Chapter Text
The bus lurched through Tokyo's morning traffic, packed with bodies and the collective anxiety of the first day of school. Bri Celestin pressed her forehead against the window, watching unfamiliar streets blur past while Spike, her English bulldog, snored contentedly on her lap. His wrinkled face twitched in doggy dreams, oblivious to the nervous energy radiating from the teenagers around them.
"You think they got crawfish in the cafeteria?" Bri’s New Orleans drawl cut through the low murmur of Japanese conversation. She scratched behind Spike’s ears, her fingernails—painted in alternating black and yellow stripes like a cartoon hazard sign—clicking softly against his collar.
Mason, wedged beside her in the narrow seat, looked up from his phone. "We're in Japan, Bri. I'm going to go out on a limb and say… probably not."
"Shame." Bri sighed dramatically. "Guess I’ll just have to survive on hope and miso soup."
Mason chuckled, pushing his wire-frame glasses up his nose. "You know they rotate international dishes in the cafeteria, right? I read the menu archives last night. There’s a rotation schedule, and—"
"Mason." She gave him a sideways look. "You really spent your last night of freedom reading old school menus?"
"Information is power," he said with a shrug. "And speaking of power—" He grinned. "Can you believe we’re actually here? U.A. High School."
He said it with reverence, like the name itself was carved into stone.
Bri nodded, shifting Spike slightly as the bus took a sharp turn. The dog grumbled, then nestled back into her lap. “Three nobodies from New Orleans, accepted into an international hero exchange program at the most prestigious school in the world. It don’t add up.”
Mason’s grin faltered. “Two nobodies now.”
The space beside them, the one where Ember should have been, felt too empty despite the crowd. Bri didn’t respond right away. Instead, she stared at the raindrops sliding down the glass, trying to blink away the mental image of Ember’s family at the airport—tight-lipped, refusing to sign the release forms.
“She wanted to come,” Mason offered, quiet.
“I know.” Bri's voice was flat.
A beat passed.
"You remember what that Hero Commission guy said, back when we got the letters?" she asked suddenly. “About how we ‘fit a very specific profile’?”
Mason nodded slowly. “Yeah. I figured it meant we were, I don’t know… promising.”
Bri’s lips curled, but not in amusement. "That ain't how he said it though."
She dropped her voice and mimicked the man's corporate cadence:
"High survivability. Unusual Quirk elasticity. No politically significant family ties."
Mason flinched. "Okay, yeah. When you say it like that…"
“He smiled the whole time,” Bri murmured. “Like I’d just won a pageant.”
The memory soured in her mouth. And then there was the screening—not an orientation, not a welcome party. A sterile, echoing room in a blank building where she’d been told to demonstrate her Quirk under “extreme stimulus.” She'd hung upside down over electrified goop, spinning like a rotisserie chicken while a hero in a lab coat watched her reactions and jotted notes. Mason had gone in after her and emerged pale and silent, refusing to talk about it.
But now wasn’t the time to unpack all that.
“Well, whatever the reason,” Mason said, “we’re here now.” He glanced up as the skyline shifted, glass and steel parting like curtains to reveal an enormous H-shaped building. “And that… is definitely UA.”
Conversations across the bus hushed. Students leaned into the windows, necks craning. Even Spike perked up, his jowls wobbling as he sniffed the air like he could sense the history humming in the stone.
"Holy hell," Bri whispered, momentarily forgetting to censor herself around Spike’s sensitive ears. "It's bigger than I thought."
The bus rolled to a stop. Outside the window, the school gates loomed open, flanked by groups of upperclassmen in full hero gear—costumes that blended armor, fabric, and tech with ease. Her fingers twitched. She needed to sketch them.
Mason slung his backpack over one shoulder and nudged her. “No turning back now.”
Bri stood and lifted Spike into her arms, his harness already secured. Her heart was a cannonball trapped in her chest—equal parts fear and excitement. “As if we’d want to.”
They descended into the current of students, swallowed by the flow. Bri paused only once, looking up at the entrance archway, letting the wind rush past her like it was clearing space just for her and Spike.
A small piece of her, buried beneath the jokes and the bravado, whispered that something felt wrong.
But louder than that was the voice of hope.
She clutched Spike close and grinned.
“Laissez les bons temps rouler,” she murmured.
Let the good times roll.
And for the first time since receiving that strange acceptance letter, Bri allowed herself to believe they would.
Somewhere nearby, a camera lens retracted back into a black government sedan parked along the curb.