The sun dipped below the horizon, the lights cascading through the streets. The sounds of strings echoed through the area, sweat drifting down his body.
Shin had started working on his Quirk to improve his control and durability. He'd been training way harder than he did before getting into the U.A. High School.
The thought of losing to Katsuki Bakugo flashed through his head, igniting rage in his heart and pushing him further. His strings had been repelled by Bakugo's Quirk, and he realized he still wouldn't stand a chance against Shoto Todoroki and a few others.
"Damn! I can't lose!"
The thought of surpassing his classmates and rivals burned in his heart, driving him to push himself beyond Plus Ultra! Strings swirled around his fingertips as he maintained his focus and concentration.
The strings maneuvered away from his fingertips, curling mid-air and forming a spider web. Tilting his hands, he deflated the web and reshaped it into another object.
He repeated the same procedure over and over before moving on to the next phase.
"The question is… how do I make my strings thicker?" He murmured. "If they can be as thick as iron, I doubt Bakugo's explosions will be able to blast them away."
He began his solo training. Since his dad wasn't available, nor was his uncle, he had no other choice but to train and level up by himself.
His muscles ached from continuous training. He attempted many trials but continued to fail each one. "Shit!" He cursed.
Taking a few minutes' water break to regain his composure, he threw himself back into training before going home.
The strings obeyed his command, swirling from his fingertips, creating different shapes and objects as he devised his own attacks.
The sharpness of his strings was still dull—not strong enough to slice a huge building or metal in half.
"String Armor!"
Strings engulfed his body, covering every limb with solidified fibers, leaving only his face and neck exposed.
With a slight swing of his hand, the strings formed a defensive barrier in front of him.
Good.
He launched himself forward, crouching low and swinging his right leg through the air, sending a series of strings shooting from his legs.
The strings sliced through the air, dicing up a nearby tree. Shin had made sure to find a secluded spot for his solo training to avoid suspicion. If he were spotted by cops or heroes, it would be troublesome—both for him and his parents—since the government had banned civilians from using their Quirks.
Only pro heroes were permitted to use their Quirks, as they were licensed to do so. Shin ensured his training spot was hidden and inconspicuous.
"String Bullet!"
Strings shot from his fingertips, piercing nearby trees rapidly. He leaped away from his position as fast as he could, moving in another direction.
His physical speed had improved slightly since his previous battle against Bakugo, and he could see a brief difference.
He moved precisely, feet swift, eyes locked on the tree he'd designated as his opponent—and…
Boom!
The entire tree within the same radius was diced in half.
'I should learn how to control how sharp my strings can be! Let's try that!'
Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly. He crouched low, knees bent, hands outstretched as strings curled from his fingers, entangling a tree branch.
Clenching his fist, the strings tightened around the branch—only for the attempt to fail once more, destroying the tree instead.
"Holy shit!"
Shin stood at the edge of the forest training grounds, fingers twitching with tension. His strings shimmered faintly under the sunlight—thin, silver, and razor-sharp. A gust of wind swept through the trees, tugging the leaves like puppets caught in his web.
He clenched his fists.
"This won't do…" he muttered.
His mentor's voice echoed in his head: "A hero doesn't just strike. He saves."
That truth gnawed at him. Razor threads had power, yes—they could bind, slice, entangle.
And so here he was.
Shin raised his hands. Threads flowed from his fingertips, sharp as ever. He tried to imagine them softening, relaxing like rope or elastic cord. But every time he visualized the change, the threads resisted, buzzing with tension and flickering dangerously in the light.
"Alright… Next round." He exhaled and set the timer on his wrist.
Shin launched forward, fingers dancing. The threads whipped outward like vipers, fast and accurate. One lashed toward the tree, intent on catching and pulling it back.
Slice!
The thread sliced clean through the tree.
"No, no, no!" Shin cursed. "It's too tense!"
He retracted the threads and bit his lip. 'I keep thinking of an attack. I need to stop thinking of control through force…'
He inhaled slowly, remembering what All Might had told him once.
Shin sat down cross-legged beneath a tree, the forest breathing quietly around him. Birds chirped above. Somewhere, a squirrel darted through the leaves. He closed his eyes and extended a string from his index finger. Instead of commanding it, he simply let it unravel. Not as a weapon. Just as… him.
He imagined a child falling from a building. His string catching them—harmless, comforting, firm but gentle. Not slicing. Not bruising. A lifeline, not a blade.
The string shivered.
Its edges dulled.
"That's it," he whispered. "More... like thread... not wire."
He flicked his finger. The string curved in the air like a soft streamer, not a lash. He smiled faintly.
But it didn't last.
As soon as he tried to wrap the elastic string around the tree again, it reverted—tense, sharp, hungry.
Snap!
Another cut. Another failure.
"Why?" He growled. "I'm focusing!"
But something inside him whispered a truth he didn't want to hear.
You're afraid. You think soft means weak. You're still scared that in a real fight, kindness will get someone killed.
His breath caught. It was true. Every time he tried to soften the string, a part of him held back—clenching, gripping, preparing for the worst. Because what if the string didn't hold? What if he let someone fall? What if he failed?
He looked at his hands—calloused, scarred. He'd always trained to fight, to cut, to win. But to save?
That was harder.
He stood again, slower this time, and approached a tree. He extended a string and wrapped it gently around a thick branch. "You can hold it without cutting," he said. "Just hold."
The string coiled like a ribbon—and didn't slice.
His heart leaped.
He ran the simulation again. This time, he formed two strings—one thin and sharp, coiled tightly and waiting just in case; the other, thick and loose, with wide braids to cushion impact.
As the tree branch fell from the platform, Shin lunged and fired the braided thread—now infused with elasticity. The string shot forward, looped around the branch, and pulled.
No slicing. No breaking.
The branch swayed gently in the air, suspended like a marionette in a cradle of silk.
He did it.
Shin dropped to one knee, panting, sweat running down his neck.
"You saved it," he whispered to himself.
The forest was quiet again. Even the birds seemed to pause.
Then came footsteps behind him.
"You finally did it," Said a recognized voice—his father, stepping out from the woods with arms crossed. "You've learned what most don't understand about strings."
Shin turned, face still flushed from the effort. "Dad?! What are you doing here? You startled me a bit!"
"I'm sorry if I got you scared for a second," his father smiled. "Good work!"
Shin looked back at his hand—where the soft thread still pulsed faintly between his fingers.
"Can I… make it both?" he asked. "Soft when I need to save. Sharp when I need to fight?"
His father nodded. "You already have. That was the real test."
Shin exhaled deeply, finally feeling like the string between his fingers was not just an extension of his power—but of his heart.
From this day on, he vowed, his threads would no longer just be weapons. They would be tools, shields, lifelines. Whatever the world needed from him—he would weave it.
Because a hero doesn't just know how to fight but to save lives…
More Chapters ahead on P@t
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