Kaito didn't mean to copy the next quirk.Just like he hadn't meant to copy Reina's. Or fly. Or fall. Or land in a koi pond.But it happened anyway.It started the same way most things did in the Yukimura household: with routine. Every Tuesday, the silver trays in the west dining hall were polished. Every Wednesday, the stone path to the garden was scrubbed. And every Saturday, at precisely 7:00 AM, the staff rotated duties between the main hall and the back garden.Kaito loved Saturdays.There were always new people to observe—new quirks to wonder about, even if he wasn't supposed to ask. But that didn't stop him from watching. From guessing.He'd become good at it, too. Subtle changes in posture, little gestures, the way someone's fingers flicked when they passed an object—he catalogued it all.The new footman, Renji, walked like he had magnets in his boots. Kaito guessed "metal manipulation." One of the kitchen staff always carried extra water bottles but never drank from them. Hydration quirk? Maybe healing?But that day, he wasn't thinking about copying anyone. He just wanted an extra rice cracker.He darted past the kitchen, sliding around the corner and bumping full-force into Mako, the scullery assistant."Whoa—sorry, Miss Mako!"She stumbled but caught herself easily—too easily. Her body twisted midair like it had no bones, flowing around the impact instead of resisting it."Careful, young master," she said, patting his head with a warm smile.Kaito blinked. "You moved weird."She raised an eyebrow. "I prefer 'gracefully.'"Then she carried on, shoulders bouncing with laughter.Kaito watched her go.Something buzzed faintly under his skin. Not like before—not the wings. Different. Lower. Softer.It passed quickly.So he ignored it.Until later that day, when he tried to slide under a table to retrieve a dropped pencil…And folded his shoulder joints in an impossible angle without a hint of pain.Kaito stared at his arm for a full minute.He was still under the table, pencil forgotten. His right shoulder had folded inward like a snake curling around itself—something no six-year-old should be able to do, no matter how flexible.He twisted it back into place. No pain. No effort.His eyes narrowed."...That's not normal," he whispered.He slid out from under the table, stood up, and looked around. The study was empty. The halls were quiet. Still, he tiptoed toward the mirror in the entryway, flexed his arms, and tried the motion again.The joint rotated. Snapped. Bent.Effortlessly."I think I copied Miss Mako," he murmured.He didn't understand how. He hadn't focused. He hadn't tried. He'd barely touched her. And it had been hours ago.Was this still the same quirk as his father's?He remembered what Akihiko said: "It should only last twenty-four hours."But Reina's wings had lasted days.And now this.By the end of the week, Kaito had copied four more quirks.All without trying.One maid had heat-resistant skin—he discovered it when he reached for a hot kettle and didn't flinch.Another could see slightly in the dark—he realized this while crawling through a narrow attic corridor and noticing his vision sharpen.One butler had a minor speed enhancement that helped him carry trays faster. Kaito ran down the hall and nearly tripped over his own momentum.And one gardener had soil-sensing fingertips—he could feel the shape of things buried underground. Kaito felt it when he reached into a potted plant and knew, somehow, exactly where the root ball was.Each time, he told himself it was just coincidence.Each time, he was wrong.He didn't tell his father.He didn't tell his mother.And he definitely didn't tell Reina.But late at night, under his blanket fort, he began writing in a small notebook:"Quirk Log"Wings (Reina) – flying, crystal/light-basedMako – hyper-flexibilityKitchen lady – heat resistanceHallway maid – low-light sightButler #2 – short-burst speedGardener – earth sensitivityNext to the list, he wrote a question."Why aren't they disappearing?"He chewed on the pencil tip and stared at the page.He didn't know it yet, but he had just taken his first step into something bigger.Something dangerous.By the next week, Kaito wasn't waiting for quirks to come to him anymore.He started testing.Small things at first—stretching when no one watched, grabbing hot pots just to see, running short distances and tracking how fast his heart beat afterward. He pretended to play in the dark so he could test his eyes, then buried things in flowerpots to see if he could still "feel" the roots.It all worked.The quirks didn't fade. Not after a day. Not after two. Not after a week.His father's quirk faded after 24 hours. That was the rule. That was what Akihiko had always said. It's what Kaito had believed.But this?This wasn't normal."This isn't Dad's quirk," he whispered to himself one evening, standing barefoot on the cool wood floor of his room.The mirror reflected a small boy with tousled hair, ink smudges on his fingers, and a nervous flicker in his eyes.He flexed his hand. Flames didn't appear. He didn't glow. Nothing sparkled.But he felt it.Something inside him buzzed faintly—like puzzle pieces shifting and clicking into place, something organizing itself quietly.He didn't understand it.But he didn't stop.That weekend, he began testing combinations.He didn't even realize that's what he was doing—not really. He was still just a kid, curious and imaginative. But some part of him, deep inside, wanted to see what would happen if he used two quirks at once.So he waited until late evening, after the household quieted, and slipped into the garden.The moon was bright overhead. The koi pond rippled gently, reflecting fragments of starlight.Kaito crouched low to the ground and pressed his fingertips into the soil—channeling the gardener's earth sensitivity. Then, with one deep breath, he focused on the speed quirk.He took off.In that moment, something inside him clicked.He could feel both quirks working in tandem. His feet knew exactly where to land. His hands felt every change in terrain. The wind whipped past his ears as he dashed through the yard, silent and barefoot.He wasn't just fast.He was aware. Tuned in. Controlled.It was the most alive he'd felt since the wings.Back in his room, panting and flushed, he grabbed his notebook and added a line:"I can use more than one quirk at once."Then, beneath it:"They don't fade. They stay. They become mine."He underlined the last three words twice.And for the first time since that first flight… he felt scared.Kaito hadn't meant to grow distant.He still smiled when spoken to. Still answered questions. Still played with the koi and colored pictures for his mother's desk. But something behind his eyes had shifted.He couldn't help it.The more he tested, the more he understood—and the more he understood, the more he realized how alone he was with all of it.None of the quirks faded. He'd now copied seven. Maybe more.And nobody knew.Not his mother, who thought he'd been drawing birds and castles in his room. Not Reina, who gave him extra sweets when she thought no one was looking. Not even his father, who believed his son had inherited a normal copy quirk and would eventually grow out of his excitement.But Kaito was beginning to see a pattern.He didn't have a time limit. He didn't lose what he copied.He kept it.All of it.And now… he was starting to feel the weight of it.It was like walking around with invisible things tucked into his chest. Like voices whispering softly behind his thoughts. Each quirk had a shape. A presence. He couldn't describe it. Couldn't explain it. But he could feel it. As if his body had quietly started reorganizing itself to hold them all.Sometimes he'd wake up and just know what a power did, even if he hadn't tried it yet. Other times, he'd feel a pull—like a nudge toward using something he hadn't meant to remember.It scared him.But more than that, it fascinated him.He didn't stop experimenting.He just started hiding it better.One evening, after dinner, his father was reading in the study when Kaito walked past the open door."Your posture's changed," Akihiko said, not looking up from the book.Kaito paused. "Huh?""You're walking differently."He turned, curious. "In a bad way?""No. Just… different." Akihiko finally looked up. "You've been moving faster lately. Jumping further. Handling hot objects without gloves. Any reason?"Kaito's stomach dropped.He forced a shrug. "Just… trying stuff."His father didn't smile. "Be careful with what you try.""I will."Akihiko closed the book and stood. "Kaito, come here."He walked in slowly.His father knelt beside him, looking him in the eyes. "Do you remember what I said about secrets?"Kaito nodded."Sometimes," Akihiko continued, "we keep secrets to stay safe. Other times, we keep them to protect others. But there's a difference between protection and hiding."Kaito didn't say anything.Akihiko stood. "Get some rest. No more running in the halls."Kaito left, his heart thudding.Had his father figured it out?He wasn't sure.But that night, for the first time, he took his notebook and tucked it beneath the floorboard near his bed instead of hiding it in the box.He added a new entry.Suspicion.
"Dad might know."He stared at the page for a long time.Then, in smaller letters:"But I'm not ready to tell him."He snapped the notebook shut.And tried to sleep.The next morning, Kaito didn't wake to sunlight.He woke to thunder.The sky had cracked open sometime before dawn, and now the storm rumbled across the city like a warning. Rain tapped gently against the glass as Kaito pulled his covers up to his chin and lay still, eyes open.He hadn't dreamed.Or maybe he had, but he didn't remember it. Lately, his mind felt like it never stopped spinning. Every sound, every sensation—he was paying attention to all of it. Even when he didn't mean to. Especially when he didn't mean to.It was like his brain was learning faster than he could keep up with.He rolled onto his side and glanced at the floorboard near his bed.The notebook was still there.Still hidden.For now.Midway through breakfast, Reina entered the dining room with her usual quiet grace. She placed a steaming cup of tea in front of Kaito, bowed, and turned to leave.Kaito blurted, "Miss Reina?"She paused. "Yes, young master?"He hesitated. "Do you ever… feel weird after using your quirk? Like it stays with you?"Reina looked at him for a long second. Her eyes softened. "Sometimes.""Do you ever feel like… parts of you change a little? Even when you're not flying?"Reina smiled gently. "I think everyone changes, even without quirks."That didn't answer the question.But Kaito nodded anyway.She left without another word.Later that day, Kaito slipped into the east wing's old storeroom. It was hardly used—filled with spare linens, broken umbrella stands, and paintings his father refused to throw out but didn't want to display. The perfect hiding spot.He had a plan.A test.He sat cross-legged in the middle of the room and took a deep breath.Then he reached.Not physically. Not with his arms or legs. But inward. Toward the place inside him that buzzed with quiet electricity.He tried calling the flexibility quirk. His joints loosened almost instantly.Then the heat resistance. His palms grew warm—tingly, like the skin was insulating itself.He held both sensations.At the same time.He opened his eyes.Still there.He stood up, picked up a copper candlestick from the storage shelf, and pressed his hand to the base. The metal had been in the sun—it should've been hot.But it wasn't. Not to him.He set it down. Bent his knees. Leapt.His body twisted midair, limbs bending in ways they shouldn't—and landing with a soft roll across the rug.He stood.Blinked.Breathed.It had worked.Again.No fading. No pain. No exhaustion.He looked down at his hands."I never let go…" he whispered.His voice echoed in the empty room, barely louder than the storm outside.And in that moment, he understood.This wasn't just a copy quirk.This was something else.Something more.Something permanent.The rain had stopped by evening, but the clouds hadn't left. They hung low and heavy over the estate, casting long shadows through the corridors as the sun dipped toward the horizon.Kaito walked the hall quietly, arms folded behind his back, gaze flicking from window to window. His mind buzzed with questions. Possibilities. He was starting to see things differently—not just how quirks worked, but how people used them.Mako's flexibility wasn't just about bending. It was control. The gardener's earth sense wasn't about dirt—it was awareness. Even the kitchen staff's heat tolerance had nuance. She didn't just touch hot things; she understood temperature.And Kaito?He had all of them.Still.He hadn't lost a single quirk.And he was starting to realize he could feel them… intact. Stored. Organized. Like they weren't just floating inside him—but sitting in invisible slots, waiting for him to reach in and grab what he needed.It was exciting.It was terrifying.It was real.Later that night, while his parents met with distant relatives in the grand hall, Kaito crept downstairs with a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cloak. He wasn't cold. He just liked the feeling.He returned to the storeroom—his new favorite place—and pulled the notebook from his hidden coat pocket.He opened it to a fresh page.At the top, he wrote:Day 11 of Testing – Confirmed: Multiple Quirks = StableHe listed out the quirks again, this time noting the order he copied them in, and what quirks worked well together.Then, underlined three times:"They don't fade. They organize."He paused.Then added, smaller:"Why me?"It wasn't self-pity. He didn't feel sad.Just curious.He wasn't scared of being special.He was scared of what it meant to be special alone.He shut the notebook. Pulled the blanket tighter. Lay back on the dusty floor beneath a stack of rolled-up carpets and stared at the ceiling beams.And for the first time since he'd flown with borrowed wings, he wished someone else knew.Someone who wouldn't be afraid.Someone who wouldn't ask him to hide.He dreamed of flying again.But this time, he wasn't using Reina's wings.They were his.Midnight black. Silent. Massive.And when he flew, he didn't just rise.He pulled stars down with him.