[Time Skip – Age 4]
Preschool. Hell, but with nap time.
Me and Calvin—sorry, Arata—were officially old enough to be shoved into the "learning and socializing" machine. And by that, I mean our parents needed a break before we started trying to set the curtains on fire again.
Our first day started like any other: shoes too tight, hair messed up, and my mom giving the "be polite, make friends" speech for the hundredth time. Dad just stood there, wings twitching like he was ready to scoop us out if things went south.
The classroom was bright, colorful, and way too happy for my taste. Alphabet letters danced along the wall, tiny chairs were set up in a circle, and the smell of crayons and glue hit me like a brick of nostalgia and mild nausea.
That's when I saw him. Spiky blond hair. Permanent scowl. A voice already set to "maximum volume."
Katsuki Bakugo. Age: 4. Energy: 400%.
He was in the corner, loudly declaring that he was going to be the "Number One Hero" and that everyone else might as well just give up now. The other kids were looking at him like he'd just invented bread.
"Great," I muttered under my breath. "We found the loud one." Arata smirked. "Bet he's fun at birthday parties."
Of course, it took about three minutes for him to notice us. "You two! Who are you?!" I blinked. "Uh… Hinari and Arata." Bakugo stomped over, sizing us up like we were rival gang members instead of two four-year-olds. "Hmph. You look weak." "Thanks," I said flatly. "You look like you scream a lot." Arata snorted. Bakugo's eyes narrowed. "When I get my Quirk, I'm be the number one hero" "Cool," Arata said, dead serious. "I like fireworks." The teacher, bless her soul, tried to corral everyone into circle time before Bakugo decided to test that threat on the nearest pencil sharpener.
[Weeks Later – Quirk Day]
In the MHA world, kids usually start manifesting Quirks before age 4–5. And sure enough, one lazy Saturday morning, it happened. I was in the living room, building a Lego tower. Arata was sitting across from me, looking suspiciously focused on a plastic truck. Then—poof—a tiny flame flickered on his thumb.
A small orange flame, "Dude," I hissed. "Dude," he whispered back. We stared at it for a second before he shook his hand, extinguishing it. The smell of faintly burnt plastic filled the air.
Then it was my turn. It started with a weird heat in my chest, like my heartbeat was on overdrive. My toes tingled, then my whole foot, and suddenly my nails sharpened into curved talons—not bone-colored, but glowing faint blue like steel lit by fire. Wisps of faint azure flame curled around them before vanishing.
Not huge—just enough to make me look like I'd been in a fight with a hawk who moonlighted as a campfire. Arata's eyes widened. "Bro… is that…?" "Shh!" I cut him off, glancing toward the kitchen. "Remember the plan—minimum power, act surprised when it 'happens' in front of Mom and Dad."
Of course, fate didn't wait long to test that. Mom walked in with snacks, spotted my foot, and froze mid-step. "Hinari… your toenails…" I gasped like I had no idea what was going on, wiggled my toes, and let the faint blue flames sputter out. "Uh-oh."
She dropped the tray. Dad rushed in, wings sprouting out of his back, like he was ready to grab me and fly away. Arata, ever the actor, immediately lit a tiny flame on his finger—and yelled, "LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!"
Mom and Dad exchanged a look—half pride, half panic. They thought they'd just discovered we had inherited their Quirks. Perfect. Exactly what we wanted. Inside, though? I could still feel the faint burn in my chest. Like the flames weren't gone—they were just… waiting.
After a brief checkup to the doctor we had our quirks registered, my brother's quirk, an emitter type that lets him produce flames from anywhere from his body, it's called Blazeborn, while my quirk, a transformation type called fire talons. Little did the doctors know that there was a lot more then just "talons" that I'd be able to do later one
The next morning, preschool was buzzing like someone had spiked the apple juice with espresso. Word spread fast — Bakugo had his quirk now. Which meant the volume knob on his ego got cranked from "obnoxious" to "ear-bleeding."
We barely made it through the door before he was already showing off to a crowd of wide-eyed four-year-olds. Tiny pops and sparks exploded from his hands like party poppers, and he was soaking in the attention like a cat in a sunbeam.
"See that?! That's power! None of you losers can beat me now!"
Arata nudged me. "Told you. Huge dick phase unlocked."
I smirked. "So, what's the plan? Just straight-up roast him in front of everyone or go subtle?"
"Subtle?" Arata raised an eyebrow. "Nah. We go full dramatic."
We waited until circle time, when the teacher asked everyone to share something new they'd learned. Bakugo practically vibrated in his seat, clearly ready to jump in. The second it was his turn, he leapt to his feet.
"I got my Quirk!" He thrust his palms out and let out a small explosion, singeing the air. A couple of kids gasped.
Before the applause could start, I raised my hand. "That's cute. My brother and I got ours too."
I flexed my foot under the table, just enough for the talons to slide out, glowing faint blue before curling back in. Arata followed up by letting a small flame dance along his arm, ending with a flick that made it vanish like magic.
The room went silent for a second, then the oohs started.
Bakugo froze. His jaw clenched like he'd just bitten into a lemon. "Tch. So what? Mine's still the strongest."
I tilted my head, smiling sweetly. "Sure, if you like baby fireworks."
Arata grinned. "Don't worry, maybe one day you'll get big ones."
The teacher tried to intervene before things turned into an actual four-year-old turf war, but the look on Bakugo's face told me all I needed to know. Round one: us.