Kazuki did not think of himself as intimidating.
He made a habit of checking his reflection in polished windows and locker doors, adjusting the things he could control. Soften the gaze. Relax the shoulders. Keep the hands visible. Smile, but not too much. Not the big, heroic grin yet. Just a small one. Friendly. Reassuring. The kind that said I'm listening.
It did not seem to work.
The halls subtly parted for him now. Conversations paused half a beat too long. People shifted to the side without quite realizing they had done so. Lockers closed a little faster when he approached, metal clanging like it had somewhere else to be.
Probably just the morning rush, Kazuki thought, checking his watch.
He nodded politely at a passing student.
The student froze, yelped quietly, and her quirk activated by accident. Tiny ice crystals bloomed along the collar of her uniform, glittering like frost. She squeaked an apology, speed-walked away, and nearly collided with a vending machine in her haste to escape.
Kazuki watched her go, concerned.
Midterms must be coming up, he decided. Stress did weird things to people.
What Kazuki did not notice was the air.
The pressure around him had dropped, subtly but measurably, a side effect of his quirk breathing that had been drilled into him since he was six years old. His lungs pulled in air in a slow, steady rhythm, compressing and cycling it through his body without conscious effort. Papers rustled faintly as he passed. Loose flyers lifted from bulletin boards and fluttered back down. A strand of someone's untied shoelace slid across the floor toward him.
To Kazuki, this was just breathing. He had been doing it this way for so long that he forgot there was any other option. To everyone else, it felt like standing too close to something powerful and politely restrained. Like being near a storm that hadn't made its mind on raining yet.
Kazuki continued down the hall, smiling at anyone who met his eyes.
No one met his eyes for very long.
People were weird sometimes.
—--------------------
Takeshi walked beside him every morning nowadays.
Not next to him. Slightly behind and to the right. Exactly half a step back.
Kazuki noticed but didn't comment. People had their walking preferences. He wasn't going to make it weird.
Takeshi, for his part, had spent forty minutes last night practicing this exact distance in his bedroom. In Raging Dragon Chronicles, the protagonist's right-hand man always maintained this position. Half a step behind showed respect without subservience. Close enough to intercept threats. Far enough to let the boss move freely.
He'd measured it with a ruler.
He had even made a diagram. His little sister had walked in, seen the diagram, and slowly backed out of the room without saying a word.
"Morning, Takeshi," Kazuki said.
"Morning, Kazuki-san," Takeshi replied, his tone carefully neutral.
Kazuki-san. Not Kazuki. Not Hayate. Kazuki-san. The suffix felt right. Respectful but familiar. In Chapter 73 of Raging Dragon Chronicles, that was how the lieutenant addressed the young master before his official inheritance ceremony.
Kazuki registered the formality but figured it was just Takeshi's thing. Some people were formal. That was fine.
They turned a corner. A group of second-years saw them coming and immediately flattened against the lockers.
Kazuki slowed slightly, frowning. That's the third time this week. Are people avoiding me?
The thought was uncomfortable. He'd been working on his approachability for months.
The second-years held their breath as Kazuki passed. One of them felt his quirk trying to activate defensively. Another one's heart was racing. They couldn't explain why. Just that every instinct in their bodies was screaming that the calm, composed first-year walking past them was dangerous.
Kazuki's breathing was so steady it was unnatural. The air pressure equalized the moment he passed, and they all exhaled in sync.
"Did you feel that?" one whispered.
"Like a storm about to break."
"He's a first-year right?"
Takeshi heard this and felt a swell of pride. That's right. Fear and respect. Kazuki-san's presence is undeniable.
"You don't have to walk me to class," Kazuki said, adjusting his bag strap. He appreciated the company, but he didn't want Takeshi to feel obligated.
A test, Takeshi thought immediately, eyes widening.
This was definitely a test. In Raging Dragon Chronicles, the protagonist always tested his subordinates' loyalty by giving them chances to leave. The ones who stayed became the inner circle. The ones who left were never heard from again.
Wait, no. They transferred schools. This was a school anime, not a crime thriller.
...Probably.
"I want to," Takeshi said firmly.
Kazuki shrugged. "Alright man, I appreciate it."
Takeshi nodded once, sharp and efficient. I will not fail you, Kazuki-san.
A nearby first-year whispered to her friend, "Is that Hayate-san's bodyguard?"
"They're in the same year," her friend hissed back.
"My mom said to stay away from him."
"Your mom's smart."
—--------------------
At lunch, Takeshi took his usual seat.
The seat to Kazuki's right. The seat that, over the past three days, had become his seat. Other students knew not to sit there. Not because anyone said anything. They just knew.
Takeshi set down his tray with ceremonial precision. He'd been practicing that, too. No slamming. No scraping. Just a soft click of plastic on wood.
Kazuki ate his lunch, occasionally checking his phone for hero news. There was a developing situation in Hosu City. Interesting.
Takeshi had bought a second notebook. This one was labeled "OBSERVATIONS" in careful block letters. Inside, he'd written things like:
-Boss prefers curry over rice balls
-Boss drinks green tea, not soda
-Boss sits facing the door (ALWAYS)
-Boss never finishes his milk (lactose intolerant?)
That last one was wrong. Kazuki just didn't like the cafeteria's milk. But Takeshi was convinced it was strategic. Never finishing a drink meant you could leave quickly if needed. Chapter 89. The protagonist did it at every meal.
"I think they switched curry suppliers," Kazuki said, poking at his lunch. "This one's less sweet. Worse quality."
Takeshi pulled out his notebook and wrote: Boss notices food supply chain changes. Heightened awareness of the environment.
Kazuki saw the notebook. "Taking notes for something?"
"Yes," Takeshi said, too quickly, angling the notebook away. "Class project."
"Which class?"
"...Hero Studies."
"Oh, cool. Let me know if you need help."
Takeshi's pen froze. He's offering guidance. This is a test of my self-sufficiency. I must prove I can handle tasks independently.
"I've got it covered, thank you, Kazuki-san."
Kazuki nodded and went back to his lunch. Good for him. Taking initiative for his grades.
Halfway through the meal, someone hovered at the edge of the table.
"Um," a voice said.
Kazuki looked up. "Yeah?"
The boy standing there had neatly combed hair and sharp eyes behind thin glasses. He held a notebook to his chest like it was rated for blunt-force trauma, though his posture stayed straight. Nervous, but committed.
"I'm Kenji Matsuda," he said. "Mind if I sit?"
Kazuki gestured to the empty seat. "Go ahead."
Kenji sat down.
The moment he did, his stomach dropped.
Not because Kazuki moved or because Takeshi said anything. It was the feeling. The air felt wrong. Thinner. Like sitting at high altitude except they were on the ground floor of a cafeteria in Musutafu. His ears wanted to pop but couldn't quite manage it.
Pneumatic, Kenji thought immediately, his analytical mind latching onto the obvious. His quirk. Air compression and manipulation. He's showing off his quirk to me right now as a show of power.
Except Kazuki looked completely relaxed. He was just eating curry. Not focused, not tense, not even aware he was doing anything. Which meant this wasn't active quirk use.
This was passive.
This was what it felt like to sit next to Kazuki Hayate when he wasn't even trying.
Oh no, Kenji thought.
His quirk activated automatically, because of course it did.
Tactical Projection.
It wasn't flashy. It didn't make him stronger or faster or give him cool visual effects. It just forced his brain to visualize every possible outcome of a situation whether he wanted to or not. Branching probability trees layered over reality like a very stressful spreadsheet that he couldn't close.
His mind immediately began sorting scenarios:
Scenario 1: Hayate is a normal, friendly student who just wants to eat lunch.Probability: 8%.
Scenario 2: Hayate is a reformed delinquent trying to stay clean.Probability: 41%.
Scenario 3: Hayate is dangerous and has absolutely no idea how terrifying he is.Probability: 51%.
Kenji resisted the urge to scoot his chair back.
Across the table, Takeshi stared at him.
In Chapter 34 of Raging Dragon Chronicles, an outsider had approached the protagonist's table. He'd been allowed to sit. By Chapter 37, he was running intelligence operations for the entire eastern district.
Bold, Takeshi thought, eyes narrowing slightly. This guy's either brave or stupid.
Kenji met Takeshi's stare and misinterpreted it completely.
Enforcer, Kenji concluded with growing certainty. Testing if I'll crack under observation. Is this an interview?
Takeshi saw Kenji's analytical gaze and nodded internally. Heh, even the smart kids fall for Kazuki-san's charisma.
They were both right and both completely wrong.
Kazuki finished chewing and swallowed. "You settling in alright? You're in Class 1-B, right?"
Kenji's quirk flared, probability trees exploding across his mental vision:
He knows my class.He's been tracking me.How long has he been tracking me?What does he want?
"Yeah," Kenji said carefully, voice steady despite his brain screaming. "It's fine."
"Good." Kazuki took a sip of his tea, completely oblivious to the small crisis happening. "Let me know if you need anything. First few weeks can be rough."
Kenji's mind translated the statement through seventeen layers of paranoia:
Translation: I'm offering protection. This is simultaneously a warning and a courtesy. Accept now or decline at your own risk.
"I'll keep that in mind," Kenji said.
Takeshi nodded solemnly once, like a witness at a very important contract signing.
Yep, Takeshi thought with satisfaction. That's a boss. Kazuki-san just recruited Matsuda with three sentences. This is something straight out of chapter 54.
Kazuki returned to his lunch, entirely unaware that he had just "recruited" a strategist and reinforced the loyalty of his "right-hand man" without trying, wanting to, or even knowing it was happening.
Making friends is easier than I thought, Kazuki mused, taking another bite of curry. Mom was right. Just be polite and approachable.
Kenji pulled out his notebook with shaking hands and wrote:
Day 1: Successfully infiltrated inner circle (probably)Hayate's quirk: Pneumatic. Creates a passive pressure zone. Estimated range: 3-5 meters.Concern: He doesn't seem to notice he's doing it.Additional concern: What happens if he notices?Recommendation: DO NOT MAKE HIM NOTICE.
Takeshi saw Kenji taking notes and felt a surge of approval. Already documenting. Professional. Kazuki-san chose well.
Kazuki, blissfully unaware of the psychological warfare happening around him, finished his tea and smiled at his new friend.
Kenji's danger assessment immediately spiked 15%.
"You're the one from the gym," Kenji said, flipping open his notebook to a blank page with the energy of someone documenting evidence for a future trial.
Kazuki nodded. "Yeah. That was pretty tense."
Tense. Kenji's pen froze mid-air. He's calling three third-years fleeing in terror "tense." Like it wasn't a showdown.
"I heard you asked them to stop," Kenji said carefully, the way one might ask a bomb disposal expert about their weekend.
"That's right." Kazuki said this with the same tone someone might use to describe returning a library book. It was what happened. He'd asked. They'd stopped. Simple.
That is not how it works for literally anyone else in the school, Kenji thought, his quirk already spinning up worst-case scenarios.
"Just like that?" Kenji pressed, pen poised.
"They seemed pretty eager to leave after," Kazuki admitted, actually frowning slightly like this bothered him. "I'm not sure if I came across too strong. I've been working on my tone, but it's hard to gauge sometimes."
Too strong, Kenji wrote in his notebook, underlining it twice. Subject is self-aware but severely underestimates effect. Possible dissociation from own capabilities?
Takeshi leaned forward immediately, like a lawyer objecting to slander against his client. "You weren't too strong, Kazuki-san. You handled it perfectly."
Kazuki considered this seriously, the way someone might consider whether they'd used too much salt in a recipe. "Maybe. I just don't want people to feel like I'm trying to intimidate them."
Kenji and Takeshi exchanged a glance.
A long, meaningful glance.
The kind of glance that said: Are we in the same reality right now?
He doesn't want to intimidate people, they both thought simultaneously.
The three third-years from the gym hadn't returned to school for two days.
One had claimed a mysterious stomachache that his own mother didn't believe.
Another said his grandmother was sick (His grandmother had posted photos from a mahjong tournament that morning with the caption "ROYAL FLUSH BABY" and seven flame emojis).
The third had simply stopped making eye contact with anyone. At all. He walked the hallways staring at the floor like he'd discovered a particularly fascinating species of sneakers.
"You were very effective," Kenji said, in the tone of someone calling a nuclear weapon "somewhat impactful."
"I just want to help people," Kazuki replied, not earnestly or defensively, just stating objective fact like he was reading it off a cereal box. "That's the baseline for hero work."
There was a brief, heavy silence.
The kind of silence where you could hear Kenji's soul leaving his body.
"Heroes," Kenji repeated slowly, tasting the word like it might be poisonous.
"Yeah. I'm going for U.A." Kazuki took another bite of his lunch, completely unaware he'd just dropped a tactical nuke into the conversation. "The entrance exam is going to be brutal, so I'm trying to get practical experience where I can. De-escalation, communication, that sort of thing."
Kenji's pen moved across his notebook like a seismograph during an earthquake:
Subject has heroic aspirations. Believes he is "helping." Possibly coping mechanism for violent past? Seeking redemption through hero work? EXTREMELY COMMITTED TO BIT.
Kenji's working theory was now fully assembled, peer-reviewed, and published in the journal of God save us all:
Kazuki Hayate used to be dangerous. Maybe a delinquent. Maybe worse. At some point, probably after a pivotal life event that Kenji would never be brave enough to ask about, he decided to reform. To walk the straight path. To become a hero.
Unfortunately, people refused to leave him alone long enough to succeed quietly.
Everywhere he went, someone tested him. Pushed a boundary. Poked the bear. The gym incident had been three upperclassmen trying to establish dominance, and Kazuki had responded by doing almost nothing, which somehow had been worse than if he'd actually fought them.
He held back. He was gentle. He simply stood there and let his presence do the work.
But Kenji could see the pattern forming.
Every problem brought to him. Every challenge. Every test.
Kazuki's patience is not infinite. Nobody's is. And when it runs out...
I need to make sure he doesn't snap, Kenji thought with the grim determination of someone who'd just accepted a terrible quest. If I can help him stay on the straight path, maybe nobody will ever have to see what happens when he stops trying to be nice.
"If a hero wanted to reduce crime without fighting," Kenji asked, carefully constructing his test question, "where would they stand?"
I need to know how he thinks about power. Territory. Control.
Kazuki paused to think, actually considering the question seriously like it was a genuine academic exercise and not a psychological evaluation.
"Somewhere visible with high foot traffic. Convenience stores, parks, transit hubs. Consistent presence builds familiarity. Criminals avoid places where heroes are always around."
Territory control through presence, Kenji wrote, his handwriting getting progressively more unhinged. Non-violent dominance. TEXTBOOK.
Takeshi nodded solemnly, with the gravity of a monk receiving enlightenment.
Chapter twenty-three of Raging Dragon Chronicles, Takeshi thought reverently. This is the exact moment the protagonist established control of the shopping district without throwing a single punch. The elders called it "The Bloodless Revolution." I'm witnessing history.
"The key isn't intimidation, though," Kazuki continued, completely oblivious to the mounting existential crises around him. "It's accessibility. If people are afraid to approach you, you've failed. A hero's job is to make people feel safe enough to ask for help."
He still believes this, Kenji realized, his pen hovering over the page. Completely and sincerely. He genuinely thinks he's approachable.
That is the terrifying part.
Because Kenji had watched people approach Kazuki. He'd seen their body language. The hesitation. The fear. The way they looked like they were about to confess to a crime boss, not ask for homework help.
And Kazuki thought they were just shy.
"If someone keeps causing trouble in the same area," Kenji asked, pushing forward with his psychological profile, "would that mean they want attention or control?"
"Could be either," Kazuki said thoughtfully, like he was genuinely problem-solving and not revealing his entire strategic philosophy. "But usually it's something deeper. Feeling unsafe. Lack of supervision. Peer pressure. A good hero fixes the cause, not just the behavior."
Root cause, Kenji wrote, underlining it three times with increasing pressure until he almost tore through the page. Long-term planning. Systemic correction.
"That's a solid approach," Kenji said, his voice only slightly strained.
Kazuki shrugged, completely missing the weight of the moment. "It's just what All Might does. He doesn't just punch villains. He changes the environment so there are fewer villains to punch. That's the kind of hero I want to be."
Calm. Practical. Not idealistic but methodical.
Reformed delinquent, Kenji's theory crystallized into absolute certainty. Unbelievable restraint. Genuinely trying to be better. Dangerous if pushed too far.
He added one more note: DO NOT PUSH.
"Thanks," Kazuki said, glancing at his phone to check the time. "You're pretty analytical. You thinking about hero work too?"
He's recruiting me, Kenji thought immediately, his danger assessment maxing out the chart. This is an offer.
"I'm considering support courses," Kenji said carefully, each word chosen like he was defusing a bomb. "Strategy and logistics."
"That's good," Kazuki said with an approving nod that somehow made Kenji feel like he'd passed an interview he didn't know he was taking. "Heroes need support. It's not all combat. You've got the right mindset for it."
Across the table, Takeshi noticed Kenji's grip tighten around his pen until his knuckles went white.
Kazuki finished his lunch, entirely unaware that he had just reinforced two wildly different psychological profiles in the minds of his classmates.
Takeshi's notes: Kazuki-san accepts new strategist. Organization expands. Chapter 37 parallels confirmed.
Kenji's notes: SUBJECT BELIEVES HE IS MAKING FRIENDS. SUBJECT IS WRONG. SUBJECT IS BUILDING SOMETHING. HELP.
Kazuki's thoughts: It's nice making new friends. Maybe I'm finally getting the hang of this social thing.
Author's notes: He was not getting the hang of this social thing.
Not even a little bit.
Everything was fine.
Totally fine.
Three teenagers having a completely normal lunch conversation about hero theory and personal growth.
Right?