Yuta fell into thought, contemplating whether to leave early and head to the library.
There were a dozen things he could be doing right now—training, meditating, testing his limits—all at the top of his priorities. But research? That was a new addition.
Ancient history on ninjas. Hand seals. Chakra theories.
He almost laughed at the absurdity.
'What am I even hoping to find? A forgotten scroll hidden in U.A.'s library? 'Jutsu for Dummies'?'
In the last few hours, Yuta had come to the conclusion that he had a simple but serious problem.
After obtaining the Sharingan, Uchiha and Uzumaki bloodlines, Yuta had almost forgotten that this wasn't The Ninja world. This was My Hero. Here, he was a one of a kind anomaly. The only living being in the world with chakra. That translated to four simple words.
He had no Jutsu.
Sure, he remembered hand seals. Shadow Clone. Fireball. Water Wall. Even some of the basic ones like Henge and Bunshin. He'd been a big enough Naruto fan to memorize that much.
But hand seals were only half the equation.
Jutsu required specific chakra flow patterns—internal pathways that differed for every technique. Without a scroll, without instruction, without someone to show him how the chakra was supposed to move...
He was basically trying to play a piano by smashing random keys and hoping for Beethoven.
The only exception is Rasengan.
That one he could theoretically develop on his own. It didn't require hand seals, just pure chakra control and rotation.
'If I had enough chakra to even attempt it.'
Yesterday, he'd barely managed to activate his Sharingan for five seconds. Trying to form a Rasengan would've been like trying to bench press a car.
But today...
Yuta flexed his fingers under the table, feeling the chakra respond.
It's grown.
A lot, actually. Maybe three times what he'd had yesterday.
Which still wasn't much. Going from "pathetically small" to "slightly less pathetically small" didn't exactly inspire confidence.
But it's something.
Still, the chakra problem was fixable with time. Training, meditation, conditioning—his reserves would grow.
The jutsu problem, though?
No solution.
He'd tried calling the system earlier that morning. Predictably, it had remained silent.
Useless piece of—
"Yuta?"
He blinked, focusing back on the table.
Hana was watching him with mild concern. "You zoned out again."
"Sorry. Just thinking."
"About what?" Tanaka asked.
About how I have superpowers but no instruction manual.
"School stuff. Nothing important."
The conversation shifted naturally, drifting from the Sports Festival to classes to—inevitably—Quirks.
"So," Kimura said, leaning back in his chair. "We've been sitting together all week, and I just realized we've never actually talked about our Quirks."
Tanaka grinned. "Oh, this should be fun. Who's going first?"
"I'll go," Hana volunteered. She gestured to her hair, where a small white flower was blooming near her temple. "Plant Growth. Specifically from my hair follicles."
Kimura blinked. "Wait, seriously?"
"Yep. I can grow flowers, vines, even vegetables if I concentrate." She plucked the flower and twirled it between her fingers. "I once grew a cucumber on my head during middle school. The pictures still haunt me."
Tanaka burst out laughing. "That's actually amazing."
"It's useless," Hana said flatly. "Unless U.A. needs someone to decorate the gym for prom."
"Hey, every Quirk has its purpose—"
"My purpose is photosynthesis. I'm a walking houseplant."
Yuta snorted despite himself.
"What about you, Kimura?" Hana asked.
Kimura shrugged. "Color Shift. I can change the color of my hair and skin. That's it."
"That's... actually kind of cool?" Tanaka offered.
"It's cosmetic. I'm basically a human mood ring." Kimura tapped the table. "Great for Halloween. Terrible for literally everything else."
"At least you got into U.A.," Hana muttered.
"So did you."
"General Studies doesn't count."
The mood had shifted slightly—not quite bitter, but tinged with the kind of resigned humor that came from knowing you weren't good enough.
Yuta understood it well.
"What about you, Tanaka?" he asked, deflecting.
Tanaka hesitated. "Vibration Sense. I can feel vibrations through solid surfaces within about ten meters."
"That's actually useful," Hana said, perking up.
"Not really. It's super imprecise. I can tell something's moving, but not what or where exactly. And it gets overwhelmed in crowds." He shrugged. "I didn't even crack the top two hundred in the entrance exam practical."
"None of us did," Kimura pointed out.
"Yeah, but I thought I'd at least get close." Tanaka grimaced. "Turns out 'feeling vibrations' doesn't help when a robot's about to punch your face in."
They all laughed—short, self-deprecating sounds.
Then three pairs of eyes turned to Yuta.
"Alright, your turn," Hana said. "What's your Quirk?"
Yuta leaned back, considering.
"What? Is it that bad?" Hana asked with raised eyebrows.
"What's there to hide? It's just as useless as the rest of yours."
"Oh, this is gonna be good," Kimura said, grinning.
Yuta reached out and placed a finger on on his empty lunch tray. Following which, a small miniature kanji symbol appeared on the body.
The tray wobbled.
Then lifted.
It floated toward him slowly, hovering about six inches off the table.
"Whoa," Tanaka breathed.
"Telekinesis?" Hana asked, eyes wide.
"Not exactly." Yuta kept his focus on the tray. "I can manipulate anything I touch, but only objects and things close to me. The farther away they get, the weaker my control becomes."
That's the simplified version, anyway.
The full truth was more complicated.
His quirk was called Enhanced Control — a grand name for something with little practical combat application. It gave him perfect mastery over his own body. Every muscle, every nerve, every biological process was under his conscious command if he wanted it to be.
Balance? Perfect. Coordination? Flawless. Aim and precision? Top tier. Hand-eye coordination? Absolute reflex optimization? Peak of human possible reaction. Poison resistance? He could literally tell his body to flush toxins out faster. Slow down hunger, thirst, force full concentration, hell, he could even control when he needed to take a dump.
Was this useless? No it was not. In another setting, it was the kind of Quirk martial artists would kill for.
Here, he could do yoga on hard mode.
But few people needed to know that.
However, what he told people was basically the secondary effect—projecting that control outward—was what people saw. And that part was mostly useless.
By marking something, he could move objects near his body with decent precision. It didn't work on humans as they carried way too many complicated parts, and the effective range was barely a meter before his control started to weaken dramatically.
Honestly, it was one of the better picks among low tier quirks. It didn't give him any mutations, and was straightforward enough to understand. The limiting factor being that his body was ultimately at human levels of strength.
"So it's like weak telekinesis," Kimura summarized.
"Pretty much."
"That's still cooler than changing my hair color."
"Not by much." Yuta focused, pushing the tray away. "Watch."
He sent it outward with effort—trying to extend his range, to prove he could control things farther away and show just how weak it was.
'Huh?'
The tray shot forward like a bullet.
'No Way!'
It rocketed across the cafeteria, a red-and-white blur, covering thirty meters in half a second.
Then it slammed into the back of someone's head with a dull THUNK.
The girl—pink skin, short horns, bright yellow eyes—went down like a sack of bricks, face-planting directly into her bowl of ramen. Worse still,that wasn't the end of it.
—The tray ricocheted and a second THUNK echoed throughout the cafeteria.
A voice yelped.
High-pitched. Very offended.
"OW! What the heck?!"
The cafeteria fell dead silent.
Every student looked around.
Yuta stared in growing horror.
There was no one there. So who ... Oh wait, was that a ... Floating uniform crumpling inward?
Yuta's eyes were about to fall off their sockets.
'Mina Ashido. I just knocked out Mina Ashido. And Toru Hagakure.'
"...Dude," Tanaka whispered.
"I didn't—" Yuta stood up quickly. "I didn't mean to—"
Across the cafeteria, Class 1-A were already rushing over. were already rushing over. A green-haired girl—Tsuyu—was pulling her upright, noodles dripping from her face.
"Is she okay?!" someone shouted.
"She's breathing!"
"Who threw that?!"
Mina rubbed her head, dazed. "What the—did someone just throw a tray at me?!"
Hagakure's sleeves waved wildly in the air. "I GOT HIT TOO! TWICE! WHAT KIND OF PROJECTILE RICOCHETS?!"
And then—slowly, inevitably—every head in the cafeteria turned.
Towards Yuta's table.
Feeling numerous gazes examine them over, the group of four felt their spines tingle.
Kimura whispered, "Bro… you just sniped two Hero Course students."
"That's a double homicide."
Hana covered her face. "We're dead. We're so dead."
Class 1-A immediately stood up, half in alarm, half in outrage.
Iida's engines revved. "WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS CAFETERIA VIOLATION?! PROJECTILES ARE STRICTLY PROHIBITED IN DESIGNATED EATING AREAS!"
Mina pointed directly at Yuta. "IT WAS THAT GUY!"
Yuta who had been contemplating making a break for the exit felt his heart sink. She wasn't even looking in his direction. How the hell did she know it was him?
Hagakure yelled, "YEAH! THE RED-HAIRED ONE!"
Dozens of Hero Course eyes landed on Yuta.
This was not, how he had expected to meet class 1A.