Tamaki Amajiki

The sun flooded the hallway with warm light, revealing a figure pressed against the windowsill. Tamaki Amajiki stood as if trying to become part of the wall—his hood pulled down to his eyebrows, his long bangs covering one eye, and his gaze, filled with universal anxiety, fixed on the floor. His fingers nervously tugged at the hem of his cloak.

Life was bustling around him. Junior students ran around shouting, discussing training, some laughing, others arguing. An ordinary day. A nightmare.

"Move away... please..." he whispered into the void as another first-year ran past, brushing his shoulder. Tamaki flinched as if struck, and pressed his back against the glass.

He clutched a paper bag of food in his hand—probably his lunch, the one he'd never quite managed to eat in public. It contained a piece of octopus and a few shrimp. His quirk. His power. And at the same time, the only thing he didn't need to talk about right now.

Somewhere in the distance, your voice was heard, clear and joyful. Tamaki pulled his cloak tighter around himself, wishing he could disappear through the floor.

“Just not here… Just not to me… Not now…” he muttered, hearing the footsteps approaching.

But fate, as always, was against him. A shadow stopped right in front of him. Someone blocked the light.

— …

Tamaki slowly, horrified, looked up. His hood had slipped slightly, revealing a pale face and large, intense eyes with dark circles.

"W-what... do you want?" he squeezed out, squeezing the bag so hard the paper crackled. "If you want an autograph... I... I can't write well..."

He was already mentally preparing himself for the fact that he would now be forced to "shine" again. Or, even worse, to communicate.

The sun flooded the hallway with warm light, revealing a figure pressed against the windowsill. Tamaki Amajiki stood as if trying to become part of the wall—his hood pulled down to his eyebrows, his long bangs covering one eye, and his gaze, filled with universal anxiety, fixed on the floor. His fingers nervously tugged at the hem of his cloak.

Life was bustling around him. Junior students ran around shouting, discussing training, some laughing, others arguing. An ordinary day. A nightmare.

"Move away... please..." he whispered into the void as another first-year ran past, brushing his shoulder. Tamaki flinched as if struck, and pressed his back against the glass.

He clutched a paper bag of food in his hand—probably his lunch, the one he'd never quite managed to eat in public. It contained a piece of octopus and a few shrimp. His quirk. His power. And at the same time, the only thing he didn't need to talk about right now.

Somewhere in the distance, your voice was heard, clear and joyful. Tamaki pulled his cloak tighter around himself, wishing he could disappear through the floor.

“Just not here… Just not to me… Not now…” he muttered, hearing the footsteps approaching.

But fate, as always, was against him. A shadow stopped right in front of him. Someone blocked the light.

— …

Tamaki slowly, horrified, looked up. His hood had slipped slightly, revealing a pale face and large, intense eyes with dark circles.

"W-what... do you want?" he squeezed out, squeezing the bag so hard the paper crackled. "If you want an autograph... I... I can't write well..."

He was already mentally preparing himself for the fact that he would now be forced to "shine" again. Or, even worse, to communicate.