บท 7: Chapter 6: Training
It's been a while since my quirk awakening. Every day since has been a test—both of my strength and my patience. I've dedicated myself to mastering "Programmatic Control," but progress has been slow and grueling. The physical toll my quirk takes on me keeps me confined to manipulating only small objects. Anything more substantial risks overwhelming me, shutting my body down.
At first, controlling "Programmatic Control" was like trying to wrestle a storm into submission—wild and chaotic, slipping through my grasp more often than not. Random changes would ripple through my surroundings—causing objects to warp, shift, and misbehave. But over time, I've managed to tame it. I can now command smaller items with precision, altering their weight, texture, and movement with a flicker of intent. Yet every change, no matter how small, drains me. The more complex the manipulation, the more I feel the quirk eating away at my energy, like a slow burn turning into an uncontrollable blaze.
This physical strain has become my greatest limitation, forcing me to train harder than I ever imagined. Efficiency is everything now—finding ways to maximize each adjustment without collapsing under the weight of my own power. And I'm not alone in this struggle. My parents have been with me every step of the way. My father's background in security and my mother's quirk, "Program," have been my compass, helping me understand the true implications of my ability.
Lately, though, it's been Takumi Yamamoto who has guided me. A retired hero whose quirk, Techno Touch, once allowed him to manipulate technology at will, he understands the burden of power all too well. Chronic fatigue and joint pain forced him into early retirement, but he still carries the wisdom of a seasoned veteran. Takumi's calm demeanor and sharp insight have become a source of stability in my chaotic journey.
Training with him has become routine—a lifeline. He's taught me to approach each task with care, to respect the limits of my body even as I push them. He's shown me the cost of overexertion and the importance of pacing myself. And yet, despite all the support, a gnawing fear lingers. Will I ever reach the point where "Programmatic Control" doesn't control me as much as I control it? Or am I doomed to follow the same path as Takumi—a brilliant career cut short by the strain of my own power?
Today, like every day, I step into Takumi's training facility. The sleek, high-tech space is filled with an array of gadgets, each one designed to test the limits of my quirk. This place feels like a second home now—a sanctuary and a battleground rolled into one.
"Alright," Takumi says, standing by the control panel, his sharp eyes watching my every move. "Today's focus is precision. I've set up a course for you—metallic spheres, each one requiring a different adjustment. Change their weight, texture, and density as they pass on the conveyor belt. Keep it subtle and steady."
I take a deep breath, staring at the first sphere as it approaches. The room falls silent except for the soft hum of the conveyor. The sphere rolls toward me, gleaming under the harsh light. I extend my focus, feeling the familiar tug of "Programmatic Control" ignite within me. A faint glow wraps around the sphere as I begin to alter its density. Slowly, I adjust its weight, feeling the strain crawl through my muscles like fire spreading under my skin.
Takumi's voice cuts through the silence, calm but firm. "Remember, overexertion will make the task harder. Focus on precision, not force."
I smirk slightly, despite the effort. "I know what I'm doing," I say, my tone carrying a hint of arrogance. "This isn't the first time I've handled something like this."
The first sphere passes the test—lighter, more agile. I exhale, moving on to the next one. This one requires a texture change—a rough stone-like surface. I close my eyes for a moment, visualizing the texture I want to impose. My hands tingle with strain, the weight of "Programmatic Control" pressing on me like an invisible vice. I push through, feeling the surface of the sphere shift and warp beneath my influence. It works, though not as smoothly as I hoped.
Takumi observes from the corner of the room. "Consistency is key," he reminds me, his tone gentle but insistent. "If you can maintain your precision across all the spheres, you'll eventually be able to tackle more complex tasks."
I roll my eyes slightly, though I still listen. "I get it. Precision, consistency. I'm on it."
It's not just physical—there's a mental toll as well, a constant fear that one day I'll push too hard and the quirk will push back harder than I can handle. But the thought only fuels my determination to prove myself. I continue with the course. The next few spheres test my ability to combine adjustments—weight and texture changes simultaneously. It's harder than I anticipated. My muscles tremble from the strain, but I push through, guided by Takumi's steady advice. His voice cuts through my doubts, helping me refine my technique and regain focus when I falter.
By the end of the session, my body is screaming for rest. My hands tremble, my vision swims with exhaustion, but I manage a small smile. I've made progress—incremental, perhaps, but progress nonetheless. Takumi walks over, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"Good work today," he says softly. "You're getting stronger. Don't forget that."
I nod, a flicker of hope stirring in my chest. The challenges ahead are daunting, but with Takumi's guidance, I believe I can overcome them. For now, though, all I can think about is resting. Tomorrow, I'll be back here again, facing the same trials. But each day, I take another step forward, closer to mastering "Programmatic Control"—and closer to understanding the limits of both my power and myself.
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