A soft siren rang out, signaling the end of the second-to-last class of the day. As always, the students stood in near-military unison — the result of months of strict routine and high expectations. We were all just little kids, carrying the weight of big names and legacies.
I, on the other hand, rose more slowly, letting the others go ahead. I didn't like crowds. And besides, there was no reason to rush — I already knew where the next class would be: Jimmu's Special Training Center.
The room gradually emptied, and my gaze naturally found Momo. She stood with perfect posture, adjusted her backpack, and followed the teacher without hesitation. There was still something about her that intrigued me. It wasn't just the fact that I knew who she had been in another life. There was a steadiness in her step, a clarity in her eyes. As if she, too, was reading the room — maybe not as deeply as I was, but certainly above average.
We walked through the wide corridors, LED panels on the walls displaying quotes from great heroes of the past and notices from the administration. The floor, made of a synthetic material designed to absorb impact, made our footsteps nearly silent. And for a moment, everything felt slow — like time itself was waiting just for me.
Jimmu's Training Center was underground, accessible by coded elevators. It was a massive structure, divided by levels and unique environments. Some areas replicated forests, others deserts, cities, or aquatic zones. But today, our class would be using Tactical Room Level One — the standard beginner setup.
When we arrived, the space revealed itself as a circular arena, with five-meter-high metal walls and integrated sensors in every corner. A bright, almost clinical white light shone from the ceiling. Floating holograms displayed our names, designating each student's operational zone.
The teacher adjusted her tablet and spoke in a calm but firm voice.
"Today we'll run a simple control and quirk assessment test. You'll all be working in pairs, boys. Your partners were selected based on psychological profiles and past performance."
She paused briefly, then looked directly at me.
"Isaac Hartford, you'll be training with Momo Yaoyorozu. You're the top of the class, and at Suizei Academy, Momo was the top of hers. I believe you'll complement each other well."
Along with the teacher's announcement came something I'd already gotten used to — a wave of quiet murmurs rolled through the class. I stood still, expressionless. I looked at Momo, and for the first time, our eyes met for longer than a passing glance. She looked at me with curiosity — the kind I usually sparked in kids. It's not every day you see a completely green-skinned child. But beyond the curiosity, there was something else in her eyes: analysis. I liked that. I've always appreciated people who observe before they speak.
We moved into position, side by side. She extended her hand with a polite, composed smile.
"It'll be a pleasure training with you, Isaac."
Her voice was clear and well-pronounced, like someone who'd been trained to speak that way. I looked at her hand for a second — not out of arrogance, but because I rarely touch anyone — and then gave it a light shake.
"Likewise, Momo," I replied simply and directly, matching her tone.
After our brief introduction, we moved to the center of the arena. The teacher began explaining how the exercise would work and the overall objective.
"You'll have three minutes to demonstrate control, strategy, and basic use of your quirks. The goal is simple: it's not about defeating anyone, but about showing cooperation and tactical intelligence. Understood?"
I listened carefully and committed every word to memory. I understood the goal wasn't to win. But ever since I arrived in this world, I've always given my all — and it's made me pretty competitive. Not to mention, I still needed to get stronger if I was going to fight All for One someday.
I took a step to the side, making room for Momo to stand beside me.
She didn't hesitate. She moved right into position. From her skin, a small, lightweight training staff emerged — glowing slightly, made from solid polymer. She grabbed it and gave it a spin with surprising finesse for someone her age. Impressive, I thought to myself. Her muscle memory was truly remarkable.
"I can hold the front line if you'd like," she offered calmly.
"I can move heavy objects with my mind. Nothing as refined as my dad, but enough to throw a few toys around," I said, clenching my fists as I got into position. Then added, "I'll help control the larger drones. Heads up — two incoming fast from the left."
In the next instant, I stretched out my hands and channeled my telekinesis toward the metallic floor of the arena. The panels bent slightly, creating a subtle unevenness that would mess with our opponents' traction — especially the ones with hydraulic legs. It was the kind of control that demanded intense concentration. Most kids with telekinetic quirks at my age would probably faint just trying to move a chair with their minds... let alone this entire iron complex.
"That was... really precise," Momo remarked, sliding to the side as she watched me work, trying — and failing — to hide the fascination on her face. She was just a kid — of course she'd be mesmerized by that kind of display.
"That was just the basics. I'm still warming up," I replied with a grin.
Besides the two already headed our way, the system released a new batch of simulated enemies: three B-Class combat automatons, clad in polymer-alloy armor, with pulsing red ocular sensors. They had retractable claws, short back-mounted thrusters, and adaptive-response AI — the more we fought, the more they learned. They advanced with metallic clanks, their heavy feet pressing deep into the polished floor with every step. But thanks to the terrain shift I'd caused, their robotic legs struggled for stability.
Momo saw the opening and darted toward the machines, her small, light frame moving with flawless agility. She dodged their attacks with precision, striking back at their joints and sensors. Her movements were sharp, calculated — the kind of skill that would leave anyone stunned. I thought to myself that Momo must have undergone serious training to be this good, this young.
Meanwhile, I raised my arm and focused my telekinesis on the central drone. It shot upward violently — so fast it didn't even have time to activate its offense systems.
Then I turned my attention inward, concentrating on my own body, making my cells denser — hard as steel. Using my superstrength, I charged at the second automaton. I leapt, flipped midair, and came down hard with a punch right at its shoulder joint. The structure gave with a sharp crack, and the drone collapsed sideways, locked in place.
The impact launched me backward. Mid-air, I used my telekinesis to adjust my landing, touching down close to Momo. From there, the pace picked up. Momo summoned small shields and support batons with her quirk, while I controlled the heavier enemies' movements, keeping them from surrounding us. Sometimes I hurled debris with brute force, clearing a path for her to move.
We coordinated everything through glances — movements so synchronized, it felt like we'd been training together for months. Our smiles were plain to see as we fought — genuine happiness. And that's how the battle went on.
Until only one drone remained. Seeing the situation, it attempted to reconfigure itself, spinning the blades on its left arm. But Momo was faster — thanks to my telekinesis, which I used to give her a boost. She launched forward, spun midair, and drove the metal staff she had created straight into the robot's energy core. The red glow pulsing in the drone's chest flickered, dimmed, and finally went completely dark.
A sharp alarm rang through the arena.
From her vantage point above, the teacher made a note on her tablet before offering a small, approving smile.
"Outstanding coordination. You moved like veterans on the field. I said you didn't need to defeat every opponent, but you exceeded my expectations. Truly, an excellent team."
Momo and I exchanged one last look, our shoulders rising and falling with labored breaths. Sweat clung to our foreheads, but there was something else there too — something rare in this place: silent respect.
And for the first time in a long while, I thought quietly to myself:
"Maybe… she really is different. And just like that, it seems I made my first friend in this world — right in the middle of a fight."