Kazuki Hayate did not think of himself as intimidating.
This was important to him.
He made a point of softening his gaze in reflections, relaxing his shoulders, keeping his hands visible. He smiled often. Not the big heroic smile yet, but a smaller one. Friendly. Encouraging. The kind that said I am listening instead of I am judging you.
It did not seem to work.
The halls parted for him now.
Not dramatically. Not like people were running away. Just a step to the side. A pause mid-conversation. Lockers closing a little too fast. Kazuki noticed it the way one notices a sudden breeze, mildly curious but unconcerned.
People were weird sometimes.
Takeshi Yamada walked beside him every morning.
Not next to him. Slightly behind and to the right.
Kazuki assumed Takeshi just liked personal space.
Takeshi, a rhino mutant with a hulking frame, thick gray skin, and a single blunt horn set low on his forehead, scanned the halls like a sentry. His quirk enhanced his durability and strength naturally, no activation required. His posture made teachers nervous.
Kazuki thought it made him look dependable.
"You don't have to walk me to class," Kazuki said one morning, adjusting his bag strap.
Takeshi frowned. "Yeah. I know."
He kept walking.
At lunch, Takeshi took his usual seat. No slamming today. No glares. Just a quiet presence and a tray stacked higher than strictly necessary.
Kazuki ate happily.
Halfway through the meal, someone hovered at the edge of the table.
"Um," a voice said.
Kazuki looked up. "Yes?"
The boy standing there had neatly combed hair and sharp eyes behind thin glasses. He held a notebook to his chest like a shield.
"I'm Kenji Matsuda," he said. "Mind if I sit?"
"Of course," Kazuki said immediately, scooting his tray over.
Takeshi stared at Kenji.
Kenji sat anyway.
Kenji's quirk, Kazuki would later learn, was Tactical Projection. When focused, Kenji could visualize probability trees and strategic outcomes in his mind, like layered maps of cause and effect. It did not make him stronger. It made him careful.
Right now, it made him very interested in Kazuki Hayate.
"You're the one from the gym," Kenji said lightly.
Kazuki nodded. "I just asked them to stop."
Kenji smiled. "And they did."
"That's usually how that works," Kazuki said, genuinely confused.
Takeshi nearly choked on his drink.
Kenji's smile widened.
From that day on, Kenji joined them regularly. He asked questions framed as jokes.
"If a hero wanted to reduce crime without fighting, where would they stand?"
"If someone kept causing trouble in the same area, would that mean they wanted attention or control?"
Kazuki answered between bites of lunch.
"Probably attention."
"Or they feel unsafe."
"Standing somewhere visible helps."
Kenji wrote things down.
Kazuki assumed he was studying.
Rin Kobayashi appeared the following week.
She did not ask to sit. She kicked a chair back with her foot and dropped into it, balancing easily.
Rin's quirk was Impact Reinforcement. She could harden parts of her body at the moment of contact, turning punches, kicks, or collisions devastatingly effective. It required confidence and timing.
She had both.
"So you're the calm one," she said, eyes sharp.
Kazuki smiled. "I just try not to make things worse."
Rin laughed. "That's not what I heard."
"What did you hear?"
"That you make people stop."
Kazuki blinked. "Oh. That."
Rin watched him for a long moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
She stayed.
Daichi Suzuki joined last, and entirely by accident.
Daichi's quirk, Load Bearer, allowed him to increase his strength in proportion to the weight he carried. The heavier the burden, the stronger he became. He had been asked to move equipment after school and underestimated the task.
Kazuki noticed him struggling.
"Want help?" Kazuki asked.
Daichi stared at him like he had been offered salvation.
They carried the boxes together. Kazuki slowed his steps and focused on his breathing, the way he had been taught. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Long, steady, controlled.
The air responded.
It always did.
Kazuki's quirk did not move wind the way people expected. It was not gusts or blasts. It was pressure. Balance. The subtle manipulation of air density and flow, guided by breath and intent. Around his hands and shoulders, the air thickened just enough to support the weight without anyone noticing.
The boxes did not float. They did not shift visibly.
They simply felt lighter.
Daichi bowed so deeply afterward that Kazuki panicked.
"You really don't have to do that," Kazuki said quickly. "I just helped."
Daichi nodded fiercely. "Right. Yes. Of course."
He began sitting with them the next day.
By winter, Kazuki had a friend group.
That realization hit him one afternoon while they were crammed into a corner of the library, books spread out, Rin tapping her pencil too hard, Takeshi hunched protectively over the table, and Kenji whispering corrections under his breath. Daichi was holding everyone's bags because he "didn't mind."
Kazuki smiled to himself.
Friends.
He had always imagined friendship would be louder. More dramatic. This felt comfortable instead.
They studied together. Walked home together. Shared food. Complained about homework. Rin stole fries off Kazuki's tray without asking. Takeshi pretended not to notice but always shifted so she was on the inside of the sidewalk. Kenji organized their notes into color-coded folders no one had requested. Daichi carried everything anyway.
Sometimes Kazuki said things out loud that were really just thoughts.
"It helps if people look out for each other," he said once, watching two students argue near the gates.
"Problems don't get big if you notice them early," he added another time, noticing trash piling up in a stairwell.
"You don't need force if you have presence," he muttered after a teacher broke up a fight just by standing there.
They listened very carefully.
Too carefully, if Kazuki had stopped to think about it.
The next week, the stairwell was spotless. Students Kazuki barely recognized started greeting him politely. A rumor spread that arguments near the gates "weren't allowed anymore," though no one could say who decided that.
Kazuki assumed it was coincidence.
He noticed the school felt calmer. Quieter. Safer, somehow. Teachers seemed less tense. Detentions dropped. Even the vending machine stopped getting shaken for loose change.
He liked that.
One afternoon, as they walked home beneath pale winter light, Kazuki laughed quietly. "Middle school isn't so bad."
Takeshi slowed his steps slightly, instinctively placing himself between Kazuki and the street.
Kenji adjusted his glasses, already cataloging the statement.
Rin cracked her knuckles, grinning like she'd been waiting to hear it.
Daichi straightened, shoulders back, as if bracing to carry something heavier.
Kazuki didn't notice any of that.
He was busy thinking about homework, dinner, and whether finger guns were still cool at thirteen.
He was just glad his friends were doing better.
Somewhere between the school gates and the quiet streets beyond, the foundation finished setting.
Kazuki Hayate walked home smiling.
And behind him, order followed.