Mailin’s POV

The first day of our work-study begins with a quiet, early morning at the agency. The air feels different here—charged, like something big is about to happen. I stand with Shota, Shirakumo, and Hizashi, all of us waiting for Nemuri to start our training. I can’t help but feel a mixture of nerves and excitement. This is it—the moment we really get to learn what being a hero is all about.

Nemuri arrives, her usual energy and charisma lighting up the room. She’s confident, graceful, but there’s a sharpness in her gaze that tells me she’s taking this seriously.

“All right, everyone,” she says, her voice smooth but commanding. “Today’s about finding your strengths and learning how to use them to support each other. It’s not always about who can hit the hardest—it’s about who can think on their feet, who can stay calm in the face of chaos.”

I glance at Shota, standing beside me. He looks calm, but I can see the tension in his posture, the slight furrow in his brow. He’s been like this since the start of the work-study—distant, frustrated. I know he’s struggling, even if he won’t say it out loud.

Nemuri pairs me with her for the first part of the training, focusing on non-combat skills. We work on strategy, teamwork, and support roles—things that aren’t always flashy, but are just as important. It feels good, like I’m finding my place. This is where I shine—helping, healing, supporting those who need it.

But as the training goes on, I can’t help but notice Shota out of the corner of my eye. He’s paired with Shirakumo, working on more direct combat skills, but it’s clear he’s frustrated. His movements are sharp, almost too sharp, like he’s trying to push himself beyond his limits. I can see the anger simmering beneath the surface, the way he clenches his jaw when things don’t go the way he wants them to.

When the session finally ends, we’re all exhausted. Nemuri calls for a break, and while the others head for water, I linger for a moment, watching Shota. He stands off to the side, staring at the ground, lost in thought. The frustration is still there, etched into every line of his body.

I walk over to him, feeling the weight of the moment. I’m not sure what to say, but I know I need to say something.

“You did well today,” I offer quietly.

He glances at me, and for a second, I think he’s going to brush me off like he usually does. But instead, he holds my gaze, something unspoken passing between us.

“I don’t feel like I did,” he mutters, his voice low, almost defeated.

I take a step closer, hesitating before I speak. “We all have our own strengths, Shota. It’s not about being perfect—it’s about finding what works for you and building on that. You’ll get there.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes shifts, just a little. There’s a flicker of something—appreciation, maybe?—before he turns away again. It’s a small moment, but it feels important. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to let me in.

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Shota’s POV

This training is a waste of time.

I’m standing here, fists clenched at my sides, watching Shirakumo and Hizashi laugh like this is some kind of game. They don’t get it. They don’t understand the pressure I’m under, the constant feeling that I’m falling behind, that I’m not good enough. Every time I try to focus, it slips away from me, like I’m grasping at something I can’t reach.

Nemuri’s training is fine, I guess. She’s good at what she does, and I respect her. But today, everything feels off. I can’t stop thinking about how useless my Quirk feels in a real fight. Sure, I can erase someone’s power, but what then? What good is that if I don’t have the strength to back it up?

I run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up inside me. I’m trying, I really am. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mailin, standing with Nemuri. She’s calm, focused, like she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be. I don’t get it. How can she stay so steady, so composed, when everything feels like it’s spinning out of control? She’s got this quiet strength that I can’t figure out, and it’s starting to get under my skin.

After training, I move away from the others, needing some space. I’m tired—physically and mentally. I can’t keep up this facade of being okay when everything inside me feels like it’s falling apart.

And then she’s there. Mailin. I didn’t even see her approach, but suddenly she’s standing in front of me, her eyes soft but steady. For a second, I feel exposed, like she can see right through me.

“You did well today,” she says, her voice gentle.

I want to brush her off, to tell her she’s wrong. But something about the way she’s looking at me stops me. She’s not judging me. She’s not trying to make me feel better for the sake of it. She’s just... there. And somehow, that makes it worse.

“I don’t feel like I did,” I mutter, not sure why I’m even admitting this to her.

She takes a step closer, and I can feel the warmth of her presence. “We all have our own strengths, Shota. It’s not about being perfect—it’s about finding what works for you and building on that. You’ll get there.”

Her words hit harder than they should. Maybe because deep down, I know she’s right. But it doesn’t change the fact that I still feel like I’m drowning.

I don’t say anything else. I can’t. But I hold her gaze for a moment longer than I should, something shifting inside me. There’s a part of me that wants to believe her, that wants to trust what she’s saying. But the other part—the part that’s always doubted myself—won’t let me.

She walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And for the first time in a long time, I find myself thinking about her. About the way she stays calm in the chaos. About the way she sees me, really sees me, without judgment. It’s unsettling. And yet, I can’t stop thinking about it.

About her.