The next morning, Reiji woke up before his alarm.
He stepped inside the garage while it was still dark outside. The floor was cold against his palms as he dropped into pushups. Then squats. Then crunches. Then sprinted in place until his lungs burned. His shirt clung to his back, soaked through before sunrise. After a short break, he activated his Stand again.
It moved as he did—mirroring each jab, block, and duck with perfect timing. Every movement looked clean. Balanced. But he could feel it draining him.
That first day, he only lasted ten minutes at normal output before collapsing onto the mat, arms shaking, sweat dripping from his chin.
He didn't complain. He kept grinding forward—not just training, but breaking past what he once thought were his limits
By the end of the first week, he could manage twelve minutes. Then fifteen. By the second week, twenty. But only if he didn't push into high output. That still knocked him out cold.
He adjusted. Built stamina. Focused on endurance.
One month in, Reiji could go a full hour at normal output and still stay standing. Not fresh, but not collapsed either. Just breathing heavy. He could feel the difference in his punches—sharper, faster. When he shadowboxed with the Stand, it felt tighter.
The output level itself was growing too. His normal state—what used to feel like 100%—was now closer to 120%. That meant higher bursts cost less. Short sprints at high output no longer left him useless for the rest of the day. He was adapting.
The garage lights flicked off behind him as he stepped out. Still early. Sky just turning blue.
now At school, nobody stared anymore.
But something had shifted the moment the class found out he had a Quirk.
The teacher stopped skipping his name during drills. She called on him during warmups. Gave him fair placement during PE.
In the halls, students didn't overlook him anymore. Some gave him a quick nod.
At lunch, someone waved him over to their table. Another slid over to make room.
No one made a big deal about it. But no one avoided him either.
Midterm rankings came out. Reiji's name was at the top.
Every board in the classroom—math, science, social studies—had his name near the top. Quiet or not, nobody questioned his work ethic.
After five years in the same classroom, people knew him for being focused. Calm. Fast. He did his part first in every group project. Listened during PE. Didn't show off. Didn't slack.
One morning, right after homeroom, the teacher turned to the class.
"Alright, everyone. I know some of you are planning to take the U.A. entrance exam."
A few students sat up straighter. Heads turned. The room quieted.
The teacher glanced at the roster. "you can learn from Kogane."
The teacher continued, "He's consistently ranked at the top of every subject. Finishes drills ahead of schedule. And I've seen the way he trains."
She looked at the rest of the room.
"If you're serious about passing the U.A. exam, take a page from his book. Show that kind of focus."
Reiji didn't react. He just returned to organizing his pencil case.
After class, she handed him a paper.
"Here's the exam schedule. You've been solid so far—just keep doing what you're doing."
Reiji took the page and nodded. "thank you."
She nodded and moved on.
That night, both his parents were home early.
His mom was in the kitchen reheating curry. His dad was on the living room floor, boots off, stretching out his legs. The house smelled like soap and rice.
Reiji dropped his school bag by the wall and walked in.
"U.A. exam date's coming up," he said.
His mom looked over from the stove. "You ready for it?"
Reiji took a second to answer. "Written's easy. Practical's fine as long as I don't burn out."
His mom stepped over and handed him a glass of water. "Don't go full output in your first match. You're not there to perform, and you don't need to use full power on everything."
"I know."
The next morning, Reiji stuck to his usual routine.
Reiji finished his morning jog just before eight. His form stayed clean—no limp, no drop in pace. His breathing was steady, even after five kilometers. He ran through the side streets, away from school traffic, then cut toward his usual café.
The door chimed when he stepped in. It was quiet—only one counter, two early office workers near the window, and music playing low from a speaker.
He ordered a black coffee. No sugar. No milk. Then stood by the window and waited.
Behind him, the front door slammed open.
Three men stepped in fast—tight formation. One zipped coat. One glass-eyed. One dragging fog from his sleeves.
The lead man raised his palm. Heat shimmered off it.
The worker glanced up. "Good morning—"
He scorched the edge of the register. The barista backed up.
The second pointed at the glass. It cracked with a thin, spreading line.
"nobody moves."
The third man stayed by the door. Mist rolled out underfoot, thick and slow.
Reiji didn't move.
He watched them in the window's reflection.
Then raised one hand to brush back his bangs.
"Harder. Better. Faster. Stronger."
The Stand appeared—chrome muscle, fluid motion, humming with pressure.
The heat user stepped forward—
CRACK.
One fist caved into his ribs. The sound broke across the café like dropped cement.
The fog user turned—
WHAM.
A rising blow launched him back into the glass. His coat snagged, twisted. He didn't get back up.
Glass Guy blinked—too slow.
BOOM.
A cross-hook exploded into his chest. He folded like paper and slid down the wall.
Three hits. Three down.
The Stand hovered beside Reiji—fists steaming, shoulders flexed, engine quiet.
Nobody had seen anything.
The barista's mouth opened. No words came out.
One office worker crawled out from under the table. "Was that—?"
Reiji took a sip of coffee.
"Maybe they fainted."
He stepped outside. Light breeze. Still warm.
Just another day.
[TL:-Hey guys, Let me know if anything felt off or didn't land right. I'm still working on the pacing and how the character comes across. Open to any thoughts—appreciate the feedback.]