A little boy with shoulder-length black hair tied back in a neat ponytail rested his chin on one arm, one knee casually perched over the other as he inspected his right hand.
Kirishima was busy testing the limits of his Hardening Quirk—activating it repeatedly to feel its power manifest.
After the incident that left his chin badly cut, he had quickly administered first aid and visited the hospital the next day to learn more about his Quirk.
Hardening.
It was the ability to transform his body, making it tougher and boosting his strength when activated.
It even combined elements of both his parents’ Quirks into one unified power.
At the moment, he had to consciously trigger Hardening, and while there was a short delay before it fully engaged, he figured that with practice he might be able to keep it active constantly and even target specific areas for an extra boost.
"Kids sure know how to have fun. That’s just how children are," he murmured.
Lost in thought about his Quirk, Kirishima’s attention was suddenly caught by the high-pitched voice of a nearby child.
Two boys stood facing each other, glaring fiercely.
"Go play with Endeavor over there! All Might is mine!" one shouted.
"What are you gonna do if I don’t? You idiot, and you still don’t even have a Quirk!" retorted the other.
"Hey! You wanna die?!"
"That’s enough."
Seeing the boys on the verge of throwing punches, Kirishima rose and walked over.
He couldn’t understand why they were willing to brawl over figures they couldn’t even eat—yet when had he ever truly understood children?
Might as well break it up, he thought.
In truth, Kirishima was one who believed in settling disputes with fists and raw determination.
However, when kindergartners started fighting, the teachers would intervene with endless lecturing on getting along, not just with the fighters but everyone in the room.
At first, Kirishima had ignored it, whether there was a fight or not, but after an experience that felt as if his ears were about to bleed from all the nagging, he began stepping in to stop the fights whenever he could.
Determined not to listen to any more lectures, he grabbed the heads of the two boys firmly.
Standing some 20 centimeters taller than his peers, his intervention looked almost natural.
The boys, their heads pressed in his hands as if his fingers were digging into their skulls, struggled to break free.
"O-ow. Kirishima..."
"Yeah. Cut it out."
"Shut up, idiots! Why are you even fighting over toys?"
"They’re not toys—they’re figures! Stupid Kirishima!"
"Exactly! Poor Kirishima doesn’t appreciate the beauty of figures!"
"Oh, really?"
Much larger and sturdier than the rest, Kirishima was quietly acknowledged as the strongest kid in the kindergarten.
He rarely fought with others, but his presence alone spoke volumes.
The only drawback was that the other kids found him unapproachable, leaving him without any close friends.
And Kirishima wasn’t exactly the type to initiate conversations anyway.
Still, whenever a fight seemed imminent, his physical intervention always had a magical effect—suddenly, everyone acted like the perfect little angels.
The dispute over the figures resolved itself as predictably as always.
"Anyways, don’t tire yourselves out fighting. Let’s solve this peacefully, kids. You could take turns with them or just play together, couldn’t you?"
"With him? You must be joking!"
"That’s my answer. Even if it’s me, that’s not going to happen."
"Really? Well, suit yourselves. Just keep your fights out of kindergarten. I’m out of here."
The two little ringleaders, each leading a small gang of three or four kids, glared at each other and dismissed Kirishima’s suggestion.
With a long sigh, Kirishima returned to his seat.
It seemed like yet another ordinary day in his life.
"All right, children, come gather around," a voice called out.
While Kirishima watched the kids playing, he turned at the sound of the teacher’s voice.
The teacher entered the room holding the hand of a little girl.
The girl looked quite unusual—her skin was pink, and atop her head were things that looked like either antennae or horns.
Shy by nature, she had kept her head bowed so much that her face was nearly hidden; only when the teacher asked her to introduce herself did she lift her head and speak softly.
"H-hi. I’m Ashido Mina. Nice to meet you all."
"Everyone, please be friendly with Ashido. Oh, and just so you know—Ashido manifested a Quirk last week that spits acid, and she still can’t fully control it, so keep your distance."
Kirishima frowned at the teacher’s words.
It was a well-known fact that when people see someone who looks different, their reactions fall into one of two categories—admiration or rejection.
More often than not, it was the latter.
Without any explicit incitement, people can become hostile simply because someone looks different.
The teacher’s final remark risked steering the children toward a negative view of Ashido.
Sure enough, the kids began whispering as they eyed her.
"Her skin is pink. That’s so weird."
"But she’s dangerous. My mom said not to play with kids who can’t control their Quirks."
"And her eyes are black. Isn’t that kind of creepy?"
After the teacher left, Ashido, now alone, looked around until no one approached her. Dejected, she slunk into a corner.
The other children kept glancing in her direction from afar, while Ashido stared blankly at the floor.
Noticing the little girl’s trembling shoulders, Kirishima stood up.
Kirishima had never been fond of children. They were too restless, awkward to communicate with, and simply exhausting to be around.
While he enjoyed watching them from a distance, he never felt the need to join in.
Yet, seeing a child being excluded or bullied was something he couldn’t abide—he truly despised it.
It reminded him of his own childhood, when at seven he had been cast out onto the streets with nothing but his scars.
Back then, small and powerless, no one had reached out to help him.
The street kids, each with their own struggles, had tormented him mercilessly simply because his skin was different.
Kirishima knew all too well how cruel people could be to those who were different, and how quickly they could turn a blind eye to injustice.
That was why he reacted so strongly whenever he saw a child in pain—it stirred memories of his own hardships.
"Hey. I’m Kirishima Eijiro. You can call me either Kirishima or Eijiro—whichever you prefer."
"Oh. H-hi. I’m Ashido Mina, like you heard earlier," she replied timidly.
When Kirishima approached, Ashido’s face brightened, although she recoiled slightly when confronted with his imposing size.
Still, reassured by his warm smile and outstretched hand, she returned the greeting.
She almost reached out to shake it before quickly pulling her hand back in surprise.
"You’re not going to shake hands with me? My arm hurts already!"
"The teacher mentioned it—remember? I spit acid, and sometimes I can’t control it, so I’m not allowed to touch others. I’m sorry."
"If that’s all, I’m fine shaking hands with you."
Activating his Hardening, Kirishima grasped Ashido’s hand firmly.
Watching her eyes widen in alarm, he felt a tingling sensation in his palm, much like the feeling when one first steps into a scalding hot bath.
He held out his hand, now with a wisp of smoke rising from it, and showed it to her.
"See? I’m perfectly fine."
Assured by the absence of any burns, Ashido’s eyes grew wide as she whispered,
"Huh? Really?"
"My Quirk, Hardening, not only toughens my body but also boosts my resistance to heat and cold. I figured it should be able to handle your acid too."
"Wow! That’s a relief!"
With her mood visibly brightened, Ashido chattered away, and in no time, Kirishima learned about her family, the name of her pet, her favorite doll, and even that her hobby was dancing.
Her non-stop chatter was so overwhelming that Kirishima pressed a hand to his forehead in exasperation.
"You know, when my Quirk first appeared at my old kindergarten, I accidentally hurt a friend I was playing with. I was terrified—I thought I’d never be able to make friends again!"
She doesn’t really seem like someone who’s too scared to talk, though...
"So, I ended up hiding in the corner until you burst in with your 'ta-da!' Hee hee!"
"Uh... yeah."
"Kirishima, are you okay?"
"Isn’t it dangerous?"
Before Kirishima could respond—still flustered by Ashido’s rapid pace—the voices of the two boys he had nearly fought earlier reached him from behind.
They were the kind of kids who bickered endlessly yet somehow managed to have perfect chemistry.
Kirishima brightened and pulled them into the conversation.
"What’s dangerous about it? Ashido isn’t going to eat you, and I’m perfectly fine. You two, say hello to Ashido too."
"Huh? We should too?"
"Yeah. Were you planning on just standing there without saying anything? You’re not scared, are you? That’s not very manly."
As Ashido settled a bit and Kirishima figured he might as well help her make some friends, he exaggerated his expression and prepared to nudge the boys closer to her, teasing their pride along the way.
The two little ringleaders, each proud to lead their own group, took the bait and raised their voices in defiance.
"Scared? I don’t know anything about that!"
"Me neither! A future hero isn’t afraid of anything!"
"Then stop just talking to me—go chat with Ashido. But since you don’t have any protective Quirks, don’t get too close."
Hesitantly, the boys managed a greeting to Ashido.
At first, it was awkward, but Ashido’s infectious high energy soon had everyone excitedly discussing their favorite topic: heroes.
Once the boys started engaging with Ashido, their respective groups crowded over, and the room quickly filled with lively chatter.
Even the girls who had been quietly watching from a distance joined in, peppering Ashido with questions.
Yes. This is exactly what it looks like when a child makes a new friend.
Satisfied with the scene he had orchestrated, Kirishima was about to slip away from the crowd when Ashido suddenly grabbed his hand, preventing him from leaving.
"Kirishima, where are you going?"
"Uh... I was just heading to the bathroom for a minute."
"Okay! Hurry back!"
"Yeah."
He had planned to quietly make his escape, but as he felt Ashido’s hand trembling in his grip, he sighed inwardly.
After giving a determined nod, Kirishima slipped away to the bathroom, clutching his head as he pondered the situation.
It was one thing to meddle when the outcome was favorable, but it meant enduring a chorus of high-pitched shouts from a swarm of kids.
Nevertheless, a promise was a promise. Kirishima returned to the group and spent the rest of the day staying by Ashido’s side.
That day, at the tender age of four, Kirishima Eijiro gained a lifelong friend—and in the process, lost a bit of his peace of mind.
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