The ceiling of Haruto's bedroom was covered in glow-in-the-dark stars that had lost their luster years ago.
Now, he lay on his back, tossing a kitchen knife into the air and catching it by the handle without looking.
Flip. Catch. Flip. Catch.
Downstairs, the rhythmic thump-scrape of his mother, Hana, moving furniture echoed through the floorboards.
To the world, Haruto was a medical impossibility. The doctors at Musutafu General had called it a "Spontaneous Remission," a one-in-a-billion fluke.
The cancer wasn't just gone. It was being hunted.
Haruto was technically Quirkless.
While the Healing Factor surging through his system after the Reboot felt like a sudden awakening, clinical diagnostics proved otherwise: he lacked a Quirk factor entirely.
Fortunately, the doctors failed to notice his abnormal recovery during the exam—had they caught his body knitting itself back together in real-time, they never would have let him leave the hospital.
It was something from outside the boundaries of this world's biology, an immortal engine of reconstruction. Every time a stray cancer cell tried to bloom, the Healing Factor didn't just kill it; it pulverized.
"It's like having a tiny, hyper-active construction crew in my body 24/7," Haruto muttered, catching the knife one last time and shoving it under his mattress as his door creaked open.
"Haruto? Honey, you're going to be late for your first day!" Hana leaned into the room. Her face showed lingering worry hidden behind a bright smile.
She still looked at him like he might shatter if the wind blew too hard.
"Mom, relax," Haruto said, jumping to his feet with a surge of energy. "I'm the picture of health. I'm basically a walking, talking vitamin commercial at this point."
He grabbed his yellow backpack, pausing to look at her. He saw the way her eyes lingered on his chest, checking for the breathlessness that wasn't there anymore.
The Deadpool side of him wanted to make a joke about "tragic backstory insurance," but the 11 year old Haruto—the part that loved her more than anything—just stepped forward and gave her a quick hug.
"Don't worry," he whispered, loud enough for the "camera" to hear but soft enough for her to miss. "I've got the best plot armor money can't buy. Plus, I'm the narrator. We don't die in the first act."
"What was that, dear?"
"I said I'm going to be the top of the class!" Haruto shouted, already halfway down the stairs. "Tell the neighbors the 'Quirkless Freak' is back and he's feeling remarkably lively today!"
"Haruto! Watch your language!"
He burst out the front door into the morning sun.
"Alright, audience," he said, walking down the sidewalk and stepping over a crack in the pavement. "First day of Middle School. Let's see if the 'Quirkless' label still carries that lovely social stigma. I'm hoping for a fight."
The school gates loomed ahead, a gateway to three years of adolescent posturing and inevitable property damage.
Haruto navigated the sea of studens, he found his assigned classroom and slid inside, ignoring the hushed whispers of students who recognized him as "the kid who was supposed to be dead."
He went to back of the room, claiming the throne of every protagonist in history: the desk in the back row, right next to the window.
"The classic window seat," Haruto whispered, leaning his chair back on two legs until it balanced on a precarious edge.
He turned his head to the desk beside him. To any other student, it was a bizarre sight—a girl's school uniform, complete with a blazer and skirt, sitting perfectly upright in a chair with absolutely no body inside it. No head, no hands, just a floating outfit that seemed to be nervously organizing a pencil case.
Toru Hagakure was sitting right there, doing her absolute best to be a ghost in a room full of people.
Haruto didn't hesitate. He leaned over, resting his chin on his palm, and looked directly into the empty space just above the collar of her blazer.
"You know, you're the first person I've met who's actually winning at hide-and-seek," he said, a crooked, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "But you really should check your left sleeve. It's a little wrinkled, and it's totally ruining your 'spectral entity' vibe. Very unprofessional for a secret agent."
The pencil on the desk clattered to the floor.
The floating uniform jumped, the sleeves flying up in a gesture of pure, invisible shock.
"E-eh?! You... you're talking to me?" a high-pitched, bubbly voice squeaked from the empty air.
Haruto winked at the "camera" over his shoulder. "Look at her. I think I just broke the stealth mechanic. Level 1, and I'm already hacking the game."
"Wait a second," the voice said, and the sweetness was replaced by a jagged edge of distrust. "How did you do that?"
Haruto tilted his head, his smirk never wavering. "Do what? Point out a wardrobe malfunction? You're welcome, by the way. Wrinkles are the silent killer of any good 'mysterious ghost' aesthetic."
"No," the empty air hissed, "Nobody 'accidentally' looks me in the eye. They talk to my hairband or to the air next to my ear.. But you... you looked right at my eyes. You didn't even blink."
The invisible girl was hovering in his personal space now, a phantom demanding a haunting. "Do you have a vision Quirk?"
Haruto let out a dry laugh that sounded far too weary. He looked past her for a split second, locking eyes with the "audience" over her invisible shoulder.
"You hear that? One minute I'm a Good Samaritan, the next I'm a Peeping Tom with sonar. The fans are going to love this character arc."
He turned back to the space where her face should be.
"I don't have a vision Quirk, Ghost-chan," he said.
"I'm Quirkless. Ask the office. I'm the 'Medical Miracle' kid who spent the last three years staring at white ceilings. When you spend that much time in a quiet room, you learn to notice things."
"Then how?" she demanded, the sleeves of her uniform trembling slightly.
"Because you're loud," Haruto lied—mostly. The Mercenary memories in his head knew exactly how to track a target. "I don't need to 'see' you to know exactly where you're standing. Your breathing is a bit shallow—you're nervous. Your shoes are brand new—they squeak on the tile. And you move like you're trying to be a ghost, but you're too clumsy for a professional."
He reached out, not to touch her, but to tap the air exactly where her forehead would be.
"Besides," he added with a wink, "you're the only thing in this classroom that isn't a total cliché. Why wouldn't I notice the most interesting person in the room?"
The uniform slumped slightly, the defensive posture melting into a stunned, silent stillness.
***********<>***********
The lunch bell hadn't even stopped ringing before Haruto was out of his seat.
He wasn't interested in the social hierarchy of the cafeteria; he headed straight for the roof—the undisputed headquarters for protagonists.
He was leaning against the chain-link fence, staring out at the Musutafu skyline and peeling the plastic off a convenience store yakisoba bun, when the heavy metal door flew open.
A school uniform bounced out onto the concrete. It was a surreal sight: a blazer, a skirt, and a pair of white socks hopping in with absolutely no visible head or hands.
"Aha! I knew I smelled ginger and noodles!" a bright, chirpy voice rang out from the empty air.
The uniform practically skipped over to him, the skirt swishing with every step. "You're Haruto, right? Haruto Akagi? From my class! I'm Toru Hagakure! I was totally going to say hi during homeroom, but the teacher was being all 'blah-blah-first-day' and I didn't want to get in trouble on morning one!"
She leaned over the railing next to him, the empty space above her collar bobbing as she looked at the view.
"Isn't it so pretty up here? I love first days! New pens, new shoes, and a whole bunch of new people to talk to! Honestly, it's kind of a bummer when you're invisible—everyone just assumes I'm a coat rack if I stay still for too long. But you! You're super interesting! let's be friends"
Haruto tilted his head, pointing a chopstick at the empty air where her face should be.
"Interesting? I'm the 'Quirkless Freak' who spent three years in a hospital bed, Toru-chan. Most people see me and think 'tragic backstory' or 'fragile glass.' Why would you want to be friends with a walking medical anomaly?"
Toru giggled, the sleeves of her blazer flying up to where her mouth would be.
She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to an excited whisper.
"So, come on! Tell me the secret! How did you know exactly where my eyes were? Is it a secret Quirk? I promise I won't tell anyone—pinky swear!"
Haruto looked at the empty sleeve she held out, a crooked, Deadpool-esque smirk crossing his face.
"No secret Quirk, Ghost-chan. Just a very high resolution for reality. But if you want to be friends, I should warn you..." He winked at the "camera" over his shoulder. "...I tend to attract a lot of plot-relevant trouble. You sure you're ready for the screen time?"
"Trouble? Oh, I love trouble!" Toru chirped, bouncing on her heels. "It's way better than being ignored! So, are we officially friends now? Because I already decided we are!"