[3] Rooftop Roulette

I sat in the hard plastic chair outside the guidance counselor's office, leg bouncing, fingers drumming an erratic beat on my knee. The clock on the wall ticked away, each second bringing me closer to...what, exactly? A lecture? Disappointment? The crushing weight of adult expectations?

The door opened, and Mr. Nakamura poked his head out. "Akira? Come on in."

I stood, plastering on my best 'responsible student' smile. "Mr. Nakamura, always a pleasure."

He didn't buy it for a second. "Sit down, Akira. We need to talk."

I dropped into the chair across from his desk, eyeing the familiar motivational posters on the walls. 'Your future starts now!' one proclaimed. Yeah, right.

Mr. Nakamura settled into his chair, pulling out a familiar form. My career aptitude test. The one I'd hastily scribbled on during last period, panic rising as the clock ticked down.

"So," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Want to explain this?"

He turned the form around, revealing my handiwork. Under 'Future Career Goals', I'd written: 'Professional Nap Taker'. For 'Skills and Strengths': 'Excellent at avoiding responsibility'. And for 'Where do you see yourself in 5 years?': 'Hopefully still alive'.

I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "Just being honest, sir."

Mr. Nakamura sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Akira, this is serious. You're three months away from graduation. University applications are due soon. We need to start thinking about your future."

"Maybe I don't want to think about the future," I muttered, slouching in my chair.

"That's not an option," Mr. Nakamura said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Look, I know it's scary. But you've got potential, Akira. Real potential. Your grades are good when you apply yourself, your quirk is impressive—"

"My quirk?" I interrupted, sitting up straighter. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Mr. Nakamura blinked, surprised by my sudden interest. "Well, it's a factor, isn't it? Have you considered a career that could utilize it?"

"Like what?"

"Well, there's always hero work—"

I snorted, cutting him off. "Yeah, no thanks. Not interested in spending the next five years broke and kissing up to washed-up pros."

Mr. Nakamura frowned. "It's not all like that, Akira. Being a hero is about more than just money or fame. It's about making a difference, about using your abilities to help people."

"Right," I drawled. "And I'm sure all those heroes are just thrilled with their measly government paychecks and constant danger. Real altruistic."

"There are other options," Mr. Nakamura pressed on, ignoring my sarcasm. "Law enforcement, rescue work, even certain branches of scientific research could benefit from your quirk."

I leaned back, crossing my arms. "All sounds pretty boring to me."

Mr. Nakamura studied me for a long moment. "Akira, what do you want? Really want? Forget about money, forget about what you think you should do. If you could do anything, what would it be?"

The question caught me off guard. What did I want? Images flashed through my mind: the thrill of outwitting those villains, the satisfaction of a plan coming together, the weight of cash in my pocket...

"I... I don't know," I said finally, my voice smaller than I'd intended.

Mr. Nakamura's expression softened. "That's okay. Not knowing is normal at your age. But we need to start somewhere. What are you passionate about?"

Passionate? I thought about the nights spent planning my 'missions', the adrenaline rush of a successful heist, the pride in knowing I was providing for myself, for Noel...

"I like... solving problems," I said slowly, choosing my words carefully. "Figuring out how to overcome obstacles. And... I guess I like the idea of making a difference. But not in some vague, save-the-world kind of way. Something more... immediate."

Mr. Nakamura nodded, a hint of excitement in his eyes. "Okay, that's good. That's something we can work with. Have you considered fields like strategic planning? Or maybe crisis management?"

I blinked. "Those are actual jobs?"

He chuckled. "Very much so. In fact, many heroes employ strategic planners to help coordinate large-scale operations. And crisis management is a growing field, especially with the rise in villain activity."

I leaned forward, despite myself. "So, what? I'd be like the guy in the chair, telling heroes what to do?"

"Something like that," Mr. Nakamura said. "It's a field that requires quick thinking, adaptability, and the ability to see the big picture. All things you excel at when you put your mind to it."

I mulled it over. It didn't sound half bad. Using my skills without having to play by all the hero rules. Making a difference from behind the scenes...

"And the pay?" I asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of my voice.

Mr. Nakamura smiled knowingly. "Competitive, especially as you gain experience. And there are opportunities in both the public and private sectors."

I nodded slowly, feeling something I hadn't felt in a long time when thinking about the future: interest.

"Okay," I said. "So how do I... you know, do that?"

Mr. Nakamura's smile widened. He pulled out a stack of brochures from his desk drawer. "Well, there are several universities with excellent programs in crisis management and strategic planning. UA has a department focusing on support roles for heroes, including strategy. And Shiketsu has a renowned crisis management program."

"These are... pretty competitive schools," I said.

"They are," Mr. Nakamura agreed. "But you have the grades for it, Akira. And with your quirk and your... unique problem-solving skills, I think you'd be a strong candidate."

"You really think so?"

He nodded. "I do. But it's going to take work. You'll need to focus these next few months, really apply yourself. And we'll need to work on your application essays, start preparing for interviews..."

As Mr. Nakamura outlined the steps ahead, I felt a strange mix of emotions. Excitement, sure, at the prospect of a future that didn't seem entirely awful. But also... fear? Not of failure, exactly, but of success. Of committing to something, of tying myself down to a path.

"This is... a lot," I said finally, interrupting his rundown of application deadlines.

Mr. Nakamura paused, studying my face. "It is. And you don't have to decide everything right now, Akira. But we need to start somewhere. How about this: take these brochures, look them over. Think about what we've discussed. And let's meet again next week to start working on a plan. Sound good?"

I nodded, gathering up the brochures. "Yeah, okay. I can do that."

As I stood to leave, Mr. Nakamura called out, "Oh, and Akira? I'm going to need you to fill out this aptitude test again. For real this time."

I grinned, taking the blank form he held out. "Can't blame a guy for trying, right?"

He shook his head, but I caught the hint of a smile. "Get out of here, Sakamoto. And think about what we talked about, okay?"

I left his office. Strategic planning. Crisis management. It sounded... not terrible. Maybe even interesting.

But as I walked down the hallway, the weight of the brochures in my bag seemed to grow heavier with each step. UA. Shiketsu. Big names, big expectations. A future laid out in neatly printed pamphlets and application deadlines.

I thought about last night, about the freedom of moving through the shadows, answering to no one but myself. About the cash hidden in my room, earned through my own will.

Could I really give that up? Trade the thrill of my nighttime activities for lecture halls and internships?

As I pushed open the school doors, stepping out into the afternoon sun, I felt pulled in two directions. The responsible path, the one Noel would be proud of, the one that promised a stable future. And the other path, the one that called to me in the dark of night, that promised freedom and excitement and immediate rewards.

I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over Noel's number. I should tell her about the meeting, about the possibilities Mr. Nakamura had laid out. She'd be thrilled, I knew. Finally, a sign that her little brother was getting his act together.

But instead, I found myself scrolling to a different contact. One labeled simply "J".

My finger hovered over the call button. One call, and I could set up another job. Another night of adrenaline and cash and living in the moment.

The responsible thing would be to ignore it. To go home, look over those brochures, start thinking seriously about the future.

But since when was I known for doing the responsible thing?

I hit call, bringing the phone to my ear as it rang.

"Yo, J," I said as soon as the line connected. "Got anything lined up for tonight?"

As J started outlining a potential job, I felt a familiar excitement building. This was what I was good at. This was where I excelled.

But as I listened, making mental notes of times and locations, I couldn't shake the image of those university brochures. Of Mr. Nakamura's earnest belief in my potential. Of Noel's face if she knew I was seriously considering a real career.

I pushed the thoughts aside. That was future Akira's problem. Right now, I had a job to plan.

"Alright," I said into the phone, a grin spreading across my face. "I'm in. Give me the details."

As I hung up and started walking home, my mind was already racing with plans for tonight's job. But somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice whispered about missed opportunities and paths not taken.

I silenced it with practiced ease. Tonight was for living in the moment. Tomorrow... well, tomorrow I could worry about the future.

Maybe.

I crouched on the rooftop, the cool night air nipping at the exposed parts of my face. Below, the warehouse stood silent, its windows dark. But I knew better. Inside, seven people were playing a waiting game. For what? No clue. But that's why I was here.

Through the skylight, I could make out their shapes moving around. Seven of them, just like J said. But something felt off. A couple of them looked familiar, like I'd seen them somewhere before.

"Come on, think," I muttered to myself. "Where do I know you from?"

One of them, a big guy with his body covered, paced back and forth. Another, smaller and curvaceous, kept checking her watch. The others were scattered around, some sitting, some standing. All waiting.

But for what?

I'd been here for 45 minutes now, and nothing had happened. No exchange, no fight, no mysterious package. Just seven people in a warehouse, twiddling their thumbs.

"This is getting old real fast," I grumbled, shifting my weight. My legs were starting to cramp from staying in one position for so long.

I weighed my options. I could rush in, take them by surprise. With my quirk, I could probably handle seven of them. Probably. But if they were waiting for someone, that someone could show up mid-fight. Not ideal.

Or I could call it a night. Go home, get some sleep, maybe actually do that homework I'd been putting off. Be a responsible student for once.

I snorted at the thought. Yeah, right.

But as another thirty minutes ticked by with no change, I started to seriously consider it. This wasn't what I signed up for. I was here for action, for the thrill of outsmarting these guys and walking away with a pocket full of cash. Not to play rooftop gargoyle all night.

I was just about to pack it in when movement caught my eye. The girl who'd been checking her watch was now on her phone, gesticulating wildly. The others gathered around her, their body language tense.

I needed more information. I couldn't just barge in there without knowing what I was dealing with. But how to get closer without being seen...

My eyes landed on a ventilation shaft on the side of the building. It was a tight squeeze, but I could probably make it work.

"Well," I said to myself, "always wanted to try the whole spy-in-the-vents thing."

I made my way down from the roof, careful to stay in the shadows. As I approached the vent, I heard voices drifting out.

"We should've just gone to the kid's house," a gruff voice grumbled. "All this waiting around is giving me a headache."

A sultry laugh followed, smooth as silk but with an edge of steel beneath it. "Oh, come now. You know how our dear principal is. Doing things the easy way isn't really his style, is it?"

I frowned. Principal? What the hell kind of operation was this?

The sultry voice continued, a hint of doubt creeping in. "I just hope the kid shows up. This whole plan falls apart if he decides to play hooky tonight."

"He'll be here," a deep, imposing voice rumbled. It sent a shiver down my spine. Whoever that was, they sounded like bad news. "Our intel is solid. The question is, when will Eraser get here?"

Eraser?

The pieces weren't fitting together. I shifted my position, trying to get a better angle to see through the vent slats. But as I moved, my foot slipped on the metal sheeting of the roof. The sound, barely more than a whisper to my ears, seemed to echo in the quiet night.

Inside, the voices stopped abruptly.

"Did you hear that?" the gruff voice asked, tension evident in his tone.

I held my breath, willing them to dismiss it as nothing. But then I heard it – the unmistakable sound of something cutting through the air, headed straight for me.

Pure instinct took over. I threw myself to the side, rolling away from the vent just as a strip of cloth – no, not cloth, something harder, more dangerous – bounced off the metal where I'd been crouching.

I scrambled to my feet, heart pounding. So much for the element of surprise.

As I turned to run, a figure landed in front of me with catlike grace. Even in the dim light, I could make out the wild black hair standing on end, the glowing red eyes fixed on me with laser-like intensity.

"This is the end of the road for you, problem child," he said, his voice low and dangerous.