypes, equipment — everything from compensators to complete suit systems. Why do you ask?"
Ren watched a leaf fall and catch the wind. "Curiosity," he said softly. "Practical reasons. I want to test material interaction with… certain signal dampeners. It's hard to simulate without proper gear."
Todoroki's eyes narrowed just a hair — not from suspicion, but calculation. "Signal dampeners?" he repeated. "That sounds specialized. You'll need permission. The labs aren't open to everyone."
Ren's expression didn't change. "I know. I'm asking if you could… show me where they are. Maybe introduce me to someone who could let me use it. I don't want anything flashy. Functional is enough."
For a moment Todoroki considered the request. The two of them had been training together long enough that his friend's offhanded comments never lacked depth. "You do understand this could get you into trouble if you misuse it," Todoroki said quietly.
"I do," Ren said. "I plan on staying within— acceptable parameters. For now."
Todoroki picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, thinking. "Mei is unpredictable, but brilliant. If you go through the proper channels — the support faculty — and express this as a research need, you might get supervised access. I can put in a word with the faculty advisor. They listen to me more than most students."
Ren inclined his head. "A faculty vouch carries weight. Thank you."
Todoroki hesitated, then added, "Why not ask Mei directly? She likes unusual requests. If you approach her with a clear goal and some basic schematics, she'll be interested. She's proud of her work; she'd love a project that challenges her." He stopped himself from saying more — from asking why Ren wanted the suit. But his voice held a sliver of curiosity. "Are you making a hero outfit for training?"
Ren's lips curved just a fraction. "Training, disguise… logistics. Call it preparation."
Todoroki's eyes searched his face. He had learned to read the young man across from him not by emotion but by pattern — tiny tells, rhythm of breath, timing of words. "I'll introduce you," he said finally. "After afternoon classes. Meet me at the Support Workshop. Don't be late."
Ren rose, tying the request into the day as if it were nothing more than another check on a list. "I won't be."
—
The Support Workshop smelled of oil, solder, and late nights. Posters of failed prototypes—glazed over, gold-ink scribbles—lined the walls. A dozen half-built devices crowded the benches. Todoroki led Ren into the midst of the organized chaos and raised his voice.
"Mei! I brought someone you should see."
A voice from behind a partition answered with glee. "New subject! New subject! I can already taste the designs—"
Mei Hatsume emerged like an explosion itself: goggles perched on her forehead, hair clipped up with spare circuit boards, a grin full of teeth. She froze when she saw Ren—then pivoted, eyes alight.
"You're the transfer, right? Ren Saito? Todoroki said you were interesting, but—oh! Do you have quirks that need compensators? Are you a quirk-user or support-user?" Her hands fluttered across the air as if already sketching.
Ren stepped forward, voice calm and measured. "I'm… interested in a suit. Function over form. Reduced signature, light reinforcement, storage compartments for support tools. Nothing explosive."
Mei's grin widened dangerously. "Functional? I love functional. Show me your measurements, your movement arcs, and any signal constraints. I'll make you look like a dream. Or a nightmare, if that's the aesthetic you want."
Todoroki watched the exchange with mild amusement. "She takes payments in praise and trust." He turned to Ren. "Be honest with her. She won't build anything that violates regulations without the faculty's permission, but she can prototype under supervision."
Ren's eyes flicked to a bench where a scatter of schematics lay. "Supervision is fine. I'll provide the parameters."
Mei's fingers danced over a tablet already conjuring designs. "Perfect! This is a challenge. Let's start with mobility — Todoroki, help me get his movement profile. Ren, try a few basic stances."
Ren followed the request as if it were the most ordinary thing: stance, pivot, stretch. Mei recorded, muttering into a small recorder about joint articulation and fabric elasticity. Her excitement was contagious; her respect instant.
As Todoroki watched Ren move, a small, almost-hidden smile passed across his face. The transfer student was more than quiet; he was precise. Todoroki felt a rare sense of kinship — two people who spoke in actions rather than words.
When Ren finished, Mei blinked, eyes bright. "Wonderful. I'll start on a prototype. With faculty approval, we can test materials this week. Todoroki, thanks for the introduction. Ren, plan on staying close. I'll need more data."
Ren nodded once. "I will."
Todoroki lingered a moment longer. "If anything feels off," he said, voice low, "tell me."
Ren looked at him for the first time with something almost like warmth. "I will."
Outside, the sky had cleared, leaving clean air and a horizon that was just beginning to glow. Two silent friends left the workshop — one already scheming designs in a world he intended to rewrite, t
he other carrying the weight of trust like a small, fragile thing
The Support Lab hummed with electricity and invention. Sparks flared in corners, the smell of soldered metal thick in the air. Mei Hatsume leaned over a half-finished drone when Ren set a sleek, matte-black case on the worktable.
He opened it slowly.
Inside — neatly arranged across the foam padding — gleamed an array of tools and sketches, half-machine, half-armor.
Todoroki stepped closer, silent.
Mei's eyes widened instantly. "Ooooh~ what do we have here?"
Ren lifted the first piece — metallic claws, long and narrow, with curved tips that caught the light like razors. Each finger plate held a flexible joint, retractable through micro-hydraulics.
They weren't crude weapons; they were precise extensions of his hands.
> "Carbon-titanium alloy," Ren said quietly. "Linked through neural micro-sensors. I want them calibrated to pressure sensitivity. Enough to cut through steel — but fine enough to hold a thread."
Mei's grin widened. "Combat precision claws? That's beautifully insane! You're talking about ten mini servo drives — full sync required. I can do it!"
He nodded once, then placed the next schematic on the table — boots.
Black, sleek, slightly angular.
Under the soles, thruster vents and magnetic field coils were drawn in fine lines.
> "Boost propulsion," Ren explained. "Short bursts. Not flight — I only need forward thrust and jump assist. Think… lightning sprint and super-jump range, with impact stabilizers."
Todoroki's eyebrows lifted. "That's… ambitious. You could keep up with Iida if it works."
Mei was already scribbling notes. "Stabilization gel for landings, carbon treads for friction — I can totally make that."
Ren continued, setting down a folded piece of matte fabric next — a cloak.
Jet black, flexible, but with faint circuitry patterns across its edges.
> "Thermal-dampening fiber," Ren said. "Blocks heat signature. Acts as static discharge cloak in combat. Also—"
He flipped it, revealing a hood built into the seam. "—a cover when needed."
Todoroki gave a small smirk. "So… a stealth ninja aesthetic?"
Ren didn't answer. Just continued.
Next came the mask — slim, contoured, covering from nose to chin, embedded with tiny filter vents. Alongside it, contact lenses that shimmered faintly violet under light.
> "Lenses — night vision, motion trace, and optical zoom. The mask filters air and conceals identity. Voice modulation optional."
Mei was practically bouncing. "Ohhh I like this so much. This is not a costume, it's a statement! You're going full silent-type hero build!"
Ren gave her a faint half-smile. "Something like that."
He set the last page of the schematic flat on the table.
"Project Shadowline."
Mei leaned close. "Codename?"
Ren nodded. "Personal project. I want this ready for field simulation."
Todoroki crossed his arms. "You know the teachers won't approve everything at once."
Ren met his eyes. "Then we'll tell them it's for enhanced mobility research."
There was something in his tone — calm, certain — that made even Mei pause for a heartbeat. Not arrogance, not defiance. Just quiet purpose.
Mei finally exhaled and clapped her hands. "Alright, you mysterious genius. I'll build your Shadowline prototype — with every safety chip I'm required to install. But… if you happen to find extra functions after testing…" She winked. "That's between us."
Ren closed the case. "That's acceptable. And i also want"
Monofilament Line — "Silk-Edge"
Description (in-world tech):
A ultra-thin metallic monofilament woven from a carbon-sapphire alloy. Looks like a hairline thread but has tensile strength enough to slice through support-grade fabric and reinforced polymer at close range. Extremely flexible, near-invisible in rain or low light. Can be electrically charged for brief bursts to cut or disable circuits. Spool fits into the gauntlet/claw housing; tension and release are controlled by micro-motors and neural micro-sensors in the claw's base.
Specs (Mei's notes):
Diameter: ~0.12 mm
Break load: comparable to thin piano wire (engineered to cut Kevlar weave at short range)
Coating: anti-reflective matte, hydrophobic (works in rain)
Reel: micro-spool (retracts at 30 m/s peak; adjustable tension)
Extras: short high-voltage pulse option (stuns electronics for 0.4s), integrated failsafe (auto-lock if
sensor errors)
As he turned to leave, Todoroki caught up beside him.
"You're putting a lot of thought into this," he said. "What are you really preparing for?"
Ren looked forward — his eyes reflecting the steel-blue lights of the lab.
"Preparation," he said quietly. "For when the real war begins."
The sound of the lab door hissed shut behind them — leaving Mei surrounded by half-built miracles and the
echo of a name that felt like prophecy.
> Project Shadowline — Initiated.
Mei's goggles lit up like the sun when Ren presented the filament spool—no bigger than a fingernail—docked neatly into the base of his claw rig.
"Is that it? That's the wire?" she squealed, snatching it like a prize. Her hands flew over the holo-console. "You mad genius, you want me to build invisible razors? I love you."
Ren didn't smile; he only watched the live stress models ripple across the screen. Todoroki hovered beside him, eyebrows raised.
Mei clipped the spool into the claw module and fed a single hairline strand through a ceramic guide. "Tension calibrated to neural micro-input. One twitch, one inch; one harder pull, full-spool release. Retractor motor set at safe retraction until you authorize override."
She turned to Ren, eyes bright. "Want to test on a drone or the dummy target?"
Ren nodded. "Drone. Simulate reinforced polymer armor, mid-range approach, wet conditions."
They rolled the drone into the dome. Rain simulation kicked on — perfect for testing invisibility and hydrophobic coating. Ren slid the mask over his face, the lenses adjusting for contrast. His claws extended; the wire fed out a whisper.
He moved—a simple step, a calculated flick of wrist—and the filament sang. It was barely audible, like a guitar string plucked in another room. The drone's outer plating shredded along a clean line; internal servos sparked as the filament's brief electrical pulse kissed the control board.
Mei whooped. "It works! It actually cuts clean. You monster!"
Todoroki observed soberly. "You need to be careful with that in the field. Collateral cuts, civilians, support gear—"
Ren retracted the line smoothly; the spool snapped back with mechanical calm. "Failsafe engaged. Retract and lock on sensor-error or unauthorized usage. Only manual neural signature can override."
Mei clapped and already had notes for the next iteration: micro-insulation for nonlethal engagements, variable pulse to disable circuitry without slicing, and a humidity sensor to auto-adjust tension in rain.
Todoroki glanced at Ren, something unreadable in his eyes. "This makes you more dangerous."
Ren's voice was quiet, almost conversational. "Precision amplifies intent."
Outside the dome, the rain hammered the campus. Inside, the wire coiled like a sleeping snake in its spool—small, silent, and waiting for its turn to be
used with surgical intent.