Chapter Text
Sachie Flourant, a soft-spoken girl born with a diamond spoon in her mouth. Her life was seemingly perfect, with beautiful and innocent looks. with long creamish gray hair that reach just her lower back, and a beautiful shade of teal for her eyes. Her family was rich and influential. what is there to be worried about in life anymore.
Sachie Flourant sits meekly in the limousine, her form hunched like a cat as she try to make herself as small as possible. Her legs shake, as her feet thump up and down repeatedly, tapping against the soft carpet of the car. Her hands pinched each other as she toyed with her soft and bendy nail. She breathes out harshly as the uncomfortable silence engulfs her. All she can hear is the soft sound of the engines whisping through the air, and the sound of the clicking of pen in front of her. Her teal eyes gaze up, meeting the pale eyes of the older woman sitting in front of her. A digital pen was in her wrinkly hand, the other with Sachie's report card.
A cold shiver went past her shoulder as she felt the cold gaze of her grandmother now sets on her. "Sahchie," her grandmother, Aceline Flourant, an influential French merchant, ex-number 9th hero from France. Aceline was a strict and unfeeling mother and grandmother after the death of Grandpa. She seems to shut off the world from herself as she now pursues her goal. To continue the legacy of the Flourant name. Sachie almost shrieked from her grandmother's grey coloured eyes. She felt sweat pouring down her forehead as her gaze shakily went to the sole of her shoes. "Yes, grandmother. What is it?" she stutters. She felt small against her grandmother's gaze. Sachie has always feel like the smaller person when facing her family from dad's side, they are scary. They were the type of people who thinks that they are the superior, the bigger person.
" Oh, stop acting so meek!" grandmother said jokingly, though her tone was laced with poison as her cunning eyes looked at Sachie like a snake preying on a rabbit. " You know what you are doing here today, right?" she continues, crossing her legs as she sits upright, pushing up her glasses as she analyses Sachie's written entrance exam. 76/80 was written red, and huge on the paper. What a disappointment.
" Yes! Today, I'm going to do the practical entrance exam!" Sachie replied, her knees pressed together as if she was warming herself. A cold shiver ran down her shoulder as her grandmother moved closer. From this distance, she could smell the sickly, overpowering smell of rose perfume, dulling her nostrils. She could hear the tiny clink of her grandmother's jewellery, clanking against each other. Sachie's breath hitched as she try her best to avoid the cold gaze. The older woman almost snickered.
" Don't disappoint me today, child." Sachie nods, head hanging low. "I came all the way here from France, so you better make me proud." her voice was slow, the words seems to came off her mouth in slow-motion. " Yes, I won't disappoint you." Sachie, the grey-headed girl, yelped out. She stepped out of the limousine with a swift motion as she stood upright. " Be good." the voice of the grandmother echoes out as the limousine speeds off to somewhere. Sachie huffed out in relief.
Truth to be told, Sachie don't want to be a hero. Sheltered and silent, she enters the exam not out of ambition — but obligation. Her family's legacy leaves no room for refusal, even if her past left her with wounds too deep to explain.. Her family, the Flourant. A prestigious family, generations of rich merchants, dates back to when Napoleon III was still the emperor. And when the world first experiences the true height of power, the appearance of quirk. Her family became the if not, most influential family in the world. Birthing out generations to generations of heroes and powerful quirks. And with a powerful quirk, comes with great responsibility. Sachie Flourant was not an exception.
Would the world even want a hero who can't even control her quirk? She asked herself these questions as she looked at her palm. Soft and delicate, opposite of what a hero would have. A white tattoo inked on her palm, a symbol of her quirk flowing through her body. Her lips quiver slightly as she looks above. The tall building of the UA towered over her like a menacing giant. The crowd of kids her age, like ants, were walking towards the gate of UA. Each one of them was excited, nervous. Their eyes were bright, fire of ambitions burning through their flesh. Each wants a slot at UA, each with a passion in their mind. I don't belong here. She told herself, walking to the entrance with a heavy mind.
Prove your worth in this family. Prove that you will be the one who will continue the main line of the Flourant legacy. The stern voice of her father echoes through her head. His eyes were cold and pale, similar to that of her grandmother. But he was worried. She's his one and only child, after all. He's one of the only people who actually cared about her condition. Especially after that incident years ago.
She's not a hero, never will be. She's a meek girl, a selfless girl who cares about other people's opinions. A girl too naive and sheltered off from this world. A girl whose mind was still trapped by the gate of those poisonous hands.
" WELCOME TO TODAY'S LIVE PERFORMANCE!!" The loud, blond hero yells, echoing through the speech hall. " Everybody say 'Hey.' "The whole stadium was dead silent. There were comical cricket sounds in the back. Sachie sweat drop, her eyes gazing nervously at Present Mic, worried for his dignity. She felt a surge of secondhand embarrassment crashing to her like a wave.
Present Mic further on explains the exam, his voice acting like a speaker, no, maybe even louder than the speaker. She felt her heart thumping in her ribcage from the loud sounds while she sits at the last-row seat in the stadium. Everyone will be split up, reducing the chance of students from the same middle school being in the same group as each other. Each site will be filled with three kinds of faux villains. To gain points in this exam, you need to defeat the villain. The number of points will vary by the difficulty level of the faux villain.
She sits in silence, toying with her nails as her mind drifts to nowhere. Her teal eyes gaze on her overly bitten nails, short and stubby. She huffs out slightly. Her eyes dart around the dark room, gazing at the unfamiliar faces. She gently tap her shoes against the stadium floor, making a slight creaking noise against the unstable chair she's sitting on.
A sudden wave of uneasiness washed over her, sending a chill down her spine. She glanced around, her heart racing, and noticed the subtle shift in shadows around her. Her face paled, an unsettling realization creeping in as she struggled to calm the rising anxiety. The skin on her back felt taut, as if it were being stretched painfully, a sensation that sent shivers across her body. Her chest burned, and the sound of her heart drumming against her drown out all other sounds. Everything seems to become some sort of muffles as she try to focus on the uneasiness feeling inside of her.
With a feeling of dread, she became aware of a familiar bulging beneath her shoulder blade, a sensation that made her stomach churn with nausea. She gasped, her fingers instinctively reaching up to caress her shoulder, squeezing it gently in a desperate attempt to ease the sudden, sharp pain that seemed to radiate with each heartbeat. The pain is bearable, she's used to it after all. The stinging pain in her back is something she have for years now, only recently it dims down slightly. But ofcourse it will always suddenly come up each few days.
She reached for her handbag, her fingers diving into the depths of the worn leather as she rummaged through its chaotic contents. After a moment of searching, she finally located the small, translucent pod of pills nestled between a crumpled receipt and a half-used lip balm. She popped one of the pills into her mouth, feeling its smooth surface against her tongue. As she swallowed, she let out a long, weary sigh, her shoulders drooping slightly as she settled back in her chair, anxiously waiting for the familiar wave of relief to wash over her.
" PLUS ULTRA!" Present Mic yelled, his voice echoing loudly through the stadium. Wait what did he said before? She wasn't paying attention. " Break a leg, everyone!" he finished with a loud boom. A dramatic exit. She glance at everyone around her, they seems to be packing up and leaving their seat. They seems to know what they are doing.
I should have paid attention, she thought to herself, her brow furrowed in confusion as she scanned the bustling room filled with students and scattered papers. The air was thick with the scent of anxiety and anticipation. Spotting a girl with a determined expression and a trustworthy demeanor, she decided to follow her.
With her hands clasped behind her back, Sachie fidgets with her nails as she surveys the examination site before her. It looms large, an intricate model of an abandoned city, structured in an overall cube shape filled with towering buildings and multiple layers. The level of detail is astonishing; the weathered facades, scattered debris, and weedy rooftops almost give the impression of authenticity. They have truly outdone themselves with this elaborate construction. She breathes in the awe of the massive structure, straining to get a closer look at the miniature world sprawled at her feet.
Dressed in her sports attire, Sachie wears a comfortable, fitted white T-shirt that allows freedom of movement, paired with straight black sports pants adorned with white stripes, striking a balance between functionality and style. It's a basic outfit for exercise, but it suits her well. As she glances around the examination site, she notes that everyone else seems to exude confidence in their own abilities. A wave of anxiety surges in her stomach, causing her gaze to drop to the cool, concrete floor beneath her feet.
Her quirk, however, is too destructive and too uncontrollable for her taste. "I can't let it get out of hand," she murmurs softly, biting the inside of her cheek in frustration. It's best if I tackle this alone. She thought to her self. Just then, her hands form tight fists as she scrunches up the small white tattoo emblazoned on her palm.
The tattoo, a symbol of her quirk, serves as a constant reminder of the power within her. It takes the form of a vertical half sun, glowing with a gentle white light that shines dimly against the backdrop of a bright summer morning. A faint smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she traces the intricate design with her fingertip. Wincing slightly at the intensity of the sunlight above her, she straightens up, trying to ease the slight discomfort in her back. Her hands clasp together, fingers intertwining as she nervously peels at a small flap of skin surrounding her nails. She stands in the corner of the starting area, deliberately placing herself away from the throngs of strangers.
"Can you believe some people are just here to panic and get crushed by robots?" a snarky voice interrupts her thoughts. Her eyes twitch slightly, feeling a prick of offense. She turns her head sharply toward the source of the comment.
The boy stands beside her, slightly shorter but with a presence that is hard to ignore. His hair is a striking platinum blonde, catching the light and almost seeming to shimmer. His eyes, a captivating blueish-gray, shine with mischievousness. A daring smirk curves his lips, giving him the appearance of a sly fox, confident and calculating. At that moment, that world seems to slow down slightly. Her teal eyes catch his gray one.
Her breath caught in her throat, startled by his sudden remark. Is he reading her mind or something? No sound escaped her lips as she stared at him, momentarily taken aback. Instinctively, she takes a small step back. It's true—panic is swirling inside her like a storm. How does she even begin to respond to someone like him? He seems imposing in a way. Never before has she spoken to a boy her age; she has lived a sheltered existence. She locks herself in the mansion, surrounded by maids and a butler much older than her. She doesn't mind, she much prefers the comfort of her own room rather than going out of her way to talk to some boy her age. Opening her mouth instinctively, she tries to push words past her lips, but all that comes out is a series of small, muffled sounds.
The boy raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer, leaning up slightly to match her height, though he remains at a respectful distance. The proximity sends a ripple of anxiety through her, heat rising to her cheeks as sweat begins to form on her brow. Her gaze locked onto his, her heart racing out of shock and anxiety. Her brain seemed to go haywire, everything was jumbled mess in her head. "What did you say?" he asks, breaking their eye contact to look away. "I couldn't hear you clearly." he said, looking across, observing the other contestants.
"It's nothing!" she exclaims, her voice a little louder than she meant as she leans away. She held her breath, determined not to say anything more.Sensing her discomfort, he stands up straight and takes a few steps back, reestablishing a comfortable distance between them. His eyes drift back to the city model in front of him, and she internally wonders what to say next. 'What do I do now? What do I even say?' she thinks, her eyes flickering downward as her head hangs low, feeling a wave of panic and social anxiety wash over her.
"So, what's your quirk? Something light-based? Or are you simply this bright naturally?"
He suddenly asked, turning his gaze back to her. Her head snapped up, awe illuminating her features as she gazed at him in surprise. A small "huh" followed with a few mutters of "how" escaped her lips, and her shock was palpable. A larger smirk breaks across his face as he observes her reaction. "So, I was right?" he quips, his sly eyes glinting with amusement.
"How did you...?" she stutters, caught off guard by his perceptiveness. A small chuckle slips from his lips, a sound that hints at both mischief and charm. "Just an educated guess," he replies, crossing his arms, his demeanor self-assured.
It appears that his intuition is spot-on. Well, it's more than mere guessing; he has been quietly observing her since they both entered the waiting area—no, he has been scrutinizing everyone around him, searching for a suitable quirk to mimic to aid in his exam.
The girl beside him, standing taller and more imposing, might just be the strongest in this examination group, but that's just what his gut is telling him, and his gut is always right.
Whenever she stands bathed in light, her skin takes on an otherworldly radiance, shimmering with a delicate sparkle that mirrors the twinkling stars scattered across a midnight sky. It's a stunning sight, reminiscent of a cinematic fantasy—Twilight, perhaps?—where vampires gleam with an almost diamond-like brilliance beneath the sun's embrace. He chuckled to himself, bemused by the peculiar leap his mind had taken. The connections were there, certainly, but the reality was far more enchanting than any Hollywood portrayal.
But rather a cryptic phenomenon; particles of light swirl gently around her. Such a glow could never belong to someone quirkless. He continues to watch her closely, his gaze instinctively calculating. He observes how she gravitates toward a shaded area under a tree, fanning herself in a futile attempt to cool down. He noted how the radiant glow of her skin dulled ever so slightly in the absence of light, a fascinating transformation that drew his attention. Instead of reflecting light as it usually did, her skin seemed to emit a faint luminescence that danced like distant stars. Was his perception deceiving him? The surprise blossomed within him as he scrutinized the enchanting sight—a subtle halo enveloping her, barely perceptible amidst the mundane shadows of their surroundings. He couldn't help but wonder if her quirk was, in fact, the ability to illuminate herself radiantly.
The moment shifted, bringing him back to the present, right after she had confirmed his initial hypothesis. His intuition was rarely wrong, a fact he prided himself on. But the question lingered: Would she prove to be an asset during the impending practical test? He found his gaze drawn to her flustered and bewildered expression.
"Well, let's see what you can do, intriguing stranger," he mused inwardly, bracing himself for the test. The tension in the air shifted as he heard the unmistakable rustle of the microphone being adjusted at the speaker's podium. It appeared the examiner had finally settled in.
"How would Grandma act if I didn't pass the test?"
The thought surfaced suddenly, uninvited, like a knife slashing through fog. It caught in Sachie's chest, sharp and bitter, her breath snagging mid-run. She pushed harder against the pavement, shoes slipping slightly on the dust and debris, lungs wheezing under the pressure. She wasn't used to running like this. Not like the others. Not with blood roaring in her ears and her mind unraveling at the edges.Sachie ran, fast and uneven, weaving through debris-strewn streets. Her breaths came out shallow, her legs already aching. She wasn't used to this kind of sprinting—especially not with her heart pounding like a warning drum.
She could already see it—Grandma's face. That tight-lipped look. The slight tilt of the head. No anger, no raised voice. Just that silence. Disappointed. Cold. Like she wasn't even worth the scolding. And that venomous pale gaze.
Sachie shivered.
Then—movement.
A 2-pointer robot stirred to life ahead of her. Its glowing red eye flickered, scanning for targets.
She froze. Her fingers tingled. The back of her neck prickled.
Her thoughts started to spiral again.
It's fine. You practiced. You've done this a hundred times in drills.
She nodded to herself. A whisper slipped from her lips: "It's okay. Just do what you've practiced," she comforted herself, a small nervous chuckle went past her lips.
With silent feet, she slipped through the rubble, heart pounding like a war drum. She lunged forward, letting her body move without thought, and slammed her knee directly into the robot's eye.
The impact jarred her entire body. She could hear the crunch of metal, the squeal of circuitry ripping. The robot burst apart, sparks flying through the air like fireworks.
She landed ungracefully. Her knees buckled, arms flailed.
No one cheered. Of course not. She was alone.But the tension in her chest didn't loosen.
She kept running.
Her family expected nothing less. Flourants were born heroes. Born strong. Born ready.
Since she was a child, she was taught to be all of those things. Trained like a soldier. Prepped like a show dog. Say thank you. Make eye contact. Smile, even when you're tired. Be brave. Be better. Be a Flourant. One of the greatest hero families in the world.
Be the heir.
But she didn't feel brave.
She didn't even want to be a hero like them.
Not the shouting, larger-than-life kind. Not the bold, charismatic ones who stood in spotlights and gave press interviews and made everything look easy. That kind of life—their kind of life—had never felt like hers.
Not when her stomach twisted every time someone raised their voice.
Not when her hands trembled around strangers.
Not when she couldn't even trust her own quirk.
Another robot lunged from the corner. She reacted fast, slamming her fist into its eye. It cracked. Broke. Shattered into pieces as she pierced its shining red eye.
She winced. Her knuckles throbbed.
But then—
WHAM.
A sharp impact knocked her clean off her feet.
She hit the ground with a grunt, hands flying to her back. Her body curled in slightly, a reflex. A dull ache had already begun to pulse through her spine, deep and familiar.
She tried to push herself upright, her hands still clutching the base of her back. The spot always hurt worse when she was low on pills. It wasn't bleeding, but it throbbed badly.
Her vision blurred.
Of course it hit there...
She blinked through the sting and turned her head.
A 3-pointer stood behind her. Heavy. Calculating.
Her breath caught.
The idea of fighting it made her stomach twist.
Her hand lifted slowly, trembling. The tattoo on her palm flickered with pale light.
Then—
A flash of light exploded from her hand.
The building lit up. The force sent the robot flying, its frame scattering in a thunderclap of noise. The shockwave knocked over two smaller bots nearby.
When the smoke cleared, metal pieces lay sparking across the concrete. The ground beneath her was scorched, dented like something massive had slammed into it from above.
Steam curled into the air.
Sachie stood frozen, still breathing hard, still feeling the tingle of power running through her palm.
"I still can't control it," she whispered. Bitterness clung to every syllable.
Her back was pulsing—no, pounding. The skin felt stretched, inflamed. Her breath came in uneven gasps. She staggered backward and slammed into the side of a broken wall for support.
The pill had worn off. And now—
Now she could feel them.
Just beneath the skin. Coiled. Unnatural. Wrong.
She clenched her fists.
Disgust.
The thought landed heavy in her chest. Her fingers curled into her sleeve. She didn't look at the destruction. Not directly.
Her back ached worse now. Her breathing was uneven.
Her stomach was twisting again. Nausea. Her body heating up. A side effect. Overuse.
She pinched her temple, steadying herself, willing the light in her hand to fade.
Then—
A slow clap broke through the dusty air.
She turned quickly, her heart jerking.
Through the smoke, a boy stepped forward. Platinum blond hair. That familiar smirk on his lips.
"So that's how your quirk works," he said, eyes watching her too closely. "I wasn't wrong after all." he exclaimed confidently.
She tensed. Just slightly. But it was enough. Her hand lowered to her side, and she stepped back a little.
Her gaze didn't meet his. Not at first.
She always kept her distance from boys. Not because she hated them—but because they made her nervous. The way they stared. The way their voices echoed. The way they moved too fast, too confidently.
"Ran out of energy?" the boy asked. His tone was different now. Not teasing. Just observant.
She nodded slightly. "Yeah." Her voice stayed soft, polite. "I'll be fine."
Even now, she kept the same smile on her face. Just enough to look calm. Enough to make sure no one had to worry about her.
Even if her knees still felt weak.
Then came the quake.
The earth rumbled under their feet. Far heavier than anything before.
From behind a building, a monstrous shape rose.
The Zero-Pointer.
It crushed pavement beneath it like wet paper.
The boy's smirk faded.
"...It's best if we don't fight that," he murmured.
Sachie winced, her hand gripping the nearby wall for balance.
"Hey—can you still run?"
She nodded quickly. "Yeah," she whispered. "I can still run." he looks at her, his face laced with skepticism.
She started walking, wobbling slightly, using a tall piece of debris to push herself upright.
The robot was speeding up, its heavy arms clearing walls like cardboard.
They both ran.
Just as they turned a corner, another wave of robots came crashing down from above. Dozens. Swarming the path ahead.
"Can you use your quirk?" he asked over his shoulder.
She shook her head, still catching her breath. "Cooldown. Used too much energy earlier. I need to refill." she softly said, crunching on her knees.
He nodded, glancing around. "I can use mine. But it's not offensive—"
A robot launched itself toward her.
Sachie stumbled to the side, barely missing the strike.
Her hand twitched. She knew she could use her quirk again—but not without consequence. If she pushed too far, the heat would spike. The nausea.
It's too soon. I can't.
Before she could react, he moved in front of her—grabbing her wrist, pulling her out of harm's way.
She flinched. Her skin prickled where he touched her. Her shoulders tensed, instinctively pulling back. She hated being touched like that. Too sudden. Too tight.
But she didn't say anything.
She never did.
Before she could speak, the robots surged again.
She lifted her hand, ready to fire.
But he beat her to it.
A narrow beam of light burst from his palm, slicing through the metal like paper. Clean. Focused. Nothing like her raw blasts.
Her eyes widened.
"That's my quirk..." she muttered out, looking at him with shock filled eyes.
"Not quite," he said, crouching down to meet her gaze. "My quirk is Copy. When I touch someone, I can use theirs."
He held up his hand. A white mark glowed faintly—just like hers. Half-formed.
Her breath caught.
Then—
A rumble.
The Zero-Pointer returned. Close now. Its head looming.
Its massive hand swung back.
"Watch out!" Sachie screamed.
Her body moved before she could stop it.
Her arms lifted—her body shielding the boy—
And then—
The intricate tattoo etched on her palm pulsed with a radiant glow, casting shimmering beams of light that illuminated the surrounding chaos.
With fierce resolve, she unleashed the sphere of energy. The beam launched forward with a force that bent the air.
The light wasn't wild this time. It was raw. Controlled. Powerful. It drummed out of her like thunder—swirling with pale white energy and shards of solid light.
The recoil knocked her backward slightly. Her feet skidded across the broken ground.
The beam pierced the robot, cutting through its torso like a hot blade through ice. The metal groaned, then burst—sending wreckage flying in every direction.
A gust of wind followed, tearing through the air and scattering smoke.
The building behind the Zero-Pointer had a fresh, gaping hole—its edges glowing faint red.
Everything went still.
Sparks buzzed in the air. Steam lifted in curling wisps from the concrete.
And Sachie?
She stood there. Barely.
Her body trembled. Her back burned.
Her lungs pulled for air that didn't seem to come.
Just one move... and I'm already falling apart.
She bent forward, one hand braced on her knee. Her vision blurred. The ache in her spine spread, like something heavy was pulling her down from the inside.
Her stomach twisted.
And still—
...
"AND IT'S OVER!"
Present Mic's voice blasted from the loudspeakers across the site.
Sachie stood, swaying slightly as her breath came in short, uneven pulls. Her vision shimmered at the edges. Her ears rang.
She looked at the still-smoking crater where the Zero-Pointer once stood. Wires sparked, rubble hissed, and the air buzzed faintly with residual energy. The attack had taken out more than just the robot—half the field was dark now. Silent. As if her quirk had drained the life from everything nearby.
Her palm lowered slowly. The glow faded, leaving behind a faint warmth—and exhaustion.
Every part of her body ached. Her legs trembled. Her spine throbbed like something inside was pulling taut and wouldn't let go. Her head felt like it weighed a ton.
Just one attack...
She couldn't believe how heavy the price was.
But more than that—
She couldn't believe she'd done it.
She'd saved someone.
The thought echoed through her.
I really... saved him.
She hadn't hesitated. She didn't think about Grandma. Or failure. Or the pain in her back. She just saw the danger and moved. Her body made the choice her brain never would have.
And he was okay.
No one else got hurt.
Something tight twisted in her chest—not fear this time. Something else. Something small and quiet and almost proud.
Before she could process it, the boy beside her let out a dry, amused laugh. He turned toward her, brushing off dust from his jacket.
"Didn't expect to get saved by a girl who looks like she's about to faint."
Sachie blinked. She stared at him for a second. Then—
A tired smile tugged at her lips.
"I didn't expect to save someone at all," she replied, voice barely above a whisper.
It was the truth.
She hadn't come here to be a hero. Not really. She came to avoid shame. To survive her family's expectations. She didn't think she had it in her to protect someone else.
And yet, here she was.
Bruised, dizzy, hurting—but standing.
Because she saved someone.
Her heart fluttered. Not from fear this time. She was proud.
Smoke still lingered in the air, curling in soft wisps around shattered concrete and scorched walls. The battlefield was silent now. No more mechanical screeches. No more sirens. Just a distant breeze, and the faint crackle of sparks dying out.
Sachie stood near the edge of the impact crater, arms hugging herself lightly. Her knees felt unsteady, and her back still ached from the earlier hit. Her energy was low—her body clearly begging her to rest.
But she didn't sit down.
She didn't want to look weak.
Not in front of him.
Not in front of anyone.
Monoma stood a few paces away, glancing at the rubble, arms crossed over his chest like it wasn't a miracle they were still standing. A slight smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth, but it wasn't quite as smug as before. More curious. More thoughtful.
"You didn't tell me your name," he said finally, breaking the quiet.
Sachie hesitated, brushing ash off her sleeve. She felt her throat tighten for a second—names meant closeness. And closeness was dangerous.
But she'd saved him.
And he hadn't looked at her like she was a freak.
"...Sachie," she said, voice soft but steady. "Flourant." she hesitates. The Flourant name was well known, especially throughout the hero world. She's scared that people was gonna treat her differently after knowing her identity.
His eyebrows rose slightly, and then the smirk returned, just a little. "Flourant, huh? Fancy." he said, looking at her with his droopy, sly eyes. Like a fox.
She didn't respond, unsure if that was meant to be teasing or something else. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.
He offered a small shrug. "Monoma. Neito." His voice was light, confident—as if the entire exam hadn't shaken him at all. His name roll of his tongue perfectly, almost satisfying to her ears.
Sachie gave him a polite nod, eyes lowering instinctively. She back away slightly.
Her heart was still racing, but not from fear of the battle anymore.
It was always like this around boys. Even the nice ones made her nervous. Too unpredictable. Too loud. Too confident.
And Monoma? He was all of those things.
But she didn't hate his presence. Not exactly.
She wasn't used to people talking to her like that—like she was interesting. Like she wasn't just a tool for something bigger.
And that scared her in a whole different way.
"I should go," she said suddenly, stepping back. Her voice was calm, practiced. "Someone's picking me up."
He looked like he wanted to say something—maybe ask more. But he nodded instead, slipping his hands into his pockets.
"See you around... hero."
Sachie's smile flickered.
Then she turned and walked away.
The car ride home was quiet. Her driver didn't ask questions. Just offered a bottled water and kept his eyes on the road.
She held the bottle loosely in her lap, not drinking. Her stomach was still unsettled from the quirk overload. Her spine still throbbed in warning pulses. But the pain was manageable now. Familiar.
What wasn't familiar—was the way her mind kept drifting back to the boy with the copy quirk.
Monoma.
He had talked to her like they were equals. Teased her. Trusted her, even just for a moment.
And she had saved him. Really saved him.
She didn't know what to do with that. It didn't feel real yet.
Would he talk to her again? Would he forget her the second he left the exam site?
Part of her hoped he did.
Another part... didn't.
That part was quieter. But it ached a little.
The estate gates opened slowly.
The car pulled up the long, trimmed driveway lined with hedges so perfectly cut it looked unnatural. Sachie opened the door herself, stepping out quietly onto the stone steps.
The sky was beginning to turn gold behind her.
She walked slowly toward the main house, her bag still slung over her shoulder, her steps light, silent—learned behavior. She didn't want to draw attention.
But of course, the front door was already open.
And she was waiting.
Grandmother.
She stood in the entryway like a statue—perfect posture, hands folded, lips pressed into a faint line. Her silver hair was pinned back tightly. Not a strand out of place.
Sachie's stomach tightened.
But she kept her face blank. Or—no. Pleasant. Light. Not cheerful—just... acceptable.
"Welcome home," her grandmother said flatly.
"Thank you," Sachie replied with a small bow, her voice smooth and soft. "I'm back."
Her grandmother's eyes swept over her. No words. Just a pause. Long enough to notice the bruises. The ash on her uniform. The slight way her left arm was drawn close to her side.
Sachie's pulse ticked up. But she didn't let it show.
She stood straight, eyes down, hands folded in front of her.
"Well," her grandmother said finally, turning away. "Come inside. We'll talk about your performance."
Sachie nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
As she followed her grandmother into the quiet halls of the house, her steps soundless on the polished floor, the stiffness returned to her spine.
No praise. No warmth.
There never was.
She didn't know how she had done. Whether her score had been good enough. Whether her one act of saving someone would be seen as strength or a lack of control.
All she knew was the way her grandmother's presence pulled the air out of the room.
And how badly she wanted to disappear into it.
But she kept walking. Kept her shoulders straight.
Even when her hands wouldn't stop shaking.