Middle school didn't arrive suddenly.
It was announced months in advance, printed on notices sent home, discussed in careful tones by teachers who pretended it wasn't a big change while listing all the ways it was.
New buildings.New rules.More responsibility.
Dave listened.
Hive cataloged.
At school, the word middle began to carry weight.
Teachers mentioned it between lessons. Older students talked about it like a threshold—half warning, half brag. Classrooms grew subtly stricter. Expectations sharpened.
"You'll need to manage yourselves more next year," one teacher said.
Dave already did.
He didn't say that.
The social atmosphere shifted before the location ever did.
Groups started forming with intent instead of accident. Kids talked about which middle school they'd attend. Who would be together. Who wouldn't.
Bakugo spoke loudly about it.
"Obviously I'm going to the best one," he said, arms crossed like it was already decided. "They'll want me."
No one argued.
Izuku listened carefully when people talked about entrance requirements. He asked questions that started soft and ended rushed, scribbling notes he didn't need yet.
Dave heard all of it from the edges.
He didn't join the conversations.
He didn't need to.
At home, the discussion was quieter.
The acceptance notice arrived in a plain envelope.
Aiko opened it at the table, reading slowly. Kenji leaned over her shoulder.
"Same district," Aiko said. "That's good."
Dave looked up. "I thought it would be."
Kenji smiled. "You always do."
They talked about logistics. Commute time. Club options. School hours. Nothing dramatic.
Dave listened, then spoke when it mattered.
"I'll walk," he said. "It's close."
Kenji nodded. "That'll be good for you."
Aiko hesitated. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
Not defiant. Just certain.
They accepted it.
Preparation took the form of small routines.
A new uniform laid neatly on the bed. Supplies purchased without fuss. Dave organized everything the same night he brought it home.
Hive optimized the layout.
Dave adjusted it for comfort.
He left space where mistakes could exist.
The last days of elementary school passed without ceremony.
Teachers gave speeches. Classrooms were cleaned. Desks were returned to perfect rows for students who would never sit there.
Dave thanked his teacher when it was expected. Bowed politely. Left without looking back.
It wasn't indifference.
It was closure.
The first morning of middle school arrived early.
The air felt different—not heavier, just unfamiliar.
Dave ate breakfast quietly. Aiko watched him over her tea. Kenji folded the newspaper more slowly than usual.
"You nervous?" Aiko asked.
Dave considered the question honestly.
"No," he said. "Just alert."
Kenji chuckled. "That sounds like you."
Dave stood, adjusted his bag, and bowed slightly before leaving.
"I'll be back on time," he said.
"We know," Aiko replied.
The middle school building was larger.
Not intimidating.
Just more… intentional.
Students moved with purpose. Teachers watched more closely. Rules were posted everywhere, clear and unavoidable.
Dave took it in step by step.
Mapped entrances.Noted patrol routes.Observed how authority flowed.
Hive updated its internal models.
Dave remained calm.
He found his classroom.
Found his seat.
Sat down.
Around him, conversations sparked and faded. Names were exchanged. Comparisons made. Expectations projected.
Bakugo was already loud somewhere down the hall.
Izuku sat two rows away, back straight, eyes forward.
Dave didn't greet either of them.
Not because he avoided them.
Because middle school was not a continuation.
It was a reset.
The bell rang.
Dave opened his notebook and wrote the date.
The beginning didn't feel dramatic.
But it felt precise.
And precision, Dave knew, mattered.