BNHA: Lioren

Leon stepped out of the Quirk Registration Center, stretching his arms above his head as he took a deep breath. The air outside was noticeably fresher than the sterile scent of antiseptic that had clung to the facility's walls.

The entire process had gone smoother than he expected, aside from the doctor's clear disappointment when Leon refused additional tests. It wasn't surprising—Dr. Morita seemed like the type who geeked out over quirks, and the idea of studying an unregistered one must have been tempting.

"Too bad for him," Leon thought as he rolled his shoulders. The man had been nice, but Leon wasn't about to spend hours getting poked and prodded just because someone was curious.

With the bureaucratic nonsense finally out of the way, he figured he might as well grab something to eat before heading home.

Pulling out his phone—a sleek, modern touchscreen device—he lazily scrolled through search results for nearby breakfast spots. He had only been allowed to have one this year.

"Damned old man."

 It wasn't like he couldn't have gotten one before—his allowance was more than enough—but he didn't want to go behind Thadius's back. There was no real reason for waiting; it just felt wrong to do otherwise.

Eventually, he found a place with good reviews. It was close by, relatively quiet, and, most importantly, looked expensive enough to filter out loud crowds. Satisfied, he made his way there.

…

The café was perched on the first floor of a modern glass-and-steel building, with an open terrace offering a clear view of the city. Leon appreciated the design—minimalistic yet refined, prioritizing space and comfort over unnecessary embellishments. The terrace was slightly elevated above street level, separating the diners from the pedestrian flow without completely cutting them off.

It was the kind of place where businessmen had morning meetings and university students pretended to study.

He picked a table near the railing, where he had a clear view of the small park across the street. The morning air was crisp, carrying the subtle scent of damp earth and freshly brewed coffee. The park wasn't particularly crowded—just a few joggers, an elderly man feeding pigeons, and a mother gently pushing her child on a swing.

It was peaceful.

The kind of quiet that wasn't forced, just natural.

A waitress approached soon after he settled in. She looked to be in her early twenties, with neatly tied brown hair and a uniform that fit the café's aesthetic—simple but professional.

"I'll have a croissant and a cappuccino," Leon said casually.

She gave a polite nod before walking off, and Leon leaned back in his chair. It wasn't the best combination, but he had grown fond of it—a habit carried over from a past life. Some things just stuck.

A few moments later, the waitress returned, carefully balancing a tray with his order. As she opened her mouth to speak, Leon smoothly placed a few crisp bills on the table, cutting off whatever routine phrase she had planned.

Her eyes flickered with surprise before she quickly schooled her expression, though the brief hesitation was enough.

It wasn't hard to understand. A thirteen-year-old casually dining alone at a place like this wasn't exactly normal. And paying upfront, without checking the price? Even more unusual.

Flustered, she gave a slight bow before leaving.

Leon idly took a bite of his croissant, letting the buttery flakes melt on his tongue as he absently stirred his cappuccino. His focus, however, was elsewhere.

His mana core had developed to the point where he could refine his energy even while doing other things. The efficiency wasn't great, of course—splitting his attention meant a slower, less thorough process—but it was progress nonetheless.

More importantly, he was on the verge of something new.

It wasn't a feeling he could describe easily, but his mana had been acting differently lately. Not unstable, but shifting—adapting, evolving. Like standing on the edge of a discovery he couldn't yet grasp. If he had to guess, he'd need another week to push through the threshold. What would be on the other side? He had no idea.

He let the thought drift away, his gaze lazily scanning the park.

Then, something caught his eye.

A group of figures was moving through the open space at a hurried pace, weaving between benches and trees. Most notably, one of them was carrying a large duffle bag, clutching it tightly to his chest.

"Villains."

Leon exhaled quietly and leaned back in his chair. A fight was about to break out.

The moment the hero arrived, chaos erupted.

One of the villains—short, broad-shouldered, and covered in grime—slammed his palm into the ground. The dirt beneath him shuddered, shifting unnaturally before a jagged drill shot up from the earth, launching straight toward the hero.

With a sharp movement, the hero sidestepped, letting the attack rip past him before he closed the distance with a burst of speed. His fist connected with the second villain—a lanky man with bandages wrapped around his arms—sending him crashing into a nearby bench. The impact splintered the wood, and the villain groaned in pain, struggling to push himself up.

The first villain—Drillshot, if Leon had to guess—gritted his teeth and slammed both hands into the ground this time. The dirt around him responded instantly, forming a series of spinning drills that shot forward like projectiles.

The hero dodged again, twisting his body mid-air and landing gracefully a few feet away. From his movements, Leon could tell he was experienced—his reflexes were sharp, his judgment precise.

But the villain wasn't trying to win anymore.

He was trying to cause havoc.

Drillshot turned sharply and fired a volley of spinning projectiles—not at the hero, but at the civilians watching from the sidelines.

The crowd had been treating the fight like a spectacle, cheering or complaining as if it were a sports match. Most of them hadn't realized they were in actual danger—until now.

Screams rang out as the drills tore through the air, heading straight for them.

Leon remained seated, eyes locked onto the incoming barrage of spinning earth drills. A normal person would've panicked, scrambled for cover, or at least shouted in warning.

He did none of those things.

Instead, he took a slow breath, activating his ability.

[Class Wheel: Mage → Tank]

The shift was immediate. Strength flooded his body, a dense weight settling into his muscles, reinforcing his very being. His mana adapted, thickened, coalescing around him in a way it hadn't before. A new prompt flashed across his mind.

[Combination detected]

[Acquired hybrid skill: Mana Barrier]

Leon raised a single hand.

A translucent blue barrier flared to life just in time, solidifying between the drills and the civilians before they could react. The projectiles smashed against it with violent force, some shattering on impact, others ricocheting harmlessly away. Dust and debris kicked up in the aftermath, obscuring the view of the shocked onlookers.

Gasps and startled cries filled the air.

"What just happened?"

"Was that a hero's Quirk?"

"Did anyone see—?"

Leon remained still, waiting as the dust settled. Through the thinning haze, the hero from earlier had already taken advantage of the distraction, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick that sent Drillshot tumbling unconscious to the ground.

With the battle over, the attention of the gathered civilians shifted, their confused chatter growing louder.

Leon quietly finished the last sip of his cappuccino.

He needed to leave.

Standing up, he casually adjusted his jacket and walked out of the café terrace, slipping away before anyone could pinpoint him as the source of the barrier. He had no interest in dealing with whatever nonsense came next—be it official procedures, hero bureaucracy, or some entitled civilian trying to claim he "interfered recklessly."

…

Leon walked down the street, hands tucked into his pockets, his pace unhurried. The morning air was still cool, though the city was beginning to wake up in full. The distant hum of traffic, the rhythmic steps of pedestrians, the occasional chatter of store owners opening shop—all of it blended into a familiar urban symphony.

He didn't need to look back to know that the scene he'd left behind was a mess. It was inevitable. Civilians who had witnessed the attack were likely trying to make sense of what had happened, recounting details with varying degrees of accuracy. Some would exaggerate, others would downplay, and a handful would claim to have seen something they hadn't.

Meanwhile, back at the scene...

Hero officials had arrived, taking over from the lone hero who had fought the villains. A mix of uniformed personnel and support staff began securing the area, questioning witnesses, and ensuring that no one had sustained injuries.

A stern-looking investigator, a man in his late thirties with a neatly trimmed beard and sharp eyes, flipped open a small notepad. "Alright, let's get this straight. The attack was contained, but someone—someone not affiliated with the hero—deployed some kind of defensive barrier?"

A nearby witness, a middle-aged businessman still clutching his briefcase, nodded. "Yes! It was like a glowing shield! Just appeared out of nowhere!"

"Did you see who made it?"

The businessman hesitated. "I… not exactly. But it came from over there, near that café's terrace."

The investigator turned to one of his subordinates. "Check with the staff. If someone was there when the barrier activated, they might still be inside."

At the café…

The waitress, the same one who had served Leon earlier, was caught off guard when the officials approached her.

"Excuse me, miss," one of them said, "we're looking into the incident that just occurred. Do you remember who was seated on the terrace around the time of the attack?"

The waitress blinked. "Uh, yes. There was one customer there just before it all happened. A young boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen. But he left right after…" She trailed off, suddenly realizing something.

If the attack had happened so close to the terrace, then technically, her customer should have been right in harm's way. Yet, he hadn't made a sound of distress. He hadn't even seemed affected when she last saw him.

She glanced toward the now-empty terrace, a flicker of suspicion forming in her mind.

"Strange," she muttered to herself. "Could it have been… him?"

Back with Leon…

Unaware—or perhaps just unbothered—by the minor stir his actions had caused, Leon continued toward home. He had done what was necessary, and now, it was time to move on.

As far as he was concerned, this morning had gone about as well as he could've hoped.