The first time Kaito used his quirk in public, it wasn't planned.It wasn't heroic, either.It was just… necessary.A rainy afternoon, a busy crosswalk, and a boy no older than four chasing after a toy that had bounced into the street. The mother screamed. The light was red. A delivery truck came around the corner too fast.Kaito didn't think.He reached out.The child flew backward—lifted clean off the street by a sudden burst of invisible force. He landed safely in a puddle, soaked but unharmed. The toy car shattered beneath the truck's tires.The crowd gasped.Someone pointed."Was that him? The Yukimura kid?""He used his quirk!""I thought he wasn't allowed—"The voices blurred.Kaito stood frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, hand still outstretched, palm tingling from the pull.The boy was crying. The mother was hugging him. The truck had screeched to a stop.And in that moment, dozens of people looked not at the accident...but at him.And they saw something.Not a child.Not a boy who just reacted.They saw a Yukimura using a gravity-based quirk with perfect control.And they would remember it.Kaito didn't wait for thanks.He turned and walked straight into the rain.His shoes squelched against the pavement. His heart thudded in his ears, louder than the storm. He kept his head down as he passed the murmuring onlookers, every step faster than the last.By the time he reached the alley behind the shopping arcade, he stopped running—but not because he wasn't afraid.Because he didn't want to look like he was.He leaned against a wall, soaked to the bone, his breath fogging in the air.He hadn't meant to do it.Not in front of people.Not where phones were out. Where eyes were watching.But what was he supposed to do—not save the boy?His fingers curled.He could still feel it—the weight of the pull, the exact moment the child had lifted off the ground, how his body had responded without hesitation.He hadn't even thought about the registry.About his father.About the lie.He'd just seen danger.And moved.He got home before sunset, still wet, still quiet. Reina met him at the door with a towel and a questioning look.He didn't say anything.She didn't press.But she glanced at the news on the hallway TV—soft chatter from a local channel scrolling across the screen.She noticed.By dinner, Akihiko had received a call.He said nothing during the meal. Barely touched his food.Only after the dishes were cleared, and the staff had left the dining room, did he speak."You used your quirk in public."Kaito's hands tensed in his lap. "Yes.""You pulled a child out of the road. Saved his life.""Yes."A pause."You were caught on camera."Kaito looked up slowly. "I'm sorry."Akihiko studied him. "You acted instinctively.""I didn't think. I just—""I didn't say it was wrong."That stopped him."You made the right decision," his father said, voice level. "But it will have consequences."Kaito stayed still."The media will spin it. Some will say it was bravery. Others will say it was reckless. Either way… they'll start watching you."He stood, hands behind his back."You're not just a child anymore. You're an image. A statement. A Yukimura."He turned to leave."Be ready."Then he was gone.Leaving Kaito alone in a room that suddenly felt far too large.Kaito didn't move for a long time.He sat in the silence of the dining room, the sound of the clock ticking louder than it had any right to be. His fingers traced invisible lines on the polished table, the pattern of a force he was still learning to control.Be ready.He didn't feel ready.But maybe he didn't have a choice anymore.That night, he stood on the garden path in the dark, shoes damp with dew. He pulled a pebble from the ground with a flick of his finger. It hovered in the air like a promise he didn't fully understand.He thought about the boy.About the truck.About the way the crowd had looked at him.He hadn't felt powerful.He'd felt seen.And that was scarier.He dropped the pebble.It hit the stone with a small tap that echoed louder than it should have.Two days later, the first article appeared online."Yukimura Heir Displays Heroic Instincts in Crosswalk Rescue"
By Misuzu Akiyama"In a rare public appearance, six-year-old Kaito Yukimura—the only child of businessman and retired pro hero Akihiko Yukimura—used his gravity-based quirk to save a toddler from a speeding truck. Witnesses say the child was pulled back from danger just seconds before impact. The event, caught on security footage and now circulating online, has sparked speculation about the young heir's future in heroics..."Kaito read it three times.He didn't like how they said heir. Like he was a title before he was a person.He clicked on the video.There he was—small, barely visible beneath a cluster of umbrellas. One hand out. The boy flying backward. The truck screeching. The crowd gasping.Then nothing.But it was enough.The comments were already full."That control. At his age? Impressive."
"Must be nice having elite genes."
"Another spoiled kid with a flashy quirk."
"Kid's got hero in his blood."He closed the tab.The lie had gone global now.Push and Pull. Gravity-based. The prodigy of the Yukimura family.A story the world had chosen to believe.And Kaito had no choice but to become it.The next morning, the phone calls started.Journalists. Sponsors. Hero academies with "early engagement" programs. A representative from the Musutafu Quirk Education Board wanted to schedule a formal observation session. Someone from a popular youth sports league sent a personal message asking if Kaito would like to "explore competitive pathing."Akihiko turned most of them away.But the message was clear:The world wasn't watching quietly.They were watching closely.At breakfast, Kaito barely touched his food. His mother offered him a second helping of miso soup, but he shook his head. She smiled softly, brushed a hand over his hair, and said nothing.But he could tell.She knew, too.He asked to be excused early.No one stopped him.He returned to the west garden—the farthest point from the house—and sat in the grass with his back to the wall. He held the marble his grandfather gave him. Rolled it between his palms. Focused on the weight, the texture, the pull.Then he let it go.It hovered in front of him.Wobbling slightly.He reached out, and it moved. Not fast. Not dramatic. But with a precise, controlled arc.Like it trusted him now.He tried again.Push.The marble zipped backward, stopped in the air, then gently fell to the earth.He exhaled.Then he stood up and whispered, "Come back."Nothing happened.He tried again—more focused this time.Still nothing.He reached deep—past practice, past instinct—and thought of the need to control, the pressure to perform, the expectation to match his name.The marble trembled.And then it snapped up into his hand.Kaito's breath caught.He hadn't pulled it.He had commanded it.That night, he opened his original notebook—the one beneath the floorboard.The one that told the truth.He added a new entry:"Day 34. The world believes Push and Pull is my quirk. It's not. But I'll make it real. I'll become what they see.
Not because it's safe.
Because it's mine now."He closed the notebook gently and put it back where it belonged.Not out of fear.Out of promise.Because one day… this secret would become strength.Days passed. Then a week.Kaito didn't make another public appearance, but the buzz didn't fade. His name came up in school board discussions, in casual chatter from the estate staff, even in local broadcasts: "the prodigy who saved a life with nothing but instinct."And it wasn't just talk anymore.People were watching the Yukimuras again.Some with admiration.Others with suspicion.Akihiko handled it the only way he knew how—strategically. He began scheduling private training sessions again. Subtle. Controlled. Never in public view. He claimed it was to build discipline.Kaito knew better.It was to sharpen the mask.To make the world's lie indistinguishable from truth.The training wasn't brutal.But it was relentless.Balance drills. Focus exercises. Weighted motion control with marbles, rocks, water droplets, and dust particles. Akihiko made him practice pulling objects without using his hands—just gaze and breath.And every time he did it right, his father said nothing.But every time he almost failed, Akihiko would offer only one sentence:"Fix the hesitation."That was how Kaito learned to control his heartbeat. His breath. His focus.Because failure wasn't an option.Hesitation wasn't allowed.Not for someone who'd already been declared a hero.But not all lessons came from training.Some came quietly, in passing.Like one evening when Kaito passed by Reina in the hallway and overheard her whispering to another maid."...he doesn't play like he used to. Always training now."The other woman replied, "It's what his father wants."Reina said nothing for a long moment.Then, softly, "But is it what he wants?"Kaito didn't stop walking.But the question stayed with him.Long into the night.He lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling.The marble hovered above his open palm, rotating slowly, catching bits of moonlight through the curtains. He didn't push it. He didn't pull. He just let it spin—just enough effort to keep it suspended.Is this what he wanted?It wasn't a question he knew how to answer.He liked training. He liked learning. He liked the feeling of making things move, of unlocking parts of himself no one else understood.But he didn't like pretending.Didn't like hiding.Didn't like that the only time he felt real was when no one was looking.He let the marble fall.It landed in his palm with a soft click.Kaito sat up and pulled the notebook from under his bed—his real one. The one no one else knew existed.He flipped to a blank page and wrote:"I want to be a hero. Not a project.
I want to choose my path. Not follow one.
I want to save people because I can, not because I have to."Then he paused.And added, in smaller writing:"But I still want them to see me."The next morning, Kaito woke early.Earlier than his father. Earlier than the staff.The sky was still dark when he slipped outside in his pajamas and walked barefoot to the training ground near the back of the estate. The grass was cold beneath his feet. The wind quiet.He stood in the center of the stone platform and reached out.No marble.No training tool.Just air.He inhaled.Focused.And then gently pushed.The air rippled outward, bending the mist just slightly.He pulled.A swirl of fog coiled toward him, wrapping around his hand like a ribbon.Then he stopped using his hands altogether.He looked at the mist. Pictured its weight. Its space. Its balance.And the fog responded.Moved around him.Because it recognized him.Not as someone pretending.But as someone who belonged to it.He stayed there until the sun rose.Until he felt the warmth on his face.Until he believed it:Even if the world only knew half the truth, he would become the whole of it.And one day, he'd tell them everything.But only when he chose to.