Mind Games (Rebuild) - Chapters 1 & 2 (Patreon)

Chapter 1:

“Hey dad. I'm home.”

Shinso Niko looked up from the stew he was standing over and blinked up at me. He stared at me for a moment, nodded, and turned back to the stew.

“Hitoshi.” He took a sample sip from the... whatever it was called. That small bowel a chef poured into so they wouldn't touch the ladle with their lips. That. “Welcome home.”

I sniffed the air as I sat down. “Beef?”

A rare delicacy, here in Japan.

Or, at least, an expensive one, especially for a household effectively living on one income.

My father hummed in agreement. “For completing the year with good marks, not getting in trouble, that type of thing.”

“Thanks,” I stated, dropping onto the sofa in the other room.

There was quiet for a time, the slow and quiet noises of cooking sounding out in the other room as I uncharacteristically, for Shinso Hitoshi at least, relaxed fully on the couch, sprawling like a particularly lazy dog. I would have never done this before, at least in the living room, though I'd never have understood why I hadn't, either. There was a... tension in the air, in this home, that ran in thick waves over my skin and mind.

Worry.

Anxiety.

It was no wonder why Hitoshi had, why I'd, always had trouble sleeping.

I could, with an outsider's perspective, make educated guesses as to the underlying reasons why.

“Some kids I know were talking today. Comparing quirks.”

The tension in the house ratcheted up.

Yeah, I could make a few educated guesses.

“Oh really.” My father stated so blandly I would have missed the crack in his voice if I hadn't been looking for it. “Friends of yours?”

Because Shinso Hitoshi didn't have friends.

For a lot of reasons, both good and bad.

“Not really. Just some guys in my homeroom,” I explained casually, the tension flowing off me like water off a duck's back.

“Huh.” A non-word exclamation. A noise for thinking. Trying to figure out how to phrase things so he didn't- “Did they ask you to do anything?”

I inhaled.

Exhaled.

Calm.

The question would have set me off, before. Before I was... me. Now I understood.

“No, dad. Just casual stuff. They thought my quirk meant that I'd make a great villain.” Turnabout is fair-play, old man.

A clang of the ladle against the pot and I knew I'd struck a nerve.

“That doesn't sound casual to me,” he bit out, his voice a gravely hiss of worry.

The intensity in the air doubled.

“I checked to make sure they weren't following me on the way home. Stayed on public paths, that sort of thing,” I stated, unwilling or unable to keep the simple tiredness from my tone.

Cut me some slack, my meat-space hardware was a teenage brain at the moment.

“Good.” My father sighed, relief swarming the air. “Good. You're a smart boy, son. I just... worry.”

“I know,” I stated shortly. “It... got me to thinking, though.”

I took a deep breath. Even though I knew how this must have ended, for what would have happened to happen, I was still...

“I'm going to apply to UA,” I forced my voice even. “The hero course.”

No one said anything.

I heard a click of a knob being turned, the tap of plastic on the counter, and then instinctively straightened up when my father came into the room. His hair was a lighter shade than mine. Likely, I'd gotten some of the black from my mother's hair in addition to his barely-there indigo. His eyes bore the signs of intense worry, crows-feet a decade early in their forming and bags not unlike the ones I'd kept for appearances' sake.

The miasma of concern and near-panic surrounding him was something almost visible, almost tangible.

“Hitoshi... a-are you sure this is something you want to do?”

The question was tentative, hesitant. I could remember a time when the man was anything but, although that was... a long time ago now.

“You... don't need to feel pressured to do this, you know. You can have a good, quiet life without ever needing to use your quirk...”

“Dad...” I started slowly, the part of me that was still Hitoshi wanted to do something. “When's the last time you left the house other than to visit mom?”

A fist slammed into the wall next to him hard enough to damage the sheetrock. “This isn't about me, Hitoshi! This is about you, dammit!”

The air in the house roiled like a stormy sea.

If I hadn't had something protecting me, I probably would have been nauseous at the shifting current of emotions.

...without what I knew now, the 'other me' would have probably ruminated over this confrontation for months before writing his father a letter.

“I-if this really is about me...” I cleared my throat nervously, both because it would unnerve the man to see his son holding so steady in the face of his quirk, even with the resistance he'd built up… and because a part of me knew this man as an authority figure and couldn't not quail just a bit in the face of his anger. “If it really is... this is what I want.”

My father slumped, the anger flowing out just as quickly as it had risen up.

“...if this is because of your mother,” he began, defeat and sadness coloring his tone.

“It's because of a lot of things,” I deflected.

Yeah, we both knew that was part of it. Probably a big part, but there was more than that. This world was a bright, happy place in spite of all of the calamities brought on by powers. These people had managed to create a world where civilization reigned supreme in the face of the barbarous hordes that sought to drag it down. Just watching All Might on the evening news made me believe that 'hero' might just be more than a four letter word.

Shinso Niko sighed, then nodded. “You'll need to pass the entrance exam. I suppose even if you make general education, a diploma from UA isn't something to scoff at.”

...and now he was consoling himself. As if I'd already failed.

What a great start I was off to.

Dinner was awkward, even having gotten that discussion out of the way. Or, well, it was perhaps even moreso because of it. Still, I managed to get through it well enough and headed up to my room. The Hitoshi of a few days ago had, thankfully, been a fairly clean person and my family had enough money for me to have a cheap desktop PC complete with a relatively crappy internet connection. Still, it was enough for me to get started.

If I was going to be a hero I was going to this right, dammit.

This world was a modern society, after all, and access to education is one of the great virtues of such a society. Or, well, at least most societies of this technological level. Given the truth of the omniverse...

I shook my head and opened up a map application.

Colleges were the first option.

What few people stop to think about is that colleges are a lot more than just a single set of buildings standing alone for people to go to class in. Even extending beyond the dorms, colleges are great for local businesses. They attract all sorts of small shops and niche markets that would be hard-pressed to survive otherwise. Anything that might attract the 'college crowd' through necessity or luxury would spring up.

Martial arts? You can stick a dojo next to a campus and you'll almost certainly get regulars. Gaming stores? Sure, you'll draw in the nerds like flies to sugar. There were, of course, other stores that would pop up that I'd be less interested in, such as coin laundries or cafes, but the important part was that you could find the sort of hobbyist-expert on your choice of subject if you knew where to look near a campus.

...and all of that was beside the fact that the people running college courses seldom cared exactly who was sitting in the stands. Attendance was rarely mandatory, after all, and the college only cared about trading money for course credits. As long as you didn't draw attention to yourself or had a reasonable excuse on-hand.

“It's never too early to start planning for college, sir, I just want to make an informed decision about what educational environment I'm going into.”

“Actually, I had a teacher assign a paper on [insert subject here] and he's a real... jerk about details. I need a good grade in the class so I thought I'd try to pick up some things to spice it up.”

“Yeah, I'm just in middle school, but the student council wanted me to do a write up on local universities to try and get kids more interested in prep courses.”

“I'm just interested in [insert club here] and wanted to see how it's done at college level or if I could get a scholarship out of it.”

All you have to do is mix the right amount of precocious and friendly. Easy in theory, at least. Hard in practice, unless you had an inborn talent to read social situations and navigate your way through them with as few hitches as possible.

As for actually absorbing the information?

Well, that was what my Talents were for.

A modern world was also a blessing in the sheer capacity to coordinate information. Computers were amazing tools. Open a spreadsheet, start listing hours, color code the entire thing, then plug each and every hour of your day with something.

I had ten months, and I needed to make the most of them.

Martial arts courses, programming, gymnastics, art, music, kendo, and so many other things... hmm, perhaps kyudo?

...yeah, using a bow was an attractive thought. Say what you would about archaic weaponry, Green Arrow would just be another thug in cosplay if he used a gun instead of a bow.

When I was done, I spent a moment checking my work, and then snapped out of the daze I'd been in with a quiet gasp.

“Fuck, I've got to take a piss,” I muttered, standing quickly and making my way to the bathroom.

Finishing my business, I heaved a sigh as I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. My eyes were tired, the anklet hidden beneath my pant sleeve and my talents/defenses doing nothing for the strain of staring at a computer for hours upon hours. Simple tiredness was still the enemy.

“Well, it looks like The Company lives up to its reputation, at least,” I muttered, splashing my face with water. “Slipped right in, no one the wiser.”

No one except me.

Against my will, my eyes skated back to the closet of Hito-my small room, where I’d woken up crumpled on the floor.

I shook my head and pushed the thought away. Far away, hopefully never to be touched again.

Instead, my attention turned back to my reflection. I wasn’t in bad shape, but I needed to get a lot better. However, I had an ace up my sleeve. Well, that or a cheat code.  More of one than even my talents allowed me.

...because, really, my one problem was motivation. Working up the will to follow-through with plans was difficult at times. A plan like this? I couldn't take any chances.

So I'd use my quirk on myself.

Something the Hitoshi of a few days ago had never even tried to do.

I still couldn’t order anyone to do complicated tasks. Nothing that could require higher-order-thinking skills. I could order someone to destroy a computer, but not use one. Not in any meaningful way, at least. I could have ordered someone to push a key or possibly move the mouse to an icon, but not engage in the operation of a program to complete an arbitrary goal of ‘finishing something.’

Taking a deep breath, I nodded to myself.

“Yeah, I can work with this.”

I would have to, after all. A lot of lives depended on it.

Chapter 2:

I slipped my mask on, just a high-end mask like someone with an illness would wear, and tapped the button. Immediately, I could see my own face bearing the stylized boot-print insignia that was quickly becoming my logo. I'd also located something like a white wave cap to make my hair a little more manageable and a little less iconic.

“Hey there demons, it's me, ya'boi.”

The great thing about living two centuries in the future? No one noticed when you recycled memes and took them for your own.

Immediately, notifications started popping up on the stream, proving once again that no matter how inane the entertainment, people were willing to tune in.

I leaned back and stretched. After a few weeks of this, I was well on my way to some serious muscle definition, and it showed. The comments got appreciatively more lewd considering my shirtless state.

“Okay, so here's the weeklies: I'm upping my game and adding twenty percent to all of my workouts,” I stated, receiving various exclamatory remarks in reply. “That's length of the workouts themselves, numbers of reps I do at a time, and the amount of weight I carry while doing it.” I jabbed a thumb towards the pile of workout gear sitting to the side.

I yawned and rubbed at my face while the stream digested that declaration.

“Now, for those of you who are new to the stream, welcome one and all to Channel Bootstrap,” I grinned dryly. “The long and short of it is that I'm a hero course hopeful planning to try out for UA in about...” I made a dramatic showing of picking up my calendar. “Nine months.”

“Then what am I doing running a streaming channel, right?” I asked the webcam rhetorically. “Well, I can do most of the workout stuff for free, but there's a bunch of secondary equipment that, wait for it...” I paused pointedly and various currency symbols started raining down the screen. “Costs money, yes.”

Smart-asses began responding immediately. Some saying I was lying and that money wasn't real, others recommending a life of villainy, and a few stubborn morons wanting to know why I was supporting the moon-rabbit Illuminati and their agent, Mirko, with the poster behind my bed.

Ah, internet.

Never change.

“So here's the deal... ninety percent of the content on the channel is free,” I stated, yawning involuntarily again. “I encourage you to donate, but you don't have to. The other ten percent of the content is behind a paywall - yes, yes, it's awful, I'm a sellout, yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes at the comments. “If you want to go in for that stuff, I do AMAs every few days, blooper reels, and the sleeper cam - which I included by popular demand, you weirdos. All of that money goes directly to me after the processing service takes their cut. I use it to buy equipment, gym memberships, healthier meals, and a few personal luxury purchases.”

Several people replied with money symbols and memes about making bank. Others called me a whore, prostitute, and worse. A bunch more demanded nudes.

“Speaking of purchases!” I clapped my hands and grinned, the bare minimum of showmanship for people who were paying me money. “We finally managed to hit the next benchmark, so that means...”

I reached off-screen and pulled out the heavy wooden longbow I'd custom-ordered. “Ta-da!”

Various people posted comments to the effect of, holy shit he's serious.

“So, good news is that I've figured out how to string the bow,” I stated proudly. “Bad news is that I screwed up a lot learning how to and gave myself more than a few lashings with the bowstring. Great news, though, for you guys at least, is that video's available in the blooper reels.”

I winced, only a little melodramatically at the mention of the previous week's pain.

The whip-like release of tension on the damn thing really fucking hurt.

“Now this is a western longbow popularized by English and Welsh archers centuries ago for their effectiveness against heavy French knight-cavalry.” I gave the bow a close-up. “Regrettably, this one is nowhere near that kind of draw-weight.” I paused, thinking. “For those of you who don't know anything about bows, draw weight is basically how much energy you can impart to the arrow you fire. This one is about half the strength of what's generally considered the heaviest bows people without strength-based quirks can use.”

I continued my impromptu lecture. “Now, this is mostly going to be a training weapon. I plan, with your continued support, to buy a collapsible compound bow to use while at UA, or another school if I flunk their hero course exam.” I cleared my throat. “Anyway, I'll be taking this bad boy out this weekend to a campground and show off some practice for you guys. Enough about that, though, it's time we got this show on the road.”

I stood and made my way towards the door, clipping on and activating the shoulder-camera I'd purchased for runs like these. It had a mountable tripod that I'd clipped to my backpack as well, which would come in handy once I got to my usual empty lot a few miles away.

I grunted as I pulled on the weighted training vest that, even two months into this adventure, held more weight than any normal person in my old life would have considered 'safe' for a young teen to workout with.

Thankfully, this wasn't my old world.

“See you dad, going out to train!” I called, receiving a depressive grunt in reply even as I trudged through the equally oppressive air stewing around the man sitting on the couch.

I tilted my head just enough to speak into the camera and mic. Bizarrely, I still had the impression of a pirate talking to a parrot on their shoulder.

“Okay, let's spank this chicken.”

It was already becoming a meme, but I didn't care. It was stupid enough that I'd never say it in day to day life, which was the important part.

The code-phrase, a hypnotic trigger that I had to hear myself say, specifically, immediately dropped me into a trance. I'd had to construct a number of complicated orders to safely do this, such as sweeping commands to observe traffic, stay out of peoples' way, and generally be safe and responsible, but it was worth it. Also, it let me ignore the second-glances I got for my mask, cap, and camera... which weren't awful, but could make someone self-conscious very easily.

My body went on autopilot, moving with a grace and speed that my conscious attention would have been hard-pressed to match.

Behind the regular pumping of muscles, I was still aware, though it was hard to describe the exact state of mind the entire process created.

Mostly, it was a sensation of 'floating' as I felt the building burn of lactic acid, the pleasant caress of wind on my face, and sun on my back.

It was probably a good hour's worth of running before the fracturing of concrete caught my attention and distracted me from my schem-er, heroic planning.

Looking to my right, I saw a giant cloaked figure looming over two terrified-looking schoolgirls, the fingers of his hand dug into the second-story face of an office building.

...shit.

With barely any hesitation, I snapped myself out of my haze and stepped past a stock-still black-haired kid my age.

What was the phrase? Begin as you mean to continue?

Something like that.

“Hey there!”

The giant paused, his fingers slowly extracting themselves from the concrete he'd been crushing as I approached, smiling and waving. The two girls, still quivering in fear, didn't dare take their eyes off what could still very well be their imminent demise.

“Huh? Who the hell are you?”

I looked up, and up, and up a little more. Seriously, the dude was like two stories tall and made out of chiseled muscle and rough-hewn flesh.

“Eh, just some random dude. Can I help?” I paused, looking around. “I heard you were looking for directions, though. You wanna tell me the name of wherever you're looking for and I'll put it in my phone?”

“You'd really do that for me, boy?” The words were stilted, halting, and awkward as if he couldn't quite figure out how to piece the sentence together.

“Sure, sure!” I replied with a grin, waving him off. “What were you looking for?”

“Springer's Hero Office.” Gigantomachia stated. “Which way?”

I tapped away at my phone, flicking my gaze towards the girls frozen against the wall and winking quickly.

“Okay, so you're going to want to go down that direction and-” I pointed down the street, slowly giving the hulking villain a set of directions as I pointed and waved demonstrably.

“Good directions.” He took a heaving breath. “Thank you, boy.”

“You're welcome,” I nodded, then paused as the lumbering giant began to turn. “Ah, do you want me to call the heroes to come here, instead?”

Gigantomachia frowned, his features moving at a glacial pace. “...Master said to destroy the hero office. I must destroy the hero office.”

“Okay, that makes sense, then. Just be careful, okay? It would be bad if you accidentally stepped on someone or crushed a car on your way there.” I laced my voice with my quirk as I spoke.

Gigantomachia rumbled thoughtfully. “As thank you for boy's help, Gigantomachia promises not to crush not-heroes.”

“Oh and... I found this,” I pulled the huge band from behind my back, materializing it as I did so. Turning my quirk up to its current maximum strength, I focused on the giant. “It's so big it obviously came from you. You should put it on and get going.”

The giant paused for a long moment, obviously thinking even as my commands set in. He reached out and took the control I'd resized for him and put it on.

Turning, he nodded, “Gigantomachia must do as Master commands, must destroy hero office...”

The thundering footsteps stomped off into the distance and I finally allowed myself to relax as I turned towards the camera on my shoulder. “And that, dear viewers, is how you defuse an escalating situation with a villain without heroes around: you give them what they want and let them leave. Don't be a hero if you aren't trained and don't have a license. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have a panic attack. I'll go offline for a bit, but I'll put up the freak-out video later on for an extra donation.”

I switched the camera off streaming mode and allowed it to continue recording as I walked over to the curb and put a hand out to catch myself on the nearby building.

“Oh dear sweet god I am a complete idiot and I feel like I'm about to puke my guts out,” I confessed as I limped my way to a sitting position, my legs clumsily giving way underneath me. Only part of it was acting, really. The other part was a real, honest, freakout that I'd just come face-to-face with a guy who could pop my skull like a grape if he felt like it.

“Thank you so much!”

A pair of pink arms wrapped around me as I sat-fell to the sidewalk, a mop of similarly-colored hair that smelled of strawberries.

“Huh?” I managed, my brain still a quivering pile of anxiety as I came down from my adrenaline high.

“You totes saved my classmates, you're a hero!” Yellow-on-black eyes, a bright white smile and... right. Ashido Mina.

“Thanks,” I breathed out, wrapping an arm around her shoulder briefly as the two nameless girls bowed and thanked me, still visibly shaking. “Hey, I need to make a call to the hero agency that guy was going to, so just... give me a minute?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, yeah...” Mina grinned, embarrassed as she released me.

Pulling out my phone, I made the requisite call and reported the incident as it had happened, affirming that I'd be staying put to issue a statement and relaying that they wanted the girls to as well. Then I collapsed against the wall again. Mina, having visibly calmed herself over the course of our conversation, finally took notice of my ‘parrot.’

“So, uhh... what's with the thing on your shoulder?” The pinkette asked, pointing and frowning cutely.

“It's a streaming cam.” I stopped momentarily to order my words. “I'm basically streaming my life nearly all day and asking people to donate to help me pay for hero school next year.”

“Whoa... you really are gonna' be a hero, that's so cool! Wait, are we on the internet right now?!” Mina's black eyes widened, the yellow rings growing as her pupils shrank. “Oh my god! My hair must be a mess and-”

I chuckled, feeling the stress leave my body at her antics.

She pouted as my laughter wound down.

“We're not on right now. The thing with the villain was live-streamed, but this is just being recorded. I'll edit you out later if you don't like the idea, but me freaking out is going to be a donation bonus for my subscribers.”

“...that's freakin’ genius!” Mina grinned, ruffling her own hair in excitement. “Oh my gosh, what am I saying!? I haven't even introduced myself! My name's Ashido Mina! Nice to meet you!”

I stuck out a hand, western-style. “Shinso Hitoshi.”

Well, at least now I could stop pretending not to be following Kirishima around.