The air was cool and dry, the pavement still holding onto the last warmth of the day. Streetlights flickered to life one by one, casting long shadows down the sleepy residential streets of Musutafu.
Takao ran.
Not out of fear, not away from danger but towards his goal.
His legs burned. His breath came in steady, practiced rhythms. Every exhale misted faintly in the cold night air.
The soft pounding of his sneakers echoed down empty sidewalks, a steady beat that matched his internal cadence.
"Thirty five minutes in, heart rate's up, but still steady. Good." Takao muttered while checking his smart watch.
Stamina was everything. Power meant nothing if you collapsed before the fight was even over.
A sharp turn took him off the main road and into the back streets. It was quieter here, dimmer. Fewer streetlights, fewer people.
Fewer eyes.
He liked it that way.
The memory rose, uninvited: fists raining down, laughter echoing off metal lockers, gravel biting into his palms. Weak. Pathetic. Quirkless.
'Not anymore.' Takao thought to himself while his knuckles turned white from how hard he was clenching his fist.
Unfortunately in Japan using a quirk without a hero or provisional licence in public was just frowned upon but illegal.
Even if you were trying to help someone…
A sudden cry shattered the stillness of the night.
"Help! Someone, please stop!"
Takao skidded to a stop, body locked tight. The shout wasn't far. Nearby in fact.
Another voice, deeper, rougher. Angry.
A scuffle.
Then a thud.
Takao's pulse surged as he crept toward the sound, ducking behind the corner of a narrow alley between two low-rise buildings.
In the dim orange cast of a faulty streetlamp, he saw them.
A man in a black hoodie had a woman pinned against the wall. Her purse strap tangled around her wrist as she struggled. Her heel had snapped, she was trying to fight, but she was losing.
"Let go of me! Someone help!"
The mugger growled, "Shut up, bitch."
"Let her go," Takao said, stepping into the alley's mouth.
The mugger turned, still gripping her.
"What the hell do you want? Get lost."
Takao took another step forward.
The air began to hum.
It was subtle at first, a soft, low vibration in the air, like the pause before a distant thunderclap. His hands tingled. Sparks flickered around his knuckles.
Aspect of Zues: Thunder. Minimal strain. No lightning. Just presence.
The woman stared wide-eyed, her expression changing not from fear, but from confusion. Awe, even.
The mugger squinted. "What is that sound?"
Takao didn't answer.
He let the hum grow louder, the atmosphere thicken, the static build. The air around him rippled with pressure, like he was dragging a storm behind him.
The mugger flinched.
"Hey hey, man, chill. Y'know it's illegal to use your quirk in public."
Takao didn't flinch. His eyes glinted in a golden light that seemed to ward off the dark.
"You've got five seconds to leave."
The mugger cursed under his breath and shoved the woman aside. She hit the wall and crumpled, unharmed but dazed. The man bolted, crashing through overturned bins and sprinting into the shadows.
Gone.
The hum faded instantly. The sparks in Takao's hands disappeared. Takao grunted a little as a small focused pain behind his eyes began settling in.
But it was manageable.
He turned to the woman, who was trying to stand.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She nodded shakily, clutching her purse to her chest. "I… yeah. He didn't get anything. Just scared me."
Takao offered a hand. She hesitated, then took it.
When she looked at him, her eyes weren't full of fear.
They were full of understanding.
"You're not licensed, are you?"
"No," he said quietly. "Not yet."
"You still saved me."
Takao didn't respond. He didn't need to.
She nodded once, then limped away slowly, still shaken but intact. "Thank you."
Later, Takao sat alone on the edge of a cold concrete planter near the closed corner laundromat. His hoodie was soaked through with sweat.
His heart rate had returned to normal, but the pressure behind his eyes still throbbed.
The moon hung low over the rooftops, casting a pale glow over the neighborhood. His breath misted in front of him, fading like smoke.
He acted not because he wanted glory, not because it would prove something to his tormentors, but because someone needed help.
And no one else was there.
He tilted his head back and stared at the stars through the haze of light pollution. They shimmered faintly, like they were watching.
"U.A." he whispered.
Not a dream anymore, but a destination.
High above, thunder rumbled gently in the distance. Not a cloud in sight.
Just a quiet echo.