Ten years passed like a blink.
Katzo stood at the gates of U.A. High School — but not as a student. Not yet. This was still middle school, third year, the spring before the entrance exams.
He was fifteen now. Taller, leaner, with the same messy hair and the same easy grin. His Quirk kept him immaculate: no acne, no body odor, no bad breath. Teachers loved him. Classmates found him weird but likable.
Toru Hagakure had been his best friend since preschool. Her Quirk had awakened at age six — complete invisibility of her body. But her clothes remained visible. She always looked like an empty uniform walking around: a blouse, a skirt, socks, and shoes, with nothing inside. Sometimes she wore gloves to give her hands shape, but even those just floated.
And some people were cruel about it.
---
After school, behind the gym.
Katzo heard the voices before he saw them.
"C'mon, show us your face. Oh wait — there's nothing to show!"
Laughter. Three boys from the year above, all with minor Quirks — one with elongated fingers, one with red skin, one with no visible mutation but a cruel smirk.
Toru stood with her back against the wall. Her uniform was pressed flat against the bricks, collar bunched, skirt wrinkled. No body filled it. Just empty cloth. Her gloved hands were clenched into fists.
"Leave me alone," she said, voice shaking from inside the blouse.
"Or what? You'll disappear? You're already gone."
Katzo stepped around the corner.
"Hey," he said, calm and easy. "Problem?"
The red-skinned boy turned. "Beat it, freshman. This doesn't concern you."
Katzo kept walking until he stood between them and the floating uniform. He wasn't big, but he wasn't small either. And he had a reputation — not for fighting, but for never backing down.
"She's my friend," Katzo said. "So yeah, it concerns me."
The leader — the one with no visible Quirk — sneered. "What are you gonna do, make us smell your armpits? I heard your Quirk is just 'I don't stink.' Big deal."
Katzo smiled. "You wanna find out what else I can do?"
He had no intention of using his second Quirk. He still didn't know what it did — something about a kiss? Gross. No thanks. But they didn't know that.
The boys exchanged glances. Katzo's calm was unnerving.
"Whatever," the leader muttered. "She's not worth it."
They walked away, shoving past Katzo. He didn't flinch.
When they were gone, Toru's shoulders — invisible shoulders inside a blouse — slumped. The fabric wrinkled.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did."
"They're going to come back."
"Then I'll be here." He turned to face the empty uniform. "You okay?"
Toru was quiet for a moment. Then her gloved hand reached out and touched his arm. The sleeve hung limp, but the pressure was real.
"I hate being like this sometimes."
"I know." He patted the air where her shoulder should be, feeling only fabric. "But you're going to U.A. next year. And those guys are going to work at convenience stores. You win."
She laughed, watery. "You really think I can get into U.A.?"
"I know you can. You've got the grades and the drive. And your Quirk is perfect for stealth. Nobody can see you — just your clothes. Wear dark colors at night, and you're a ghost."
"Thanks, Katzo."
He shrugged. "That's what friends are for."
They walked home together — him solid and visible, her an empty school uniform with a voice. The spring sun was warm. Cherry blossoms drifted past, landing on her blouse, making it look even more haunted.
Katzo thought about the HUD, which had appeared so rarely over the years that he'd almost forgotten it. Only in his sleep, he'd realized. He'd wake up with the notification that a window had passed, unused.
So many wasted chances, he thought. But maybe that's for the best. Who knows what mutations I would have gotten?
He glanced at the floating uniform beside him.