The universe chose a truly terrible day for my Quirk to awaken.
It was raining.
Not the dramatic, cinematic kind of rain either—just that miserable, cold drizzle that seeps through shoes and into patience. The kind that makes people irritable for no good reason.
We were in the group home's rec room, trapped inside with too much energy and not enough space.
Which meant chaos.
Jiro was jumping between chairs pretending the floor was lava. Mika was coloring at the corner table, carefully outlining a sun for the third time that week. Tadashi was in a foul mood because someone had eaten his snack.
And me?
I was on the floor with a donated physics book open in front of me, rereading a section on mechanical waves for the fifth time because the diagrams were wrong and it bothered me.
Transverse motion incorrectly simplified. Amateur mistake, I noted sourly.
Tadashi's shadow fell over the page.
"What're you even reading? Baby math?" he snorted.
I didn't look up. "It's about how energy moves through matter. You wouldn't like it. Too subtle."
He kicked my book.
It slid across the floor and smacked into the table leg.
That was the moment.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Just… irritation.
A small, quiet, razor-edged click in my mind.
Interesting, my thoughts murmured as my chest warmed faintly. Heart rate elevated. Adrenal response. Neurological feedback loop—
The table leg vibrated.
At first, no one noticed.
It was minor. So small it could have been dismissed as imagination. A faint tremor in the wood. A whisper of motion beneath stillness.
Then the sound came.
A low, humming buzz rising from the floor.
Jiro froze mid-jump.
Mika's crayon rolled off the table.
Tadashi's grin slipped.
"What the heck is that?" someone whispered.
The vibration spread.
Not violently.
Precisely.
The hum moved through the table legs into the floorboards, a delicate, controlled oscillation that made the room feel suddenly… alive.
The shelves rattled.
Windows chimed softly.
And right in the center of it all—
Me.
Sitting cross-legged. Very calm. Very aware.
Ah, I thought distantly. So this is how it starts.
Ms. Kato rushed in first.
"Everyone stay back!" she shouted.
The vibration spiked slightly with her raised voice.
Not from fear.
From reflex.
The entire room hummed louder.
The kids screamed.
Mika covered her ears. Jiro stumbled backward and fell. Tadashi stared at me like I had just grown a second head.
"What are you doing?!" Ms. Kato demanded.
I looked up at her.
Honestly?
I was smiling.
"Testing a hypothesis," I said cheerfully.
The hum cut off instantly.
Absolute stillness flooded the room.
A glass of water that had been trembling on the table settled without spilling a drop.
Silence crashed in.
Everyone stared at me.
For three full seconds.
Then the room exploded.
"HE DID IT!"
"THE FLOOR WAS SHAKING!"
"IS THAT HIS QUIRK?!"
"A QUIRK? THAT'S IT?"
Tadashi recovered first.
"…That's it?" he said loudly. "It just… shakes stuff?"
Some of the kids relaxed.
A few laughed.
The fear slipped away and left behind disappointment.
Mika walked up to me carefully. "It was loud… but nothing broke."
Jiro tilted his head. "So it's like… a bad drum?"
I examined my small hands thoughtfully.
Localized vibration emission. Surface-level oscillation. No internal damage. No resonance cascade. Interesting.
Ms. Kato knelt in front of me, voice strained. "Are you hurt?"
"Nope."
"You made the whole room shake."
"Barely," I corrected lightly.
The caretakers later called in a quirk registrar. Wrote reports. Took measurements. I cooperated fully, smiled sweetly, answered every question with just enough honesty to be harmless.
Official conclusion:
Quirk Type: EmitterDesignation: VibrationThreat Level: LowUsefulness: Minimal
The kids latched onto that immediately.
"Low-level quirk!"
"Even a sparkle quirk is better!"
"Can you shake my juice for me?"
They laughed.
Tadashi laughed the hardest.
I laughed with them.
Carefree.
Easygoing.
Petty enough to remember each face perfectly.
Inside, my mind was alive with calculations.
Frequency output currently limited by muscle mass and neural tolerance. Stable control noted. Zero backlash. That's… promising.
They thought it was weak.
That amused me deeply.
That night, while the others slept, I slipped into the storage room with a single metal spoon.
Experiment One:
I touched it.
Focused.
The spoon vibrated softly.
No damage.
Good.
Experiment Two:
I increased the amplitude just slightly.
The spoon rang like a bell.
Clean frequency.
Beautiful.
Experiment Three:
I pushed further.
The spoon cracked down the middle with a sharp, metallic snap.
I stared at the broken spoon in my hand.
My heart was steady.
My breathing calm.
My grin… uncontainable.
"Oh," I whispered. "You poor, stupid world."
From that night on, everything changed.
By day, I was the kid with the "weak shaking quirk."
By night, I was a scientist.
A weapon designer.
A future disaster wrapped in a five-year-old body.
Pain became data.
Failure became progress.
Mockery became fuel.
And through it all, one truth sang in my mind with perfect clarity:
They thought I could only make things tremble.
One day…
They would learn how wrong they were.