The morning sunlight cut through our apartment's grimy windows, illuminating dust motes that danced like tiny stars. I stood before the bathroom mirror, adjusting my dark peacoat for the third time. The black turtleneck underneath hugged my frame just right, and the slim-fit jeans made my legs look longer than they actually were. Sharp boots completed the ensemble—not flashy enough to scream 'trying too hard,' but expensive enough to whisper 'I matter.'
Perfect. The High Roller was ready for his debut.
"Yu-yu, breakfast!" Kimiko's voice carried from the kitchen, accompanied by the familiar sizzle of eggs hitting hot oil.
I emerged from the bathroom to find her bustling around our cramped kitchenette, hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing an oversized sweater that somehow made her look both adorable and maternal. She glanced up as I entered, and her face immediately shifted into what I'd come to recognize as 'overprotective sister mode.'
"Oh no," she said, abandoning the pan to march over to me. "You are not wearing that."
"What's wrong with this?"
"Nothing's wrong with it. That's the problem." Her hands smoothed the lapels of my coat, fingers working to straighten invisible wrinkles. "You look like you're going to a fashion shoot, not an entrance exam."
"Maybe I want to look good while I demolish the competition."
She snorted, but her hands continued their fussing, adjusting my collar and brushing lint from my shoulders. The touch was warm, familiar, grounding in a way that made my chest tight.
"Got your ID?" she asked, patting down my pockets like I was five years old.
"Yes."
"Exam pass?"
"Yes."
"Your brain? Because I'm starting to have doubts about that last one."
I caught her hands, stilling their nervous energy. "Kimi-nee, relax. I'm leaving thirty minutes early. I'll be fine."
She looked up at me, mahogany eyes searching my face for cracks in my confidence. Finding none, she sighed and reached into her pocket, producing a protein bar wrapped in bright packaging.
"Take this anyway. And don't get lost. I swear, if you're late because you took a wrong turn at the station, I'm walking you there myself next time."
I pocketed the bar and ruffled her hair, earning a swat to my arm. "Trust me. What could go wrong?"
Twenty-five minutes later, I burst through the train station entrance like a man possessed, my careful composure shattered into a thousand pieces. Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the morning chill, and my perfectly styled hair was probably a disaster. The digital display board glowed mockingly above the platform: Next Train to U.A. District - Departing in 30 seconds.
Thirty seconds.
I sprinted down the platform, my boots echoing against concrete as early morning commuters stepped aside. The train sat there like a metal beast, doors still open but already hissing their warning. A conductor raised his whistle.
"Wait!" I shouted, diving through the nearest door just as it began to slide shut.
The hydraulics sealed behind me with a definitive thunk, and the train lurched forward. I stood there, chest heaving, surrounded by a sea of bodies packed into the morning rush. My cool facade had cracked completely—I was just another panicked teenager trying not to be late for the most important day of his life.
The train swayed as it picked up speed, and I reached out blindly for something to steady myself. My hand found purchase on what felt like a thick winter coat—soft fabric over a surprisingly firm shoulder. I squeezed gently, using it as an anchor while I caught my breath.
"Eep!"
The sound was high-pitched, cute, and came from directly beneath my hand. I turned my head, a lazy apology already forming on my lips, and my brain performed an emergency shutdown.
There was no one there.
Or rather, there were clothes there. Floating in mid-air like a department store mannequin had achieved sentience and decided to take public transit. A puffy brown winter coat hovered at shoulder height, filled out by an invisible form. Beneath it, I could make out the outline of a school uniform blouse and a black pleated skirt that moved with the train's motion. Cute leg warmers disappeared into platform shoes that somehow managed to look both fashionable and practical.
My hand was resting squarely on the shoulder of a floating coat.
Holy shit. She's invisible.
How does it work? If she eats, can I see the food? No, that's stupid, light must pass through her entirely. So she's basically transparent... which means if you were to...
"Uhm, excuse me?"
The voice was bright and bubbly, cutting through my inappropriate thought process like a knife through butter. It seemed to come from the general vicinity of the floating coat's collar.
"My eyes are up here? I think? Also, you can totally move your hand now."
I blinked, realizing I was still gripping her shoulder like a lifeline. Slowly, I pulled my hand back, but instead of stepping away, I found myself leaning slightly closer. The analytical part of my mind was fascinated—here was a Quirk unlike anything I'd encountered.
"Sorry," I said, though my tone probably didn't sound particularly apologetic. "Didn't see you there."
A beat of silence. Then, unexpectedly, the floating coat shook with what I could only assume was laughter.
"Oh my God, did you just—? That's literally the worst invisible person joke ever! I love it!"
The voice was infectious, full of genuine mirth that made my own lips twitch upward.
"I aim to please," I said, settling into my usual lazy drawl. "Though I have to admit, you've got me at a disadvantage here. I can't see if you're rolling your eyes at me."
"Trust me, I totally am. But also, this is like, super exciting! Are you taking the U.A. exam too? Please tell me you are because I've been on this train for twenty minutes and everyone else looks so serious and scary."
The train swayed around a curve, and I had to grab the overhead rail to keep from stumbling into her invisible form.
"Guilty as charged," I said. "Though I'm starting to think I might be underdressed for the occasion."