𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐈𝐑! ❀ 𝐊. 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐈 [ˢʰᵒʳᵗ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ]

⑧ 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚

Training started immediately and lasted all day.

In the facility, Kimika was doubled over, clutching her chest. She coughed, as the air was knocked out of her.

"Weak! Again!"

Kimika took her battle stance and braced herself for the next hit Hirose sent to her stomach.

"Vanish! If you are expecting the hit, you'll be hit!" Hirose growled at her. Keigo watched from beside Fujikawa, where he waited for his match, with anxious eyes. "You need to focus on being the first one to make the move! Do not expect the hit. Prevent it!"

The ten-year-old girl wiped her mouth on her glove, returning to her stance. Her hands were clenched into fists near her chin. As Hirose drove his foot forward in an attempt to kick her, Kimika dodged and smacked it away, propelling her own leg to mimic the same attack. She managed to hit the man in the ribs, but with little to no effect.

Hirose grabbed her ankle and harshly lifted it up, causing her to collapse to the ground with a loud thud. Kimika cried out. The man towered above her with a dangerous look in his eyes. "The force of your kick should be in the heel, not the toes." Kimika winced as she tried to pull herself back to her feet. Bruises were already forming on her elbows from her fall. "You're done for today, Vanish. Hawks! You're next."

The two passed each other as they exchanged places. Kimika avoided eye contact. They'd been doing close-combat training for a week now, and it was painfully obvious that Kimika was no master. Keigo had a good understanding of when and how to avoid a hit, and exactly how to retaliate. He was extremely good at it. Kimika was not. She felt ashamed.

Fujikawa ruffled the girl's straight white hair as she leaned against the wall. "You just need to focus. Perhaps you can ask Hawks for some pointers later."

Kimika considered the idea. It was a good one, she admitted. She hadn't yet thought about it.

Three beeps interrupted the spar before it even began. Dr. Sasaki stepped into the room, a clipboard tucked under her arm. Dressed in her lab coat and her black hair tied into a ponytail, it was clear she was on duty.

"Dr. Sasaki," Fujikawa greeted. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Sasaki cleared her throat, her eyes set firmly on the white-haired girl. "I need to borrow Vanish for a moment."

Kimika blinked around the room. Hirose looked annoyed that she'd barged in on a training session. Fujikawa looked exhausted. Keigo looked bummed out that his friend was leaving.

The girl was in no position to refuse, so she followed the doctor out of the training facility. Sasaki led her down the hallway and into a new room. It seemed a smaller version of the room they'd just been in, seemingly used for just one person at a time.

"Madam President was unimpressed with your last scores," Sasaki got straight to the point when the door was closed. She stood in the center of the room. "She wants you to start a new quirk training. She said close combat could wait."

Kimika was about to open her mouth to ask a question, but the courage left her as soon as it came. She wasn't ashamed to admit that she was afraid of the President, and she did not want to wait and see what would happen to her if she spoke up against the woman's decisions.

"Now, three years ago, we made a major breakthrough with your quirk. We developed your release trigger." Sasaki looked up from her clipboard. "Shall we quickly test it? Do you currently have anything in your Void?"

Kimika thought back over the past events of the week. She'd touched a training staff when one of her gloves fell off. That was the only thing. The girl swallowed her nerves and managed to choke a few words out. "Just a staff."

"A staff? Like one you train with?"

The girl nodded.

"Very well. Please, release it."

Kimika held up her fingers and snapped. She felt the familiar sensation of air releasing inside her mind and suddenly the training staff was in the air. It clattered to the ground.

"Excellent. Now, touch it again, and this time add my clipboard." Sasaki held the object out to the ten-year-old, who was removing one of her gloves. Kimika did as she was told.

"Now, here's the part I want to work on. Release only the clipboard."

Kimika blinked at her. Only the clipboard? Was that even possible? It was a miracle she was able to return anything at all. This seemed like a harder task than simply letting the air out of the balloon.

"Come on, you can do it." Sasaki urged, a confident smile on her face. "Imagine only letting out a set amount of air."

The ruby-eyed girl held her fingers into the trigger position and closed her eyes. She focused intently on the figurative red balloon at the back of her mind. Only a set amount of air, she thought. If it could be done, she wanted to do it.

She snapped, and in a flash, the clipboard appeared in the air and collapsed to the ground.

So did the staff.

Kimika glared down at the training weapon that dared to come out even after she told it not to.

"Ah, that's okay," Sasaki reassured, "I didn't expect you to get it on the first try."

Kimika tried eight more times. Only on the ninth try did something happen. She tried to focus on the shape of the clipboard. She made it the only thing she was thinking about. She forgot about the balloon, about the air, about the staff. She kept repeating the word clipboard in her mind.

Until it appeared with a snap of her fingers.

Sasaki cheered.

Kimika stared at the clipboard on the ground with a smile. She'd finally done it.

Finally, geez.

"I can't believe you got it in the first few tries. What did you do?"

Kimika shrugged. "I pictured it." The short answer was accompanied by a swift gesture to the clipboard.

"You pictured the clipboard?" The girl nodded in response to the doctor's question. "Only the clipboard?" Another nod. "Why, kudos to you for thinking so quickly! Let's make sure it wasn't a fluke, okay?"

And again, Kimika completed the task.

"Well then, I'm glad to report you'll be back to close-combat training in the morning!"

Oh, joy.

Kimika was beginning to wish she'd dragged on the process a little more.