Suddenly Quirkless

The Distance Created By Trauma and Struggle

So, first off, this chapter is a little shorter than the others, and I am awful at writing this sort of stuff. That, plus some personal reasons, is why this took so darn long. I was also planning out some future things for where this story was heading, making sure they made sense and all.

Anyhow, Happy Holidays.

"Today you'll be attending your first Foundational Heroics lesson."

Frenzied murmurs and restless shuffling filled the room.

Killua's gaze lazily trailed from the window to the front of the room. His head was propped up on the heel of his right palm. 

He remained quiet, listening in on the rushed conversations around him.

The hulking, gruff man at the front of the class released a small, nostalgic chuckle that Killua could only just make out over the noise his classmates were generating.

"I'm sure you've all heard the rumors of who your instructor will be and are eager to begin your specialized curriculum like all the other courses have," he said, prompting another round of excited cheers and whispers. "But!" 

The students quieted themselves at his tone and an obnoxious blonde boy in particular (Momota? No, Monoma was his name-) looked prepared to throw hands with just the unspoken implications of it; this particular growl only surfaced when Kan spoke about Class 1-A, as Killua had become well aware of in the few days he'd attended U.A.

He wondered if all the top schools were this competitive (he could only assume that the respectable ranking of the institution heightened certain expectations, after all) or if the extent of Kan's childish agitation was simply due to the teacher's harboring of a more personal grudge.

Either way, the ensuing speech about how they needed to somehow "demonstrate how they were better than their rival class," in what Killua doubted was much beyond another baseline examination like had been experienced on his first day made the silver-haired boy roll his eyes. 

Not to mention the fact that so-called 'Symbol of Peace' was already going to be biased towards his protégé's class, even if they weren't the powerhouses Mr. Ishiyama made them out to be when complaining about the damage he'd had to repair the day prior. Both of which were examples of the inherent unprofessionalism of U.A. teachers.

At the very least, being in 1-B meant less attention and morning Heroics classes. He got to start of his day either punching someone's face in or openly toying with one of his hidden knives by attaching them to the mandatory (and frankly, that was just ridiculous) costumes hero students had to submit.

Sensing that Kan wasn't going to stop blabbering until the end of homeroom, Killua tuned the overly passionate monologue out and looked back towards the nearest window with a lidded gaze.

He snapped back to attention as the useless rambling finally came to an end and the clock's hands hit 8:40. Then he promptly lost interest again upon seeing the performance Japan's favorite blonde buffoon put on as he entered the room. 

(Say what you will about Killua being a dramatic bastard, but that was not 'coming through the door like a normal person.')

A quick- it better have been quick, since it was also completely unnecessary- introduction to the point of a Heroics class for hero students attending one of, if not the most renowned school for heroes in the country. Because no one could figure that out for themselves.

The hidden eyes and eternal grin of the man did vaguely remind Killua of Razor, though, so he had those sorts of thoughts to occupy him at least.

Killua's newest imbecile of an instructor pressed a button to reveal 20 small lockers, each with a corresponding suitcase, emerging from the wall with a muted rumble.