October 3rd 2024, Thursday—just one day before students had to submit their names for the Academy Trial. The energy in the classroom was electric, an undercurrent of excitement buzzing through the air. For the first time, students from their school would have the chance to legally use their concepts in public.

  The classroom was alive with anticipation—students huddled in groups, discussing strategies and sharing rumors about the trial. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air. Even the usually stern teacher seemed affected by the atmosphere, allowing the chatter to continue longer than normal.

  "This is insane," a girl whispered, her eyes wide with excitement. "Once we pass, we'll finally be able to fight without worrying about getting arrested!"

  "Yeah, but I heard only one percent will make it through," another classmate muttered, his enthusiasm dampened by the harsh reality of the trial's difficulty. He nervously shuffled the papers on his desk, avoiding eye contact with those around him.

  A student turned toward Rei, curiosity gleaming in their eyes. They leaned across the aisle, their voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear. "Hey, what about you, Vessel? What's your concept?"

  The room went momentarily silent. All eyes turned to Rei, who sat near the window, his profile outlined by the morning light. He seemed unbothered by the attention, his posture relaxed yet somehow distant. He thought back to the fight with Baku—the moment his vision blurred, the sharp pain splitting his skull, and then the gruesome memory of Baku's head bursting apart. That headache... was that his power? Or was it something else controlling him?

  After a pause, he gave the simplest answer.

  "I have no concept."

  The class broke into hushed murmurs, some surprised, others dismissive. The confession seemed to hang in the air, both shocking and somehow fitting for the enigmatic student they'd dubbed "the Vessel."

  "Wait, you think raw strength is enough to pass the trials?" someone scoffed from the back row, disbelief evident in their tone.

  "That's crazy. Even if you're strong, how do you expect to pass without a concept?" another added, their voice a mixture of pity and mockery.

  Rei ignored them, his gaze drifting back to the window. The teacher dismissed the class, and he made his way to the door, where Hinata was waiting. Her gentle presence was a stark contrast to the buzzing energy of their classmates who pushed past them, still engrossed in trial discussions.

  As they walked home together, their usual silence lingered until Rei finally spoke. The path home took them through a small park, the leaves beginning to change color as autumn took hold. The sounds of their footsteps on the paved path created a rhythmic backdrop to their conversation.

  "Are you sure you're not submitting your name?" Rei asked, studying Hinata's profile as she walked beside him.

  Hinata tensed slightly, her hands gripping the straps of her bag. "It's best if I don't," she answered, sounding casual despite the slight tremor in her voice.

  Rei glanced at her, noticing the slight hesitation in her voice. Something about the way she said it didn't sit right with him. It wasn't just fear of battle—there was something deeper there. Her eyes were fixed on the path ahead, deliberately avoiding his gaze. He debated pushing the question further but ultimately decided against it. Instead, he spoke with rare gentleness.

  "See you tomorrow."

  Hinata managed a small smile, appreciating how he didn't press her further. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly as they reached the point where their paths diverged. Rei entered his apartment, shutting the door behind him.

  Silence.

  Then, a flash.

  The image of Baku's head exploding forced its way into his mind. Rei sat at his table, gripping his forehead. That moment... Was it really him in control? Or was it something else? The thought sent a chill down his spine, but he quickly brushed it off.

  The sound of a beer bottle slamming against the table echoed through Hinata's dimly lit house. She flinched as her father, slumped in his chair, took another swig. His breath reeked of alcohol.

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  Takeshi Aizawa was a large man, his once-athletic frame now softening with age and excess. His dark hair, streaked with premature gray, was disheveled, and his unshaven face bore the marks of years of bitterness. The hero uniform hanging by the door—once worn with pride—now collected dust, a relic of a life that had slipped through his fingers.

  "You're a disgrace," he muttered, his words slightly slurred.

  Hinata remained silent, staring at the floor. The living room was dimly lit, with heavy curtains blocking most of the evening light. Photos on the wall showed happier times—Takeshi in his hero uniform, smiling proudly; Naomi, Hinata's mother, beautiful and serene; a young Hinata, beaming between her parents. Those moments seemed to belong to another lifetime now.

  "I was a hero once," he continued bitterly, shaking his head. "A real hero. Until the incident. Now look at me. And look at you—too much of a coward to even enter the trial."

  Hinata's fists clenched, but she didn't respond. Her mother's absence was palpable—working the night shift at the downtown office complex cleaning service, a convenient escape from the toxic atmosphere that pervaded their home in the evenings. Six nights a week, she scrubbed floors and emptied trash bins, returning home only after Takeshi had passed out from drinking.

  Her father's anger flared. He grabbed an empty beer bottle and hurled it toward the wall. Instinctively, Hinata's telekinesis activated—the bottle froze in midair, trembling slightly before gently floating to the ground without a sound.

  Her father scoffed. "You have power, but you refuse to use it. You're useless." He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "I should've had a son. Someone with the guts to uphold our family's legacy."

  Hinata's vision blurred with tears as she turned away, dashing into her room and slamming the door. She curled up against her bed, biting her lip to stop herself from crying out loud. The muffled sound of another bottle opening filtered through the door.

  She felt worthless. Weak.

  Then, she remembered Rei's words.

  "The weak should be protected by the strong."

  For some reason, those words didn't hurt her. They gave her comfort. Maybe she was weak right now. But that didn't mean she had to stay that way.

  Across town, Josuke stepped into his home, greeted by the familiar scent of his mother's cooking—somehow stretching cheap ingredients into something delicious. The small apartment was modest, with water stains on the ceiling that had been there since last spring's leak. A basket by the door overflowed with bills marked "FINAL NOTICE" in angry red letters.

  His mother sat at the dining table, typing away on an outdated laptop that wheezed with each keystroke. Emiko Hoshino was a petite woman with kind eyes and premature wrinkles etched around her mouth. She worked from home, transcribing medical records while managing her own online craft shop—two jobs that barely covered rent. Her fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, her focus intense as she tried to finish before dinner.

  His father arrived shortly after, limping slightly as he always did since the factory accident. Takumi Hoshino's stooped shoulders and calloused hands told the story of a man who had spent his life in physical labor. Despite his obvious pain, he managed a warm smile as he ruffled Josuke's hair, the gesture a wordless expression of love.

  Josuke noticed how his father winced as he sat down, trying to hide his discomfort. The injury that had cost him his job at the factory still plagued him, reducing him to part-time work at half his former salary. The monthly medical bills alone consumed nearly a third of their income.

  These small details—his father's pain, his mother's exhaustion, the threadbare furniture they'd had since he was a child—they all fueled something inside Josuke, a determination that he kept hidden beneath jokes and bravado.

  He sat down across from his mother. "I'm submitting my name for the trial tomorrow."

  She looked up from her laptop, her face a complex mixture of pride and fear. Her fingers paused over the keys, her full attention now on her son. "That's wonderful, sweetheart. Give it your best shot."

  Josuke grinned, slipping easily into his usual carefree persona. "Don't worry, Mom. With my concept, I'll take over the world! And the first thing I'll do is buy us a house—one with a garden for Dad to grow those vegetables he's always talking about."

  His parents exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. His father cleared his throat. "Son, if you make it through... the money is for your future. For college. We don't want you worrying about us."

  But Josuke had already made up his mind. As his mother busied herself with dinner preparations, he watched his father massage his injured knee when he thought no one was looking.

  His ability might only change temperatures by five degrees, but it would be enough. It had to be. For them.

  As night fell, in the Academy's secure wing, a heavy metal door creaked open. Mr. Haikito stepped out of a high-security meeting room, adjusting his cufflinks as he checked his watch. His immaculate suit showed no wrinkles despite the long day, his presence commanding respect from the officials who flanked the entrance.

  Behind the doors he'd just exited, heated voices continued their debate.

  "What do you mean people can die?!" one official shouted, his fist slamming against the polished table.

  "In a world of evil and unfairness," a senior female official countered, her voice steady despite the tension, "we must make this as realistic as possible."

  A third voice cut through, filled with frustration. "And how exactly does the Academy plan to handle the legal fees associated with potentially killing civilians?"

  The arguments faded as Haikito walked toward the large windows overlooking the Academy grounds. He stood there, watching the distant city lights, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

  "Soon," he murmured, his piercing blue eyes scanning the horizon where the city skyline was visible in the distance.

  "Everything will fall into place."