The sunlight flooding the UA Academy grounds seemed mockingly bright to Nomura. For a man accustomed to the sterile dimness of laboratories and the luxurious golden cage in which he lived, this celebration of a "heroic future" evoked only mild disgust. Nomura walked along the main alley, his gait impeccable—a measured grace that concealed the calculations of a predator. A luxury car brought him to the gates of the academy, expensive accessories adorned his wrists. Medium Hair of an unusual aquamarine color fluttered in the wind.
His appearance truly inspired goodwill. However, poison simmered within him.
A few steps behind him, a heavy, rhythmic tread served as a constant reminder of his current "leash." Kaito. Tall and irritatingly noble, Kaito was a personal bodyguard provided by Nomura's adoptive father. He was a "gift" from his adoptive father's corporation to ensure the safety of its only heir. It couldn't be helped; Okutami-sama. was barren, and the generous and kind Kyudai had once selected the best of the best for him. Kaito knew nothing of Nomura's true origins as a clone, but he understood the boy's uneasiness.
—Nomura-kun, your pulse is racing,— Kaito's voice was low, measured, devoid of judgment but full of observation. —This is Academy, not a battlefield. Relax your shoulders.
Nomura didn't turn around. He hated the way Kaito tried to "teach" him the rules of a gentleman. "Freedom," Nomura whispered so quietly that Kaito didn't hear, leaving a bitter taste.
Kyudai Garaki, their shared creator, their God and puppeteer, always spoke of perfection. And Nomu was the ultimate weapon. Nomura considered himself the pinnacle of his work—the perfect instrument. But joining this academy for a mission seemed a waste of his talents. The risk of exposure was too high, but what wouldn't one do for one's creator?
Taiko Garaki. He'd known him for a long time. Kyudai spoke of Taiko as the most promising. Nomura's brother was Taiko. Kyudai had never told Nomura of his plans for Taiko, putting it off until the very last moment. Seeing Taiko now, Nomura froze.
Nomura slowed, narrowing his eyes. There he was—a clone, born from the same vats, woven from the same ambitions, but given what Nomura had been denied. Taiko didn't just "exist." He occupied a place in the country's most prestigious institution. He walked among future heroes, breathing that atmosphere of impunity, while Nomura was forced to do the dirty work, proving his worth with every step.
In Nomura's mind, Kyudai valued Taiko more. By granting him freedom and even providing insurance money for his life at UA Academy, the doctor seemed to recognize Taiko as his "showcase" project, leaving Nomura in the role of watchdog. This injustice burned inside him. Looking at Taiko, Nomura saw not a brother, but a flaw in his own greatness. A mirror that shone too brightly.
And next to him was Kuinn.
Irritation grew into a dull rage. Taiko had not simply gained freedom—he had gained "ballast," not dead weight, but something solid. Kuinn followed him, and her presence held something incomprehensible for Nomura. Taiko had an ally. Taiko had an attachment. Taiko had something resembling the ordinary, normal, everyday human life Nomura had dreamed of.
—How touching. The experiment has acquired a personality,— Nomura felt his fingers curl into fists in his trouser pockets.
—You're staring at me, young master,— Kaito said, stepping slightly closer, his presence a physical barrier between Nomura and his dark thoughts. "It's impolite to stare at others so intensely... with such intensity. If you want to make friends, a simple 'hello' is enough."
Nomura's jaw clenched. Kaito's constant attempts to "introduce" him were mockery. The bodyguard didn't understand that Nomura wasn't looking for friends, but for weakness. Kaito often intervened like this—interrupting Nomura's predatory trances with platitudes about "honor" and "proper behavior."
Nomura merely adjusted his collar, ignoring the man. He hadn't come here to make a scene. He came to prove to the Doctor that the "free" specimen was a mistake, and that a loyal dog could rip out the throat of even the creator's most beloved son.
—Enjoy the sunshine, Taiko,— Nomura whispered softly, watching the couple laugh about something else. —Before I decide I want your life.
—Did you say something?— Kaito asked, scanning the crowd and sensing the "rot" Nomura was radiating, not even knowing what to call it.
—Nothing, Kaito. Just admiring the view. «And the name Kaito is also associated with Taiko. Thanks for the reminder, dumbass.»
...
While the Faculty of Heroics was deciding who would become the new leader and whose quirks was more valuable for the nation's future, the Faculty of Management was waging its own wars. Here, they weren't running around stadiums or measuring each other by the strength of their blows. Here, they were learning how to manage agencies, skim budgets from the media, and where the line between politics and crime was drawn.
Kuinn felt safer in this environment than in any training arena. Kuinn was still balancing the supplier spreadsheet, negotiating payment terminals, and worrying about the water markup, because UA tourists were willing to pay more if it was packaged beautifully. She had no quirks, but she had a head. And that was valued here.
The day went by, and nothing foreshadowed change until the dean's office sent a notice about a new student.
They met him quickly. Nomura Okutami: late transfer due to an "administrative delay." A weak theory. Errors in documents at UA don't happen by accident. They happen when someone very rich wants to be called that. There were rumors about his family's assets, and that he himself came into the family not by blood, but by a guardian's decision.
He walked through the hallway as if walking a catwalk. Hair the color of seawater, smooth skin, a neatly put-together suit, and eyes that worked more slowly than a smile. The students stared. Naturally, they stared. Beautiful people always arouse interest, especially if they have an unclear origin and an overly confident stride.
From the very first class, he chose Quinn as his focus. He made no secret of it. During recess, he approached her and her friends, as if continuing a private conversation they hadn't started.
—Do you seriously believe that journalists breached UA's perimeter themselves?— he said. His voice was soft, but there was calculation in the softness. —It was opened for them. And not out of pity for press freedom.
He said that, turned, and left. Without explanation or attempt to wait for a reaction. It was as if he'd submitted a request for discussion and knew it would be discussed.
The classmates glanced at each other, trying to figure out whether this was flirting or a threat. It looked like flirting. In essence, it was a threat.
Kuinn noticed only one thing: he looked too long, too directly, and there was no emotion in his interest. It was data collection.
...
Meeting Keiji in one of the secluded rooms of the student union seemed like a casual conversation over a cup of expensive tea. Nomura, his graceful movements reminiscent of a cat, carefully poured the drink. He discreetly added a drop of a clear mixture—a fast-acting sleeping pill—to his classmate's cup. He mixed another substance into his own: this one had a delayed effect, ensuring its effects would begin immediately after she lost consciousness.
—So, Nomura. You wanted to talk about your family's investment in our corporation? How many assets are we talking about? And how confident are you in our strategy? —In corporate jargon, they didn't like to use the crude word "money." It didn't fit with the work ethic, so they replaced it with various synonyms, such as "assets."
«Such self-confidence, how nice it will be to break it.»
—Oh, you know, my parents are very interested in buying out a small stake. Your family corporation has become one of the most promising on the market over the past couple of years, if not the most. —Nomura said whatever anyone wanted to hear. At the right moment, any flattery could become a weapon.
Keiji narrowed his eyes slyly, savoring the drink, his face beginning to smirk, as if he'd heard what he wanted. How sweet the honey flowing into his ears was, especially when his family's work was so praised.
—I'm very pleased to hear that. —He took another sip. —The tea is quite tasty. May I ask what kind... The young man's consciousness suddenly clouded, and his movements gradually pinned him to the chair.
—Oh, this kind of tea is called Scopolamine. Ha-ha!
Keji took only a few sips before his vision blurred. He tried to speak, but his tongue refused to obey him, and he dropped his head heavily into his hands, sinking into a deep sleep.
Nomura waited another minute, feeling the viscous heaviness begin to spread within him. With a malicious grin and impatience, Nomura felt weak and hurried to get up from his chair. It was perfect timing. He reached out and touched the cheek of Keiji with his palm.
The sensation of the exchange was always both disgusting and captivating. The world around Nomura suddenly lost its color, then shrank to the size of a needle. His essence, his icy and calculating self, slipped from his familiar body like a snake from old skin. A second later, he felt a foreign weight, a foreign heartbeat, and a foreign scent.
Nomura opened his eyes, now brown, and looked at his former body, slumped in the chair opposite him. It was now an empty vessel, in which Keiji's mind lay deeply asleep, bound by a double dose of sedative. Even if he suddenly awakened, the poor corporation heir wouldn't be able to move a finger, trapped in alien flesh as if in a prison.
Leaving "himself" in the quiet of the room, Nomura, in the guise of Keiji, confidently left the building. Once again, as always, the Quirk of the new shell is at his disposal. He wasn't intimidated by the physical weakness of his new body—he was used to operating through authority and status. Forty minutes later, he was already entering the main office of the family skyscraper.
An atmosphere of businesslike tension permeated his father's office. The head of the corporation, a massive man with a tired face, merely nodded to his son, continuing a lively argument on the phone.
—Sit down, Keiji. Give me five minutes, and we'll discuss your progress at the academy,— he said, not even looking at the newcomer.
«Oh yes, how this man thinks he has everything under control. This imperiousness. This arrogance. How I want to erase it!»
Nomura sank silently onto the leather sofa. At that moment, he felt like an artist before a blank canvas about to be splattered with ink. He sat motionless, his hands folded in his lap, his face completely expressionless. No triumph, no excitement. Only a cold anticipation of the moment when his "father" would disappear behind the reception door.
As soon as the click of the lock announced his temporary solitude, Nomura's expression instantly transformed. His movements, lacking athleticism, were nonetheless frighteningly precise. He glided to the desk, where graphs and reports flickered on the laptop monitor.
The flash drive, pulled from a hidden pocket, slid into the slot with a soft hiss. A few seconds of frantic typing, and a thin loading bar appeared on the screen. The virus created by Kyudai Garaki wasn't just malware; it was a digital parasite that, in a matter of minutes, had devoured the security system and opened all the corporation's locked gateways.
Having finished his work, Nomura returned the laptop to its original state and smoothly floated back to the sofa. When his father returned, he found his "son" in the same pose, with the same vacant gaze.
—So, what did you want to talk about?— the man asked, unaware that his empire had just begun the countdown to total collapse.
Nomura smiled—politely, meekly, and utterly lifeless. —You know, "Father"... I just wanted to say that sometimes the biggest changes happen when you least expect them.
The man continued to sit, not understanding what his son was hinting at, while the virus was already turning all the corporation's archives and reports from its servers inside out.
The effects of the Kyudai virus were not an explosion, but a rot. By the time Nomura (in Keiji's body) walked out of the skyscraper, the first symptoms appeared. Internal ledgers began to contradict bank statements. Encrypted files containing decades of "grey" transactions were being mirrored to every major news outlet and regulatory agency in the country.
Behind him, the skyscraper seemed to shudder. Within an hour, the stock price plummeted. By the second hour, the board of directors was receiving arrest warrants. Nomura watched it all from a tablet in a nearby cafe, sipping a fresh cup of tea—one without any additives this time. He watched a livestream of his "father" being led out in handcuffs, the man's face aged twenty years in twenty minutes. The Keiji empire hadn't just fallen; it had been erased.
After the destruction was complete, Nomura returned to the student union. The room was exactly as he had left it: quiet, subdued, with the faint scent of spilled tea. He had taken care to ensure no one disturbed his sleeping body. His original body lay unconscious, hunched in a chair, like a puppet with its strings cut. Within that flesh, Keiji's consciousness was likely screaming, fighting the sedative effect. Although he simply wasn't aware of anything and didn't even understand what had happened.
Nomura sat opposite his own body. He felt a familiar pull—the waning effects of the "double drug" he had taken. The lingering sedative in his own system was now wearing off, preparing the vessel of his original body to receive its host again.
He reached out, mirroring the gesture from earlier, and gripped his own cold hand.
—The show is over, Keiji,—Nomura whispered through Keiji's lips. —I'm finished with your life. You can have the wreckage back.
The world tilted. That sickening, sliding sensation returned—the feeling of being pulled through a narrow glass tube. Then, the heavy, familiar ache of his own muscles returned. Nomura opened his eyes. He was back.
Opposite him, Keiji's body gasped, his lungs suddenly remembering how to breathe on their own. The heir's eyes flew open, bloodshot and panicked. He looked at his hands, then at Nomura, his mind reeling from the fragmented nightmares of the last few hours.
—What... what did you do?— Keiji croaked, his voice trembling.
Nomura stood up, smoothing his uniform with practiced grace. He looked down at the ruined heir with a look of mild pity.
—I didn't do anything, Keiji. I was right here with you╰(*°▽°*)╯. We both fell asleep after the tea, remember?— Nomura pulled out his phone and turned the screen toward Keiji. —But it looks like your father has had a very bad afternoon. You should probably go home. If you still have one.
Nomura turned and walked toward the door, leaving Keiji alone in the shadows of the room, trapped in a body that was finally his own again, but in a world where he had nothing left.
...
Night fell upon the city, covering it with a heavy velvet shroud, but Nomura found no peace. His return to his hated "shell" went unnoticed: none of the servants or guards suspected that their "golden boy" had been nothing but an empty shell for the last few hours. Finding himself in the sterile silence of his room, Nomura's first step was to the mirror. A flawless face, framed by turquoise locks of hair, stared back at him from the cold glass, but a profound disgust seethed in the depths of its pupils.
He hated this body. It seemed too fragile, too precise—an artificial mannequin, devoid of the primal, brute strength that exuded from the students of the heroic faculty. The image of Taiko Garaki flashed before his eyes again and again. This boy had something Nomura had been deprived of at the moment of his in vitro fertilization: authenticity. Taiko wasn't the product of laboratory calculations; he was truly alive. His cramped but cozy home in Musutafu, his sincere impulses, and, most painfully, a girl named Kuinn—all of this filled Nomura with a caustic, suffocating mixture of envy and rage.
Lazily twirling in an expensive leather chair, Nomura glanced with a bitter smile at the mountain of gifts left by his "adoptive father." The latest gadgets, rare antiques, promises to find another donor with a suitable quirk to "play with"... It all seemed like dust to him. The gray mountain of money had long since become an unbearable burden. He didn't need surrogates; He craved that very "lower-class romance," where every breath and every feeling would be his own, not scripted.
Suddenly, a sharp, piercing beep from the encrypted channel pierced the silence. Nomura froze. His face instantly transformed: the expression of disgust was replaced by fanatical, almost religious adoration. He read the name on the screen like a sacred mantra: Kyudai Garaki. Creator. True Father. The God who created him in the image of one of history's greatest men had finally communicated.
—You look depressed, my perfect creation,— a hoarse, croaking voice came from the speakers, causing Nomura to bow his head respectfully.
—I'm just... I'm suffocating in this lie, Father,— he whispered, his knuckles clenching tightly against the armrests. —I saw the Taiko.— Every move he made, every glance from that girl, Kuinn... it should have belonged to me. Why him and not me?
Kyudai chuckled contentedly. The cold, deathly light of the lab lamps reflected in his glasses. —Patience, Nomura. Your Quirk is a bridge over the chasm separating your existence from his. Do you like Kuinn? Do you like his world? Then go and take it. I give you carte blanche. Become Taiko Garaki. Not for an hour, not for a day—be him until the end. Peel off his personality like old skin and take his place in that "real" world you so dream of. I will assign you one of my Nomu to help you.
An icy chill ran through Nomura. The obsession he'd been hiding within flared with furious force, filling his muscles with energy. He glanced in the mirror again, but this time he saw not himself, but Taiko. He could almost physically feel himself touching Quinn's hand, living in her home, Garaki's power coursing through his own veins.
—I will do it, Father,— his voice trembled with anticipation. —I will shed this shell like a worn-out garment and leave it to rot in a ditch. I will not simply replace him. I will become a better Taiko Garaki than he ever was.
Standing in front of the mirror, Nomura recalled every movement, every behavior, every rudimentary facial expression that Taiko had demonstrated, and tried to replicate it all himself. Even his voice, with each attempt, slowly began to resemble Taiko's. Nomura truly had a talent for impersonation.
...
Nomura began his game with the meticulous caution of a seasoned predator. His first target was Kuinn. He hoped his status, impeccable manners, and aura of mystery would be the perfect key to the Quirkless girl's heart. He was constantly at her side in the Management Department: he'd "accidentally" hold the door, drop a subtle remark about the vicissitudes of corporate law, or simply flash her his dazzling smile.
However, Kuinn, accustomed to surviving in a world of intrigue and subtle calculations, had a keen sense of deception. Every time Nomura approached, she felt a strange chill, as if she were standing next to a skillfully crafted mannequin rather than a living person. His intentions seemed clingy and unpleasant, hidden behind words that were too perfectly correct. She instinctively avoided him, responding to his politeness with only dry formality and trying to disappear into the crowd of students as quickly as possible.
Realizing that a direct assault had failed, Nomura changed tactics. If Kuinn didn't want him as an ally, he had to become someone she trusted implicitly. He focused on Taiko Garaki.
The bustling UA cafeteria was the perfect place to observe. Nomura sat in the far corner, hidden by a column, accompanied by his informant—a lanky guy from the technical department who would even sell the director's schedule for a small fee.
—Taiko's Quirk is 'Staff,'— the informant quietly reported, scrolling through data on a tablet. —At least, that's the official information from the academy archives. Manipulation of materialized weapons, enhanced strikes, basic close-combat skills. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a typical fighting type.
Nomura stared across the room. There, at the central table, Taiko was calmly conversing with Todoroki and Denki. In Garaki's every movement, in the way he held his back or smiled at his friends, Nomura saw that very "authenticity" that burned within him more powerfully than any poison.
—Staff'...— Nomura repeated ingratiatingly, his voice tinged with doubt. —Too simple for a man Kyudai himself is counting on. There must be something more. Hidden potential, or a second facet of his ability.
—Maybe so,— the informant shrugged, moving on to the latest gossip. —By the way, did you hear? Kenji took the documents today. For good. They say his family is in dire straits in business, their accounts are frozen, and his father is under investigation. The boy has no time for his studies now; he'll be helping them clear their debts. Strange, isn't it? Just a week ago, they were kings of the market.
Nomura merely chuckled briefly, sipping his cold coffee. He didn't care what became of the shell he'd used and discarded. Kenji's fate was nothing more than a line in an old report to him. His thoughts were elsewhere: he was mentally overlaying the Taiko's class schedule on the map of the academy, calculating the camera blind spots and the moments when Garaki was alone.
—The staff, then,— Nomura whispered, his eyes briefly flashing an unkind aquamarine light. —Well, soon I'll test your grip on it myself. And when I take your body, I'll find within it everything you tried to hide. Everything will be mine.
He'd already imagined this ending. He'd pictured Quinn smiling at him in their bed. He was a true Taiko—and how he, Nomura, would finally be able to feel the pulse of real, non-laboratory life beneath his skin. Not like life in an orphanage, without parents or support. The hunt had begun, and he wasn't about to let his prey slip away. Staff? A combat quirk? Surely he would grow stronger with it. By making her his own, he would become stronger.
...
Nomura's plan was like clockwork: cold, precise, and inexorable. Musutafu's evening twilight enveloped the quiet street, where the flickering neon sign of a small 24-hour market served as the backdrop for the final act of his play. A pair of masked petty criminals, hired through shady channels for exorbitant sums, were already waiting inside, creating the appearance of a chaotic robbery.
Taiko was walking home with Kuinn. The air that evening seemed thick, saturated with invisible electricity. As they approached the store, Quinn's intuition literally howled. She grabbed Taiko's hand, feeling an icy chill run down her spine.
—Don't go there,—she whispered, her voice trembling. —Something's wrong, Taiko. This isn't just a robbery; I can feel it in my bones. Please, let's just call the heroes.
Taiko gently but firmly pulled his hand free. He saw the fear in her eyes, and it only strengthened his desire to protect her. —There are no patrolmen or police here, Kuinn. By the time they get here, it might be too late. I... I promised you I wouldn't be a Grimm. I want to become a hero and atone for my sins. And that's probably the first step! Get out of here and call for help. I can handle this.
Kuinn couldn't disobey that tone, even though her heart was breaking with foreboding. She rushed away, constantly glancing back until Taiko's figure disappeared through the market doors. «Silly! You've always been my hero! And to hell with the rest!»
Inside, they were already waiting for him. Three tall, masked men exchanged glances as soon as they spotted their target. Taiko didn't summon his staff. He knew full well that unauthorized use of his Quirk in public would result in expulsion from the academy and legal trouble. He decided to act like an ordinary citizen, relying solely on his hand-to-hand combat skills.
The fight was short but furious. Taiko moved like a well-oiled machine, dodging clumsy lunges and countering with lightning-fast grabs. The crack of dislocated joints and the dull thuds of impact on the tiled floor accompanied his dance. He employed techniques from jujitsu, boxing, and even taekwondo. He had learned these techniques long ago, and he knew how to effectively fight against superior numbers. "The Arena of Ants" had once shown him that this was entirely possible; all it took was devising a series of countermeasures and honing them. The villains, despite their numerical superiority, could do nothing to counter his strenght. One blow landed, cutting his eyebrow, and his body flew off, shattering a display case filled with liquor. An unpleasant, intoxicating smell began to waft around.
But like any martial art, any refined technique can be nullified by technology. Just as fencing and swordplay were once wiped off the face of the earth by gunpowder and firearms. At that moment, with victory already within reach, a figure in a gas mask appeared in the doorway. A loud bang—and the room instantly filled with acrid white smoke. The tear gas seared Taiko's lungs, disorienting him and causing him to double over in a coughing fit.
—Did you think I couldn't outplay you?— Nomura's masked voice rang out from behind him, laced with venomous triumph. —I will destroy you, Taiko. I will take everything you hold dear. Why you didnt use your fuckin quirk?! Such an arrogant asshole! Don't you want trouble because of your quirk?! You're in trouble anyway!
I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you! I will eat you!
An icy palm settled on the back of Taiko's head. Reality shrank to a pinpoint, then exploded into a kaleidoscope of memories and unbearable pain. Nomura's consciousness, driven by a fanatical will, burst into Garaki's strong body, pushing its rightful owner into a weak, hateful "aquamarine" shell.
—K-Kyudai?....—Taiko's confused face in Nomura's body slowly took on the outlines of primal rage. He looked at his hands: thin, pale fingers, free of calluses from training. His own body stood before him, but his eyes now burned with the fire of someone else's madness. Reflexively, Taiko tried to summon the staff, which he had previously avoided using due to its 24-hour limit, but was horrified. He doesn't sense this Quirk!
Nomura, now in Taiko's body, adjusted the collar of his school uniform and grinned. —I have... cough, cough! A parting gift for you. Cough. You see, my real father doesn't like leaving witnesses. Cough!
A roar erupted from outside, shaking the entire building. A massive A-rank Nomu, programmed to kill "Nomura Okutami," crashed through the wall of the market. Taiko instantly formed a picture in his mind: Nomura had taken his place, becoming the hero-victim, and Taiko himself was now trapped in the body the monster was targeting.
There was no time to process the horror. Adrenaline and his own quirk, Oneself, which, as a volitional ability of the soul, followed him into his new body, allowed Taiko to act on pure instinct. He understood that Nomura's body was not simply weak flesh, but the result of Kyudai's genetic experiments. He had also been enhanced by Nomu blood, but he needed the activation of the HalfNomu blood catalyst.
In a cloud of acrid gas, Taiko, still wearing his gas mask, lunged forward. Grabbing a shard of glass from a broken display case, he abruptly struck Nomura in the forearm, distracted by the monster's appearance. Taiko's gaze, wild and madness with adrenaline, licked a few drops of blood from the shard, barely lifting his gas mask, and swallowed the hot, quirk-infused blood of "his" former body. He knew the secret of the Kyudai: Taiko, like Nomura, was also a carrier of Half-Nomu blood, capable of granting incredible power if absorbed by a suitable host. Taiko needed a spinal injection, while the others from Taiko's body simply needed to sample the blood. The chance of acceptance was slim, the effect was not immediate, but this was his only chance.
The market's security cameras captured only chaos: white smoke, screams, and the figure of Taiko Garaki, clutching his wounded shoulder as he ran out into the street to meet the arriving police and a sobbing Kuinn. He looked like a heroic survivor, nobly wounded in battle.
At the same time, a young man with aquamarine hair slipped out of the market's back entrance, disappearing into the shadows of the alleys. Behind him, he could hear the roar of the Nomu, which was already turning its body to continue hunting its prey.
Taiko ran through the night in someone else's body, feeling Nomura's blood begin to burn within his veins. The situation was catastrophic: his life had been stolen, his girlfriend was embracing his enemy, and an invulnerable killing machine was hot on his heels. His beloved Kuinn! But the flame of his own soul still burned within his chest—the only thing remaining from his former life. The only thing that allowed him to persevere. This will of Oneself.