Chapter Text
Ayaka Karakuri’s room was an explosion of colours. Ribbons dangled from the edges of her dresser like streamers left over from a forgotten party. Masks, painted, feathered, smiling, frowning, watched from every shelf. Posters plastered the walls, each one bright enough to make the space feel alive, even in the stillness of morning. Her silver hair caught the sunlight that poured in through the window, shining like a thread of spun metal.
She sat at the edge of her chair, twirling a ribbon around her fingers as she hummed some tune half remembered from the night before. The sound was soft, almost playful, filling the air like a secret meant only for herself.
The door swung open, abrupt and commanding, cutting the hum in half. A shadow stretched long across the floor. Mushin Karakuri stood in the doorway, spine stiff as steel, eyes sharp as glass. She didnt need to speak for her presence to demand attention, but still her words rang out like a verdict.
“You’re going to the Entrance Exam today.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even concern. Just a statement, clean and certain, as if fate itself was being confirmed.
Ayaka hummed again, a little higher this time, as if responding with a note instead of words.
“If you dare to embarrass our family, Ayaka.”
Ayaka didn’t look up. Her fingers never stopped their dance with the ribbon. Her voice, when it came, was quiet but crisp, every syllable deliberate.
“I dont make mistakes. I perform. And I do it well.”
The silence between them thickened. Mushin’s gaze sharpened for the briefest moment, but her expression did not crack. She had learned long ago not to treat words like these as rebellion. They were simply truth spoken aloud. So she accepted them, gave the faintest incline of her head, and closed the door behind her.
The room brightened again, as if the sun had been waiting for its chance to spill inside. The neon colours across Ayaka’s walls seemed to pulse with life. She wound the ribbon once more around her hand, then let it slip free. Rising, she skipped a step into the center of the room, dipped into a dramatic bow, and whispered with a grin, “Bravo, bravo. You’ve truly outdone yourself this time.”
The stairwell to the basement was colder, quieter. By the time she descended, the morning’s sunlight had softened into a gold glow that followed her only so far. Down here, the world was bare. The walls were lined with gym equipment, weights, ropes, mirrors, targets pieced together with tape and paint. It was a stage of a different kind, stripped of colour, stripped of excess.
Ayaka pressed play on the speaker. The first notes of some pop hit filled the empty space, echoing off the walls until the basement felt larger than it was. And then she began. The rhythm guided her stretches, each movement precise but unhurried, as though the music itself dictated her tempo. When she lifted weights, the beat carried her count. When she struck the makeshift targets, the impacts landed right on time with the song. It wasnt training, it was choreography.
Sweat eventually traced down her temple, falling in drops that darkened the floor. Her alarm went off, a sharp reminder breaking through the melody. She let the weights clatter back into place, exhaled, and took one last look in the mirror before heading upstairs.
Steam soon replaced sweat. A quick shower, a swift change into something neat, and she was stepping back into the quiet kitchen. The house felt hollow without company, but it didn’t unsettle her. She never bothered much with breakfast, never saw the point of slowing down to eat when the day already beckoned her forward. She simply adjusted her sleeves and left.
Outside, the morning air greeted her with the gentleness of early hours. The bus ride was almost too peaceful, only a scattering of passengers dozing or staring out windows. Ayaka settled into her seat, swaying faintly with the turns, the hum of the engine blending with the music still echoing in her mind.
On the walk from the bus stop, a lady stopped her, groceries threatening to spill from thin plastic bags. Ayaka lent a hand, and in return, the woman pressed a sandwich into her palms with grateful insistence. Ayaka smiled, tucked it into her bag, and kept moving.
By the time she reached the gates of U.A., the crowd was gathering. Students filed in with faces ranging from nervous to determined. Ayaka slowed, letting herself take in the sight of it all, the looming building, the shifting sea of hopefuls.
She drew in a breath. Then, with a whisper almost too quiet for the world to hear, she said:
“Action.”