My name is Shinsou Hitoshi, and I was bitten by a radioactive spider

Second Puberty

Life was unfair. Of course, that fact was nothing new for Hitoshi considering his quirk status. Still, the ache cutting through his skull made him want to ram himself into a wall. Sure, he'd gone to bed well past midnight, but he'd gotten a whole five hours of sleep – a miracle by Hitoshi's standards. His body had no good reason whatsoever to plague him with yet another migraine.

Tucked in the back seat of Hizashi's bright red convertible, Hitoshi dragged his hands across his face. Every sound was amplified tenfold. The engine drilled into Hitoshi's eardrums. The sharp scent of gasoline filled his nostrils. Attempting to massage the tension of his fingers, Hitoshi felt like a cat on high alert prepared to pounce on anyone who dared attack their territory.

Deep green uniform fabric clung to Hitoshi's thighs. Pulling a leg closer to his chest, Hitoshi noted how the hems of his pant legs had risen two inches above his ankle. Another growth spurt? Beads of sweat formed against his neck even though a cool breeze whipped around Hitoshi. Wiping his skin with the sleeves of his blazer, Hitoshi wondered what he'd done to deserve a sudden onslaught of some weird second puberty.

Photographs of 42 and a spider crawling onto Hitoshi's hand emerged. He buried the thoughts. His sleep-deprived state had made him unusually imaginative. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less.

Still, every crunch of the cars' tires was agony. The hair fluttering in Shinsou's face hit his cheeks hard and felt like wires. He frowned at how his meticulous styling had fallen apart and leaned toward Hizashi.

"Considering how much hair gel you and I use, I dunno whether this car was the best idea."

"Well, excuse me for having style." Wearing his typical radio-show-host grin, Hizashi rolled his eyes in false frustration. "Get your own car if you don't like mine."

Hitoshi raised a brow. "In this economy?"

"Fair enough, little listener." Hizashi paused, focusing on swerving around a tree-lined street in downtown Musutafu. "I'll talk to Shouta about getting you a ride once you're old enough for a license."

Nodding in satisfaction, Hitoshi envisioned driving along an empty street late into the night with only the stars scattered across the navy sky to accompany him. Until he pictured a certain blonde, wrapping his arms around his waist while they rode on a motorcycle. Hitoshi gulped. Maybe cars were overrated.

Every nerve crackled. Hitoshi could hear the blood pumping through his veins. Or at least he was imagining it – because it wasn't humanly possible to hear his heartbeat while sitting deathly still. Without fully processing his thoughts, he asked "Would a motorcycle be on the table?"

"I don't see why not. Hard to brand it as dangerous when your uncle and I are both in heroics."

Relief pooled from Hitoshi amid the fact that Hizashi didn't suspect that there was a deeper motivation behind asking about the motorcycle. Not that Hitoshi saw Kaminari – that God he'd asked Uncle Shouta about his name – in any romantic way whatsoever. He was just nice to talk to and his smile radiated warmth in a way that Hitoshi lost his train of thought every time Kaminari looked his way.

With a wistful sigh, Hitoshi leaned against the car door. Maybe he'd have the time to talk more with Kaminari before class. After all, any distraction from his splitting headache was welcome. He squinted at the searing sun breaking through the clouds. Why was it so bright? Hitoshi wondered whether he was some sort of vampire and just never realized.

As the car came to a stop, Hitoshi spotted Kaminari pass through the gates. Drawn in like a sailor by sirens, Hitoshi gathered his belongings and stumbled onto the pavement. Through all the intensified sounds and colors surrounding Hitoshi, Kaminari was just as loud and bold – yet something about him was as comforting as coffee on a Sunday.