A/N: It is frustrating when u think of it. No readers are joining patreon, but everyone is saying the story is good and all. So why not buy membership for my patreon? It is 3 fking dollar, and u get discount too sometimes. I don't know how u get it, but ppl get the discount. So ppl just support someone for once. I mean I am going out of my ways to write stories. I tried writing a novel. But I don't have cash on me to promote it on social media or by paying ppl to promote it, so it flopped. I even asked readers here to try it out, but obviously no one did.
It is truly frustrating.
I know I have tried my best, but still.
I tried to set up website, but website development is too complex for me to do by myself. And if I ask help from a website developer, to pay them, I might need to sell my organs, lol.
Sigh, it is hard to be an author. During Covid when ppl were forced to be inside their homes my online novels sold well. I wish a pandemic like that comes again, obviously not killing ppl. Fk, I am blabbering a lot. But I know ppl would skip reading this Note from me. That's how ppl have become these days. Emotionless fools. Fuck. Anyways read the chapter. I cannot force u guys to buy membership or support me. It is a childish dream I realise this fact, but still. It isn't a crime to have hope.
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·Chapter Six
You don't realize how much you miss the ordinary until it becomes a luxury.
Dinner with your family.
A cup of tea after homework.
Your mom's voice in the background as she hums while cleaning.
For someone like me—reborn, driven by secret tasks and hidden ambition—those things hit harder than they used to.
Because every time I sat with them, every time I looked into their faces, I was reminded: this wasn't just a new life.
This was a second chance.
And I refused to waste it.
---
Takashi Household – Morning
The smell of grilled mackerel drifted from the kitchen.
Mom was humming a tune from some old idol group while flipping fish over a pan, still in her pajamas. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she looked like she hadn't aged a day since I was five.
"Good morning, sweetheart!" she chirped, glancing over her shoulder as I walked into the kitchen. "Sit! You've got a big day today."
I blinked, rubbing my eyes. "Did I miss something?"
She laughed, flipping the fish with practiced ease. "You've got that U.A. prep seminar downtown. The one the school mentioned."
Right.
I'd almost forgotten.
My brain had been too deep in field simulations, blueprint revisions, and a sudden spike in internal system memory usage that was either a glitch or a sign of a major upcoming upgrade.
"Ah, yeah. That," I said, sliding into my seat.
Dad was already at the table, newspaper in one hand, coffee mug in the other. He nodded at me. "Nervous?"
"Not really," I lied.
In truth, the idea of going to a hero-focused seminar, surrounded by future Pro Heroes and likely a few smug Quirk-powered prodigies, made my stomach tighten.
But fear had long since become part of the daily loadout.
"I'll walk with you to the station," Dad offered, folding his paper.
I blinked. "You don't have to."
"I want to."
He smiled. I nodded.
---
Train Station – Morning
The sky was grey and moody, but the station buzzed with energy.
Students of all ages, tourists, office workers—it was the controlled chaos of a city in motion. Dad and I stood just outside the turnstiles, the ticket gate blinking behind us.
"You don't talk about your dreams much," he said, watching the platform numbers rotate.
I glanced at him.
"I guess not," I replied. "I keep most of it in my head."
"You get that from your mother," he said with a smile. "Quietly determined. Stubborn."
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Just promise me something, Yuuji."
"What's that?"
"If you're going to build something great, don't forget why you're building it. Some people climb just to climb. Others build towers so they can see others more clearly."
I didn't know what to say.
So I just nodded.
He gave me a pat on the shoulder, turned, and walked away.
---
Downtown Musutafu – Hero Preparatory Seminar
The seminar hall was packed.
Students buzzed with excitement, chatter rising as future heroes bragged about their quirks, their mock battle scores, or which Pro Hero they were hoping to intern under.
I kept to the back.
A few glances came my way—probably because of the goggles hanging around my neck or the black jacket with reinforced sleeves. One kid even whispered something about "Support Division cosplay."
Let them talk.
I was used to it.
I settled into a corner seat just as the lights dimmed and a figure walked onto the stage.
I didn't expect to feel chills.
But I did.
Because the man standing under that spotlight was Eraserhead.
Aizawa Shouta himself.
Unkempt hair. Sleep-deprived eyes. Scarf draped loosely around his neck like it belonged to another era.
He scanned the crowd with the eyes of someone who had seen things.
"I'll make this quick," he said, voice calm and scratchy. "Hero work isn't about flash. It's not about headlines. It's about pressure. Guts. Knowing when to act—and when not to."
He paused.
"I've seen too many kids walk into U.A. thinking they'll be the next All Might. Most don't last a week."
The crowd shifted uncomfortably.
Aizawa's eyes swept the crowd again, and for a fleeting second—just a second—they landed on me.
Longer than they should have.
Did he notice something?
Or was I just paranoid?
He finished his speech and exited stage left with all the ceremony of a substitute teacher walking out of a lunchroom.
But the damage was done.
I felt my heart pounding in my ears.
---
Afternoon – Workshop
The moment I stepped into the Support Workshop building, I smelled metal and oil and home.
Mei was already elbow-deep in a wiring harness, goggles fogged slightly as sparks danced from a handheld welder.
"You're late!" she called without looking.
"I was interrogated by a hero with permanent sleep paralysis."
"Cool!"
She dropped the welder, wiped her hands on a rag, and turned to face me with her usual manic grin.
"Wanna see my latest baby?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
She led me to a workbench littered with wires, screws, and a half-finished exoskeletal glove.
"This bad boy can amplify finger pressure 300%! You could crush a watermelon like a grape!"
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Why wouldn't you?"
Fair point.
We spent the next two hours tinkering, trading parts, debating control systems, and adjusting our drones for better mobility.
It was easy. Natural.
For a while, I forgot the pressure of the seminar, the weight of my father's words, and even the whispering voice in my head constantly listing active tasks.
Just two inventors.
Two kids.
Two people quietly chasing impossible dreams.
---
That Evening – Family Dinner
Mom made sukiyaki.
Dad brought home fresh tofu.
And for once, I didn't retreat into my room right after.
I helped wash the dishes. Made small talk. Even showed Mom a non-lethal gadget I built to startle stray cats from digging in the flowerbeds.
She laughed.
Dad gave an impressed whistle.
"You should patent that."
I smiled, genuinely.
Because for that brief hour, I wasn't a genius.
Or a secret vigilante-in-training.
I was just their son.
And that… was enough.
---
That Night – Alone in the Workshop
The system pinged softly.
> [Alert: Intelligence Sync Surpassed 18%]
New Functionality Unlocked: Combat Reflex Simulation Mode
Task Unlocked: First Field Suit Full Integration Test
Suggested: Use Urban Zone Alpha (Abandoned Warehouse District)
I stared at the screen.
The time had come.
I had assembled the modules.
The core. The HUD. The stabilization system. The gauntlet.
It was time to wear it all.
Time to test what I had built.
Time to prove—to the world, to myself—that I wasn't just a tech kid in a Quirk-based society.
I was more.
I am more.
But before I left, I picked up the family photo from my desk.
Held it for a moment.
Then carefully slid it into the hidden pouch on my armor's inner lining.
A reminder.
A grounding point.
Because I was building more than tech.
I was building a future.
---
End of Chapter 6
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