Life at U.A. is… strangely normal.
I mean, normal for a place where students accidentally blow up walls, float through hallways, and turn soda cans into plasma weapons.
But there… I'm not "the world-famous hero" all the time. I'm just Revan, the guy who always gets there before the bell rings, who sometimes zones out staring at the horizon, and who prefers silence over applause.
And, as strange as it seems, that's a good thing.
I have real friends.
Mirio, Tamaki, and Nejire.
We clicked from the first day, no formalities, as if we'd known each other for years. We train together, eat together, talk nonsense between one simulated mission and the next.
Mirio is the kind of energy that lights up any room. There's no such thing as a bad time with him — even when everything's going to hell, he grins and says, "Let's go, partner !" He's pulled me out of a few mental spirals with a bad joke and a friendly punch to the shoulder.
Tamaki is the opposite. Quiet, reserved, thinks too much before speaking — but when he does, it's always spot-on. He opened up slowly, and now he often gives me tips on how to channel focus in the middle of chaos. He said my energy reminds him of a sea about to swallow everything. I thought that was beautiful, coming from him.
Nejire is pure curiosity. A sunbeam with a loud voice and endless enthusiasm. She bombards me with questions, even after knowing me for so long: "What's it like to see through walls ?", "Have you ever tried firing heat from your fingers ?", "Can you feel the planet spinning ?" Sometimes it's exhausting, but… she makes me laugh. A lot.
[Lunch at U.A.]
"So, you eat just out of habit ?" Nejire asked, balancing a tray of curry in one hand.
"Mom wanted to keep the tradition. Family together, meals at the table… even when half of us don't need to eat," I replied, calmly picking up my onigiri.
Mirio laughed.
"Man, if I had your body, I'd eat for sport. Like, 'how much can I eat before the sun sets ?'"
"Revan, have you ever tried flying to where there's no sun?" Nejire asked after a few seconds of thought.
"...Yeah," I murmured.
They stared at me. Two seconds of silence.
"What do you mean 'yeah' ?!" Mirio burst out.
It was on a silent night. Sleeping has been… difficult. With my hearing, the world never goes quiet. So sometimes, I go up.
Literally.
I rise above the clouds, above the wind currents, above the storms.
That night, I went further.
I flew to where the blue fades into black.
Where the air starts to disappear.
Where sunlight stops warming and only the void remains.
For a moment, I saw the Earth curve beneath me.
Tiny. Vast. Incredibly alive.
I tried to go further.
But my body started to vibrate oddly. The internal heat became unstable, and the solar radiation didn't accumulate like before. Gravity became… uncertain.
That's when I realized: I'm not ready. Not yet.
I came back with my chest burning and my mind full of questions.
How far can I go ?
[Classroom – Tactical Support lesson]
"Revan, how would you handle a mass evacuation during a chemical attack, where thermal sensors don't work ?" the teacher asked.
I thought for two seconds. Then answered:
"I'd use my X-ray vision to identify building structures and find alternate routes. Heat may fail, but biology still moves. Hearts beat. Lungs expand. I can hear that."
The room went silent.
Tamaki whispered, "You're scary sometimes."
"Only sometimes ?" I joked back.
In training, I'm not the strongest just because I was born this way.
I am because I don't accept being less than I can be.
I push my body every day.
I dive under pressure. Endure extreme temperatures. Lift weights that could crush mountains.
But I also learn from them. From others.
I learn to hesitate when needed.
To hold back when a gesture is enough.
To listen.
To be human, even when the world insists on seeing me as something else.
The other day, as the sky darkened over the test field, I lay on top of a U.A. building, feeling the cold wind on my face.
Nejire landed beside me, floating upside down, her hair dancing in the air.
"Thinking about running off to orbit again?" she asked, laughing.
"Maybe. But today, I think I'll stay."
"Good." She spun and sat next to me. "You should know even the satellites are happier when you're nearby."
I looked at her, not knowing what to say.
She smiled. "You still shine more down here, you know ?"
I arrived in thirty-four seconds.
It was an earthquake in Afghanistan — magnitude 8.3 — and early reports mentioned landslides, collapsed buildings, blocked routes. The UN was still gathering satellite data. I was already at the epicenter.
I came tearing through the sky, scattering dust before it could even settle.
And I acted.
Without hesitation.
I pulled beams out with bare hands. Flew through rubble carrying the wounded. Felt broken bones, internal bleeding, fading vitals — and I did everything I could. My breath froze fires. My eyes melted safe paths through concrete.
I commanded drones. Improvised support structures with broken building pieces. Carried entire trucks in my arms. Saved over four hundred lives in just over half an hour.
And still… it wasn't enough.
In the end, when things calmed, a local doctor approached me, her eyes red.
"There's a… a child. She was under the school. The team just found her."
I already knew. I had felt it.
But I went there anyway.
Her body was under a folded steel structure. She was hugging a toy — a dirty stuffed bunny, its eyes already worn. She was about five. Maybe six.
I stood there, still.
A nearby robot said something in Pashto. I didn't hear. Everything was… muffled.
I could lift mountains.
But I couldn't save her.
And that… that broke me in a way no punch ever could.
After that, I didn't speak to anyone.
I just… flew.
I ascended into the sky in silence.
Left clouds, storms, atmospheres, and currents behind.
Flew until the blue turned black.
Until the air disappeared.
Until Earth curved below me, round, serene, vast… and so fragile.
My eyes burned. But it wasn't heat.
It was pain.
I cried.
Not as a hero.
I cried as a boy.
Tears escaped my eyes and floated around me, glinting like tiny asteroids of pain in a vacuum that offers no forgiveness.
And then…
I screamed.
With everything I am. With all the despair trapped in my chest. With all the guilt I don't even know if I deserve, but carry anyway.
Space, of course, carries no sound.
But that didn't matter.
Because that scream was just for me.
For no one else.
And it kept going.
Echoing inside my skull, in my soul, reverberating between the beats of my indestructible heart — which now hurt like it was made of glass.
I stayed there, floating above Earth, watching each continent glow like a living constellation, with billions of souls I want to protect.
But that day, I lost one.
And that pain… goes with me.
Always.