Have you seen a greenhouse before? The transparent glass that which protects the greenery inside from the rain, the wind, and the hands of humans who wish to do them harm?
Have you? Have you not? It matters not.
After all, can one truly say the greenery are protected? Are they not groomed instead, for the purpose of others? What difference does it make then, for them to be exposed to the elements when they are grown into something not of their will but of others? Inside a cage of glass instead of that of the open fields?
Perhaps it's a crueler fate then for them, to see the outside world but never to feel. Nature is what they are, but they are not a part of nature, no. Not in the ways that count. Protected by mere fragile, yet unbreakable glass, what they will become lay in the hands of not their own.
And perhaps much the same can be said for humans. Shielded from what is perceived as dangerous, dangerous, dangerous ventures, denied of the opportunities they could have, all due to the hands of Man.
Or perhaps they were unaware that what they've been denied were opportunities; perhaps so protected were they that they believed those who raised them had instead granted them shelter.
Are you aware of this? Are you not? It matters not.
The sand which you trample on the beach has slipped through your hands. After all, no matter how you turn your clock, time only moves forward.
However, as I see your running figure towards the unspoken cry for help that none dared to approach, I now know that your clock has started once more. Finally, you have put faith in yourself.
And it is exactly your self-belief that you may somehow help the boy who torments you so when none can, that the only one who could has now extended his time. The man who can only be described as past his time has once again risen to the occasion.
The man has not noticed the eyes that watch him as his body changes from skeletal to muscular—so captivated was he by your display of courage.
The man, more aptly known as All Might, then rushes into the scene, a single punch to put a rest to the din. The crowd cheers, oblivious that courage has slipped through their fingers. Such a society is damned to cower when their fragile glass windows are shattered, and no more protection will be offered. For now, they shall celebrate as ignorance of the future permeates their being.
There is a hilarity in the fact that this is the society that I am obliged to help. Indeed, one questions the reason to help a society that refuses to help itself. And perhaps that is a shortcoming of I, one who fashions themself a Seraphim, to be questioning so. An angel of such stature should be selfless, rid of the self-importance that Man carries so proudly.
However, the mistake might lay with the old wizard who first allowed my conversion from Man to Angel. In his race to secure victory over a bet he made against his own kind, negligence might have factored in the way I have turned out.
Between the two choices laid out, it is a blessing I'd say that my human-self chose the more benevolent one. In exchange for magical powers, she sought to help at least two hundred people every year. My human-self could have chosen instead to prioritise only herself and went with the pleasure-fiend of a wizard, in which she was only bound to help herself and her alone. Alas, human treasures their connection to others.
I digress, but it seems that despite the vast powers that being a Seraphim entails, my character still contains elements of that of a vulnerable human. Perhaps, the traits and quirks that carry over from my time as that woman are the last vestiges of something that makes myself who I am.
It matters not.
With my unbefitting vanity satisfied, I divert my eyes to the conclusion of Midoriya Izuku's bravery and start my trek home. Coming from Besbin Middle School, it should not arouse any feelings of oddity that I was in the vicinity. After all, Aldera and Besbin are both in Musutafu. A student from either of the two schools coming to watch the almost tragedy is simply a coincidence.
Should my presence be noted in any way significant, it is a simple matter of inconvenience.
After all, a world akin to a playground no longer poses a threat to the great.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
In the gray area of a plotless period, time holds no meaning as the days pass by. Sitting in the clasroom, holding a performative smile none could see behind the pair of white wings that cover my face, I converse the mundane with the humans. In the grand scheme of this world's story, these classmates of mine hold no importance, and dare I say, dispensable. Should they die this very day, only the faceless will weep for their death.
The only named one in this class, Jirou Kyouka are not friends with the ones I hold conversation with. Acquaintance at best. Ergo, she will not weep the deaths of those who talk to me. If so, should these humans die, I shall weep for them—even if the tears are fake, and the condolences are lies.
I shall not let empathy die.
The hustle and bustle then dissipate as the door to the class slide open. The homeroom teacher announces her presence, instructing my standing classmates to be seated. In her hand she carries a stack of papers—the collective exam results no doubt. When she tells the class so, an almost palpable tension arises.
"Now then, I'll give out the papers in descending order of the score you guys have achieved." She looks down at the papers in her hand, smiles, before setting her gaze upon me. "Congratulations, Mikaela. Another perfect score across the board."
I rise from my seat amidst the applause of my classmates, and go to retrieve my results. As is expected, there is no flaw in my marks. The slight joy at the unfair superiority I hold over these humans is unbefitting. Another unfortunate trait I carry from my human years.
"Keep up the good work, Mikaela," the teacher says, addressing my first name so casually, her smile unbidden that her prized student has not disappointed her.
My paper in hand, I sit myself, a surety in my chest that she will subtly brag to the other homeroom teachers about her perfect student. Vanity, it seems, is something she shares similarly to myself.
The teacher continues handing out the results, with Jirou Kyouka notably being in 7th place. Names which has no significance are constantly spelled out, until she reaches the end. The student whose score is the lowest, simply hangs their head as they go back to their seat.
Exams, scores, marks, ranks—all of these used to be the determinants of my human life now no longer hold importance. It is perhaps liberating in a way, but I cannot claim with certainty that is how I should have felt.
The teacher then says, "That's all for the exam results. Mikaela and Kyouka, come see me in the counsel's office after school."
I nod to show my assent, the same as Jirou. There is only one reason the teacher should want to see the two of us simultaneously, and that is pertaining to our entry applications to U.A., the most prestigious hero school in Japan.
Certainly, it seems Jirou is unaware of this as she sends an inquiring look to me, however, it is no mystery as to why. Unlike Aldera, Besbin Middle School holds itself to at least the standard confidentiality. Disregarding so, our classmates persist in asking the reason, with Jirou struggling to provide an answer. It seems she too has told nobody regarding her wish to enroll into U.A.
Deflecting their questions is an inconvenience, but it is not to the point I'd resort to using compulsions to redirect. And doing so would require no effort. A simple thought, and they will forget what it is they seek from me. However, removal of obstacles in such a way does not interest me.
Boredom is perhaps the only constant battle in this new life of mine as a Seraphim. Only an imposed restriction at my behest can make anything remotely entertaining. In that sense, I have truly failed as an angel, to be playing with human lives. But as humans are, selfishness is always at the core.
And for all that I am now an angel, I, too, was once human.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
In the counsel's office after school are Jirou and I. Both of us sit in silence. For all that our homeroom teacher wishes to see us, it is an irony that she is the most late out of us three.
The silence is only comfortable for one of us, and it certainly shows with the way Jirou fiddles with her earlobes. And perhaps she somehow thinks I'm incapable of sight simply because of my wings covering my face, but her peeks has grown unsubtle. However, that cannot be true for I had displayed perfect capability of sight in the past.
Then, it is not a matter of ignorance on her part, but curiosity. But, I tire of this tiptoeing humans oft to do.
"It seems you are applying for U.A. as well, Jirou-san."
"Huh?" Jirou jolts in her seat. "I, uh, how did you know?"
How typical it is for humans to miss the cue. I stay silent, letting her come to the conclusion that, affirmatively, I will be joining U.A.
"Wait, 'as well'? Hayakawa-san, you're going to U.A.?!" She now has her whole body facing me, her hands on the table.
For courtesy, I turn my head to face her. "Yes, is it that surprising?"
Do I seem to care so little for human life that the most sought after profession for adolescents—a hero—is an aspiration so far removed from me?
"Uh, no… I mean, yeah, a little bit." She fiddles with her earlobe. "You just don't seem like the type. I don't mean that in a bad way, you know? Just that, with you being so smart, I see you becoming a doctor, or a lawyer instead."
"Are you implying that the hero profession is for brutes, then? Or perhaps you think my Quirk is unsuitable?"
At my reply, she shakes her head, her long earlobes swaying as she tries to deny her implications. Regardless of her intentions, one's words come from their beliefs, unconsciously or consciously. I doubt not that she implies nothing close to my accusation, but the alternative is that she simply doesn't believe in my heroism.
Indeed, I do not portray myself as enthusiastic about the occupation, and I have not displayed my Quirk as my peers are eager to do. I hold nothing against those who doubt me so. However, seeing her so frantic is amusing enough that I see no point in clarifying that I was simply joking.
Jirou's denials are then interrupted when our homeroom teacher enters the room. Apologies spill from the teacher's lips, excuses of her class finishing late as a preemptive defence against our potential annoyance.
Taking a breath to sort herself, she begins, "Now then, the reason I called you two here is because you guys applied for U.A."
"Y-Yes."
"Is there perhaps a problem with our applications, Sensei?"
"I won't call it a problem, Mikaela, but have you two thought to maybe apply to other schools?" She doesn't quite sigh, but the hesitation shows in the way she pauses. "For Mikaela, your scores are fine, more than fine actually, but it's your Quirk I'm worried about. Kyouka, on the other hand, I'm sure you can do something with your Quirk, but your scores might not cut it. Seventh place in class is good, but translating those scores to U.A.'s written exam might be hard."
I see. Perhaps she indeed has some considerations towards her students. However, it is undeniable that what concerns her most is the impact that her students' performance will have on her as a teacher. Should the two of us fail to enter U.A., she might become a laughing stock for the other teachers after all the times she has bragged about her excellent teachings to the others.
Indeed, I understand her concern for my combat prowess. As aforementioned, nothing is known of my Quirk except the fact I possess a pair of wings. A pair of wings that is seemingly incapable of flight, and whose sole purpose is to hide a teenage boy's face from others. For all intents and purposes, the wings appear as a mere shield for insecurity. And as for Jirou, her exam scores are still in need of improvement.
The two of us, in different ways, do not inspire confidence in our teacher. Less so when one considers that our school is a rather middling one. Then, perhaps, that which inspires the least is the school itself, and not us.
Jirou looks down for a moment before she replies, "Sensei, I'm thankful that you're worried for us, but being a hero has always been my dream. And attending U.A. is what I've always wanted."
Our teacher then sighs before she nods her head. She then looks to me for confirmation.
I nod. There is no need for superfluous words. Should she still be opposed to our applications, it matters not. She has no power to overrule the decisions we make. However, it seems the fight in her no longer simmers as she simply sighs for the second time. Then, after she confirms for the last time—more to her benefit than ours—she lets us go.
Going out of the counsel's room, Jirou breathes out, her shoulders that have been tense drooping. "Haah, I thought my choice to go to U.A. would be rejected for a moment there."
I start walking beside her towards our class. "Regardless of Sensei's concerns and objections, our application will still go through. It matters not what others think."
"…You're really confident, you know that?"
"I have no reason to lack belief in us. You will enter U.A.'s Hero Course, and so will I."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Jirou rubs her neck, a tinge of pink coloring her visage.
Humans truly are vulnerable, even to the most trivial of things like a statement of fact. Even if unintentional, it seems this instance is enough for me to be considered to have helped a person, if the odd feeling unique to my task is any indication.
With her piece said, we walk the rest of the way in companionable silence.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The day of the U.A. entrance exams, February 26.
Kyouka walks to the U.A. school gates, and though she has prepared herself, she still barely could sleep the night before. As she nears the building, her stomach knots itself into interesting shapes—at least she thinks her stomach does such things, what with how she feels like puking.
It's still early, around 8:30 in the morning when really, the written exams start at 9:30 AM and end at 10:30 AM. Only an hour to answer the crazy hard questions is, well, crazy. Hayakawa will probably breeze through the written exams with time to spare, though.
Speaking of Hayakawa, Kyouka decided shortly after they met their homeroom teacher in the counsel's room to exchange contact information. Despite only being classsmates with their interactions prior to that day being nothing but greetings and goodbyes, she finds him to be a decent guy. From time to time afterward, she'd ask him exam questions she didn't understand to do, and he'd help her with nary a complaint.
On days where she's a bit more confident, she'd say the two of them are friends, but it's hard to tell behind those wings Hayakawa hides his face with. Most of the time though, she feels they are merely acquaintances for Hayakawa never really initiates a conversation with her, not even about their shared applications to U.A.
Barring his undeniable intelligence, perhaps he's just that confident in his Quirk and strength. Who knows really? That guy keeps anything personal to himself even when he's mostly polite and amiable.
But maybe that mystery around him is why he has an almost-fanclub in their school. Surprisingly, the number of females to males who admire him doesn't differ all that much. It's a wonder how it's an open secret to everyone but the person in question. Then again, Hayakawa is a pretty indifferent person, all things considered.
Being the only two from Besbin applying to U.A., Kyouka decided to invite Hayakawa to go to the exams together. Their meeting point was decided to be at the U.A. school gates. But the time they decided to meet is at 9 and she is 30 minutes early.
Kyouka adjusts her scarf. It's still a bit cold but spring will be coming soon, so it's not so unbearable to wear her school uniform that includes a skirt. Still, she wears high-knee socks because as close as Spring is, it isn't close enough.
Looking up after adjusting her attire, she spots the familiar combination of white hair and wings up ahead. Dressed in Besbin's dark school uniform, he leans on the wall near the U.A. school gate.
Hayakawa? Why's he so early? Maybe he's nervous too?
She jogs the rest of the way to him, and lifts a hand in greeting. "Good morning, Hayakawa-san. You're early."
Hayakawa presumably lifts his head and nods—it's a bit hard to tell when his wings cover so much—in greeting. "I thought perhaps you'd need an earlier company, hence the decision to arrive at this time instead of the promised 9."
Alright, maybe she understands a bit more how he's so secretly liked by so many.
"…Thanks for the consideration."
"It's wiser for us to wait inside. There's a waiting room allocated for the examinees."
Hayakawa nods and tilts his head towards the U.A. building.
It's nice of him to have already asked around. Then again, such pragmatic conduct is also expected. In a way, Kyouka feels a bit useless at times in Hayakawa's presence.
…Only a bit, though. As a hero prospect, she too has pride and confidence in her capabilities. That should be the case, right?
She looks up at the imposing U.A. building which now looms over her. Setting her gaze upon it used to inspire awe in her but now it only serves to instill in her a sense of trepidation and anxiety.
Can she truly make it? Into the famed Hero Course the whole of Japan's aspiring heroes are competing for? True, she has not been idle in the months leading up to the entrance exam, but surely the other hopeful examinees have not been sitting on their thumbs, have they? It is no wonder her pessimism is battling her confidence in a bid for victory. She knows that it is far too late to second guess her decision to pursue U.A. now, but the longer she stares at the school building, the more her feet refuse to budge.
"Are you worried, Jirou?" Hayakawa's voice breaks her spiraling thoughts.
Kyouka averts her eyes from the school to meet the white of her fellow classmate's wings. "Is it that obvious?"
"Quite." And here she thinks she has a good poker face. "However, you should have no reason to worry. I have seen your efforts and you too know you have done your utmost until now better than anyone." Hayakawa walks to the gate, about to cross the threshold she is afraid of crossing.
Subconsciously, she follows behind him.
"Surely many may have told you this, but I believe in you." He stops and turns to face her once again. Hayakawa's wings rise ever so slightly and though only his mouth is visible now, there Kyouka spots a small smile on his pale face.
He crosses the threshold and holds out his hand. "So, believe in yourself."
Kyouka takes his hand and crosses over.
"…Okay."