(A/N: I was bored when trying to plan this and decided to make another OC, needless to say the AI I chat to about this made points that led to something dumb. And I know this is gonna be a let down for some, but the ship is OC x OC for this. As for why this took so long, I had some planning to do and creating new OC's Quirk took a while.)
(Mirai POV)
At thirteen, I had long since stopped waiting at home.
Waiting inside buildings implied expectations—parents hovering, security systems humming, contingency plans stacked on contingency plans. Waiting outside was cleaner. More honest.
So I was sprawled flat on my back in the middle of a sun-warmed athletic field, hands folded beneath my head, staring up at a sky that had spent the last decade failing to impress me.
Boredom, I had determined, was not the absence of stimulation.
It was the absence of novelty worth engaging with.
The grass beneath me bent compliantly without tearing. Reinforced turf—standard municipal upgrade after a few memorable Quirk-related lawsuits. I could feel the layered polymers beneath the soil, could smell chlorophyll, dust, faint exhaust from a nearby road. My senses processed it all automatically, efficiently.
None of it mattered.
I exhaled.
Still boring.
Someone was approaching. No urgency. No attempt at stealth. Uneven footfalls, deliberately loud, just slightly off-balance on the left.
I didn't vother lifting my head.
"You're early," a girl said. "Again."
"I am precisely on time," I replied. "You are consistently late."
A shadow crossed my vision. I turned my head just enough to confirm the obvious.
Aika Hoshina stood over me, hands on her hips, sunlight threading through her long dark hair. Her middle-school athletic jacket was half-zipped, collar loose, sleeves rolled just enough to expose her wrists. A light sheen of sweat clung to her temples.
She'd jogged.
Unnecessary. Inefficient yet visually pleasing.
"You're staring," Aika said flatly.
"I am observing," I corrected. "There is a difference."
Her mouth twitched despite her best efforts. "Uh-huh. And what's today's observation, oh great philosopher?"
I pushed myself up onto my elbows, movements smooth and controlled—my body had never been allowed the luxury of awkwardness. My gaze tracked her without embarrassment, without haste. Not leering. Just thorough.
"Your cardiovascular endurance has improved," I said. "Also, your shoulder-to-hip ratio is aesthetically optimal. The jacket emphasizes it effectively."
There it was. The color bloomed across her cheeks instantly, vivid and deeply satisfying.
"Mirai!" she hissed, glancing around the empty field. "You can't just say things like that!"
"I can," I replied calmly. "I am doing so now."
She dropped down beside me with a groan, sitting cross-legged and tugging at the hem of her jacket like it had personally betrayed her. "One of these days, someone's going to hear you and think you're some kind of creepy, rich-girl deviant."
I reclined again, folding my hands behind my head and returning my attention to the aggressively uninteresting sky.
"That would be a refreshing change," I said. "I am bored. So bored that if boredom were a commodity, I could monopolize the market and retire by sixteen."
Aika snorted. "You already have more money than sense."
"Money is a poor substitute for novelty," I replied. "It depreciates rapidly."
She laughed—soft, unguarded. The kind of laugh she never used at school. The kind she only allowed herself when she wasn't performing for anyone.
We lay there in parallel silence.
The field was empty. The city hummed distantly. Somewhere far away, something important was about to happen—probabilities converging, narratives aligning. I could feel it in the background of reality, like pressure building before a storm.
Aika shifted beside me, the scent of her laundry detergent—something synthetic and floral—mixing with the ozone of the city. To my Supernatural Senses, she was a localized storm of biological data: the rhythm of her heart, the slight friction of her jacket against her skin, the heat radiating from her limbs. It should have been annoying. Instead, it was the only thing on this field that didn't feel like a static image.
"You're doing it again," Aika murmured, though she didn't move away. "That 'I'm-calculating-the-mass-of-the-sun' look."
"I was calculating the probability of you punching me if I told you that the way the sunlight hits your collarbone is statistically distracting," I said. My voice was a flat monotone, which only served to make the statement more jarring. "The probability is currently sitting at 64%."
"Keep talking and I'll make it 100%," she muttered, but she was smiling.
I allowed my gaze to linger on the curve of her jaw. In my previous life as Kiyomi, I had viewed bodies as machines—tools for execution. But since the start at that library I had changed significantly. Wanting to connect with others on a deeper level.
Even if my power would never allow for something like that to happen.
But it did... I closed my eyes, the darkness behind my lids immediately filling with a perfectly rendered memory of the day we met.
(Flashback: Three Years Prior)
The middle school music room was an echo chamber of mediocre talent and failed acoustics. I was there because my mother insisted on "social integration," a hypothesis that assumed proximity to my peers would catalyze normal human development.
The probability was low.
I sat in the back, analyzing the dust motes dancing in the late afternoon sun, when a girl walked to the front, her name came up on the screen. Aika Hoshina. She trembled slightly, her shoulders tense and not relaxed... yet she began to sing.
The sound waves didn't just hit my eardrums; they shimmered her voice split the air into a spectrum of harmonics, creating a literal "prism" of sound that bypassed my analytical filters and struck the emotional core I had spent years trying to categorize as irrelevant.
A Quirk that gave the person a distinctive Prism Voice. It had no combat usages on first appearance, in fact based on what I can tell, it actually has none, and yet...
It was the most beautiful use of energy I had ever witnessed.
I approached her after class. She was packing her sheet music, her hands shaking slightly from the effort of the performance.
"Your pitch was 0.3 hertz sharp on the bridge," I stated, my voice cutting through her lingering post-song daze.
She jumped, nearly dropping her bag. "Excuse me?"
"However," I continued, stepping into her personal space to observe the unique crystalline structure of her throat, "the resulting interference pattern created a localized aesthetic peak. It was... engaging."
She stared at me, her eyes widening as she realized I wasn't being mean—I was being clinical. "You're that Yagi girl. The one who never talks."
"I talk when the data warrants it," I replied. "Your voice is a statistically significant anomaly in this mundane environment. I have decided to observe you further."
Aika blinked, then laughed—a sound that was almost as resonant as her singing. "Did you just ask to be my friend using a math equation?"
"Friendship is a mutually beneficial social contract," I said. "I am proposing an opening of negotiations."
She smiled, and for the first time, my boredom experienced a momentary, 100% dip.
(Back to present)
The silence of the athletic field was interrupted not by sound, but by a shift in the air.
I sat up. To my left, the humidity spiked by 3%. A localized thermic increase. My mother's training had taught me to read the environment like a topographic map, and right now, the map was telling me we were no longer alone.
"Someone's watching us," I said, my voice dropping into that low, vibrato-less tone that usually made Aika's hair stand on end.
Aika sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Mirai, it's a public park. People are allowed to exist in the same zip code as you."
"They are behind the equipment shed," I stated, my eyes narrowing. My vision zoomed, the crystalline structures of my pupils adjusting to see the texture of the rusted corrugated metal fifty yards away. "Two individuals. Heart rates elevated—110 and 115 beats per minute. Adrenaline spikes detected. They are not 'existing,' Aika. They are 'loitering with intent.'"
Aika sighed, but she stood up, brushing the reinforced turf off her leggings. "Fine. Let's just go. I don't want to deal with middle-school drama today."
"It isn't drama," I said, standing with a fluid, haunting grace that required no momentum. "It's an opportunity for data collection."
As we walked toward the exit, the two figures stepped out. They were older—high schoolers, likely from the vocational school down the road. Their Quirks were visible: one had skin that shimmered like oily vitrified glass, the other had elongated, prehensile fingers that twitched with nervous energy.
"Hey," the one with the glass skin called out. "You're that rich girl from the Yagi estate, right? The one whose dad is always in the news?"
I stopped. My expression remained a void. "Your premise is correct, though your delivery lacks the necessary social lubrication. What is your objective?"
The boy laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "We heard you're supposed to be some kind of prodigy. But you look like a porcelain doll. We just wanted to see if the 'Symbol's' kid actually has any teeth."
Beside me, Aika's hand found the hem of her jacket. She was trembling. Not with fear, but with the resonance of her Quirk—her voice was humming under her breath, a defensive instinct.
"Mirai, don't," Aika whispered.
"I have no intention of 'doing' anything, Aika," I replied. I turned my gaze to the glass-skinned boy. "Based on your dermal mutation, I estimate your Quirk grants you a Mohs hardness scale rating of approximately 7.5. Your friend's digital elongation suggests a Dexterity-based Emitter type. In a physical confrontation, the probability of you sustaining permanent structural damage is 99.8%. The remaining 0.2% accounts for the possibility of a meteor striking us before I make contact."
The boy's face reddened. "You think you're better than us because you use big words?"
"I think I am better than you because I am an apex predator and you are a scavenger," I said simply. "It is a matter of biological hierarchy, not vocabulary."
He lunged.
It was slow. To my eyes, it was like watching a tectonic plate move. I could see the way his weight shifted to his back heel, the way the light refracted off his glass-like knuckles as they clenched. I could see the sweat pore on his nose expand.
I didn't move until his fist was three inches from my face.
I didn't punch him. That would be an inefficient use of mass. Instead, I simply reached out and caught his wrist.
The moment of contact was a rupture in his reality.
My Unknown Quirk—the negation factor—surged. The shimmering, glass-like sheen on his arm didn't just fade; it shattered. It didn't break physically, but the Quirk Factor providing the "Hardness" was instantly deleted. His skin reverted to soft, vulnerable human flesh in a fraction of a second.
The shock of the negation caused his nervous system to misfire. He screamed, not from pain, but from the sudden, terrifying 'emptiness' where his power used to be.
I twisted his arm—just enough to induce compliance, not enough to snap the radius—and swept his lead leg. He hit the turf with a dull thud.
His friend frozen, his long fingers tangling into a knot of panic.
"The effect will wear off in approximately ten minutes," I told the boy on the ground. I looked down at him with an expression of profound clinical boredom. "Though I suspect the psychological trauma of being 'normal' for the first time in your life will last significantly longer. You should use that time to reconsider your career path. You lack the tactical intellect for villainy."
I let go. He scrambled back, his skin still dull and pale, gasping for air. He and his friend didn't wait for a second lecture; they bolted.
I turned back to Aika.
She was staring at me, her mouth slightly open. The "Prism" in her throat was silent now, but her eyes were searching mine.
"You really are a monster, aren't you?" she asked. There was no malice in it. Only that terrifying, honest observation she was so good at.
"A monster is merely a biological entity that exists outside the standard deviation," I replied. "So, yes. By definition."
"You could have just ignored them," she said, falling into step beside me as we headed toward the park gates.
"Ignoring them would have resulted in a persistent stalking pattern," I countered. "Immediate, overwhelming force is the most efficient method of deterrent. Besides..." I paused, glancing at her. "He was interrupting our conversation. I found that... irritating."
Aika stopped walking. A small, knowing smile played on her lips. "Wait, did the Mirai Yagi just admit to feeling irritated at something?"
"So what if I did, hmm? It's annoying when people interrupt me talking to my best friend." I admitted, dropping the pretense.
Aika didn't laugh this time. She just hummed—a low, resonant note that vibrated in the air between us like a physical touch. "Best friend," she repeated, the words tasting like a challenge. "I'm pretty sure that's the most 'normal' thing you've said in three years, Mirai. Careful. You keep that up and people might forget you're an anomaly."
"The probability of that is zero," I replied, though the corners of my mouth refused to remain entirely neutral. "I am reminded of my status every time I attempt to sleep and the sound of the neighbor's refrigerator three blocks away registers as a rhythmic industrial assault. Normality is a luxury I cannot afford."
We reached the edge of the park where a black sedan sat idling—my father's security detail, disguised as a standard executive transport. I hated the car. It was a mobile cage of reinforced carbon-fiber, a constant reminder that my DNA was a national secret.
"I have to go," I said, stopping at the curb. "Mother has scheduled a 'refinement' session with a guest instructor. Apparently, my application of force is still considered 'excessively clinical.'"
Aika leaned against the gate, the sunset turning her dark hair into a silhouette of copper. "Is it the old guy again? The one who looks like a grumpy yellow marshmallow?"
"Gran Torino is currently on sabbatical to recover from the hairline fracture I accidentally caused his ego," I noted. "Today is someone else. A specialist in capture-tactics."
"Well, try not to break them," Aika said, waving a hand as she started down the sidewalk toward her own home. "And Mirai? Thanks. For the 99.8% probability thing. It's nice knowing I'm the 0.2% you actually like."
I watched her walk away until the rhythm of her heart faded into the ambient noise of the city. Only then did I turn toward the car.
The back door opened before I reached it. I didn't need to look to know who was inside. The air pressure in the vehicle was slightly higher, the scent of expensive cologne and ozone unmistakable.
"You're late," a voice said—deep, booming, yet laced with a tremor of exhaustion that only I could hear.
"I was providing a deterrent to local delinquents, Father," I said, sliding into the leather seat.
Toshinori Yagi, sitting in his diminished, skeletal form to save his strength, looked at me with those sunken, blue eyes. He didn't look like the Symbol of Peace. He looked like a man trying to solve a puzzle that had no solution.
"I saw the boy running away, Mirai," he said softly. "You used the negation again. You didn't have to."
"Efficiency dictated the response," I replied, staring straight ahead as the car pulled into traffic. "He was a variable that needed to be zeroed out. Why are you here, Father? Usually, the security team handles the transit."
Toshinori sighed, a rattling sound in his thin chest. "Nezu called. The entrance exams for UA are approaching. He wants you there—not as a student, not yet. He wants you to observe the new crop of applicants."
My eyes sharpened. "Observation implies a standard to measure against. What is the goal?"
"He wants to see if anyone can catch your eye," Toshinori said, a small, sad smile touching his lips. "He thinks you're lonely, Mirai. Even with your friend."
"I am not lonely, I have Aika and Melissa-nee."
Toshinori let out a breath that was more of a wheeze, his skeletal frame rattling against the high-end upholstery. "Nezu knows you have Aika and Melissa, young lady. But he's talking about peers. People who walk the same path as a Hero. Aika is a civilian, and Melissa... well, she's a genius, but she's on I-Island. Nezu wants you to see the next generation of 'Plus Ultra' firsthand."
"The 'Plus Ultra' sentiment is a marketing slogan designed to encourage reckless over-exertion," I countered, my voice flat as I watched the Tokyo skyline blur into a smear of neon and concrete. "But I will attend. If only to verify if the average Quirk potency is truly declining as the Quirk Singularity Theory suggests."
The car fell into a heavy silence. I could hear the rhythmic thump-thump of my father's heart—irregular, strained, a failing engine. It was a sound that had provided the soundtrack to my childhood, a constant reminder of the mortality of a god.
"You're thinking about it again," Toshinori said softly. "The heart."
"It is difficult not to. It is the loudest thing in the vehicle," I replied. I didn't turn to look at him. If I did, I would see the guilt in his eyes—the guilt of a father who had given his daughter the world's most powerful Quirk but couldn't give her a normal childhood.
"I'm fine, Mirai. Really. I have enough gas in the tank for a few more years."
"Statistically, your 'tank' is at 14% capacity and leaking," I said. "Your still looking for a successor, aren't you?"
Toshinori went still. The silence in the car became heavy, the kind of silence that usually preceded a villain's collapse or a hero's final stand. He didn't look at me. He couldn't. My gaze was too clinical; I could see the microscopic tremor in his hands and the way his lungs struggled to pull oxygen from the climate-controlled air.
I looked out the window of the car. "I know, it's hard. Ever since I researched into it. The idea of having to have a Quirkless successor makes the search harder, doesn't it?"
Due to my existence, canon was already going to go out the window, so I decided it would be fine if I made major changes early on. Like letting dad know about this tidbit.
Toshinori didn't answer immediately. He looked out the window at the passing lights of Mustafu, his reflection in the glass looking more like a ghost than a man.
"Nezu mentioned your theory," he said finally, his voice a dry rasp. "The 'Quirkless Vessel' hypothesis. He's been cross-referencing the health records of the previous users you... somehow identified. You were right, Mirai. The Fourth, the Sixth... the strain on their bodies wasn't just battle damage. It was the power itself. It's too much for a body that already has a 'vessel' filled by a Quirk."
"It is basic cup-and-water logic, Father," I said, my voice softening just a fraction. "You cannot pour a gallon into a thimble that is already full. You are the outlier because you started with an empty vessel. To give One For All to a Quirked individual now—after it has stockpiled your own immense power—would be a death sentence within years. Perhaps months."
Toshinori turned to me, his sunken eyes searching mine. "Is that why you won't take it? Because of the math? Or because you think you don't need it?"
I finally looked at him. The "Symbol of Peace" was asking his daughter why she wouldn't become his legacy.
"I am already an anomaly, Father. My 'vessel' isn't just full; it's overflowing. Adding One For All to my current Quirk Factor would likely result in a localized singularity. I have no desire to become a black hole." I paused, my gaze drifting to my own hands. "Besides. I have no interest in being a 'Symbol.' I prefer the efficiency of the shadows."
"Shadows don't inspire people, Mirai."
"No. They protect them from the heat," I countered.
Toshinori let out a short, wheezing laugh. "You really are Clara's daughter. Fine. Nezu has a lead. A middle schooler. He's... unique. Quirkless, brave to the point of insanity, and currently spending his afternoons dragging trash across a beach."
"Izuku Midoriya," I stated.
Toshinori jerked, his head hitting the headrest. "How... how could you possibly know that name? I haven't even told your mother!"
"I have been monitoring the regional Quirkless registries for individuals within the hero-aspirant age bracket who demonstrate 'reckless altruism,'" I used the excuse I had prepared in case, "The data pool is remarkably small. Midoriya is the only one who fits the psychological profile of a successor."
Still, it seems Izuku might inherit OFA earlier than in canon and will have a full year to master it this time.
"A Green Nerd that wants to be a hero whilst staying weak. His body won't be prepared at all for it, in fact I bet he'd try to emulate you all the time and fail. The best way to teach him would be to get him to learn differing martial arts whilst preparing his body for OFA." I say. The old man had to take my advice hopefully.
Toshinori stared at me, the shadows in the car deepening as we entered the tunnel toward the Yagi estate. He looked exhausted, yet there was a flicker of something new in his eyes—relief.
"I'll take it under advisement, Mirai," he murmured, his voice barely a ghost of the 'I Am Here' boom. "But if I'm to train this 'Green Nerd,' I'll need a consultant. Someone who understands the physics of power better than I ever did."
"My fee is an unlimited pass to the National Diet Library's restricted archives," I replied instantly.