The day before the Sports Festival felt… quiet.
Not peaceful—just restrained. Like the world was holding its breath.
I woke up earlier than usual, my body already humming with controlled circulation. No rushing. No excitement bleeding into recklessness. Just steady awareness. The kind that came from weeks of discipline rather than nerves.
Today, I was heading to the prison again.
This time, not with Hound Dog.
The principal's office door opened with its familiar soft click.
"Ah! Ren!" Nezu greeted, hopping lightly onto his desk. "Right on time."
I bowed. "Good morning, Principal."
Standing near the window was a tall figure wrapped in a white cloak-like uniform—Ectoplasm. His multiple shadows shifted subtly as he turned to face me.
"So this is him," Ectoplasm said, voice calm but curious. "The one who cut through the chaos at USJ."
I inclined my head slightly. "I only did what was necessary."
Nezu's eyes sparkled. "Modest, too. A dangerous combination."
He gestured toward the chair across from his desk. "Sit, Ren. Let's chat for a moment."
I sat.
"So," Nezu began lightly, "how are you feeling about tomorrow?"
I considered the question carefully.
"Good," I answered. "Not anxious. Not overconfident."
"Excellent," Nezu nodded. "And your training?"
"Consistent. I've been prioritizing control and versatility."
Ectoplasm folded his arms. "Good to hear."
Nezu's tone shifted—still gentle, but sharper around the edges. "Now, onto something important. Your slashing technique."
I straightened instinctively.
"As impressive as it is," Nezu continued, "it's far too dangerous to be used against fellow students. Even restrained, the margin for error is unacceptable."
"I agree," I said immediately.
Both Nezu and Ectoplasm paused.
"…You do?" Nezu blinked.
"Yes," I replied without hesitation. "I had already come to the same conclusion."
Ectoplasm raised an eyebrow. "No argument? No complaints?"
"There's no reason to argue," I said calmly. "Power that can't be safely controlled has no place in student combat. I can rely on elemental and reinforcement-based techniques instead—attacks that are visible, readable, and easier for referees to judge."
Nezu stared at me for a moment longer than necessary.
"…Fascinating," he murmured. "You accept limitation without resentment."
"It's not a limitation," I corrected gently. "It's a refinement."
That earned me a quiet chuckle from Ectoplasm.
"Well said."
Nezu tapped his paw against the desk. "Then let me ask you this. How much of your stored energy have you actually used in training?"
I didn't hesitate.
"Approximately thirty percent of what I gained during my last prison visit."
The room went silent.
Ectoplasm's gaze sharpened. "Thirty percent?"
"Yes," I confirmed. "The volume was… excessive. Using more risked destabilizing control."
Nezu leaned back, tail swaying slowly.
"…Remarkable restraint," he said. "Then hear this, Ren. You have my approval to train without holding back within safe parameters. If your reserves ever dip too low—"
"You'll increase the prison visits," I finished.
Nezu smiled. "Precisely."
I bowed my head. "Thank you."
The meeting ended on a pleasant note.
As we walked down the hallway, Ectoplasm fell into step beside me.
"You handled that conversation well," he said. "Most students your age would've pushed back."
"I don't see teachers as obstacles," I replied. "They see angles I can't."
"Hah," he laughed softly. "That mindset will take you far."
He glanced sideways. "Your performance at USJ was… commendable.
The prison felt different this time.
Not overwhelming.
Familiar.
I maintained passive absorption again, careful not to draw attention. The energy flowed in like a controlled tide rather than a crashing wave.
This time, I focused less on quantity and more on integration—how smoothly my body accepted and circulated the influx without resistance.
Ectoplasm observed quietly, his duplicates standing guard at different angles.
After a few hours, he nodded. "That's enough."
We left without incident.
That evening, I stood alone in my room at U.A.
My hero costume hung neatly against the wall—clean, prepared, waiting.
Tomorrow, the world would be watching.
Students from all courses. Pro heroes. Media. Citizens.
And yet, I felt calm.
Not because I believed I would win.
But because I knew who I was stepping out there as.
No borrowed script.
No anime certainty.
Just Ren.