Hi guys. Thanks for checking this story out, I'm really excited to get things started. You can find the OC Form as well as the rules and other information on my Profile Page.

It was almost the middle of the night. The time of day where a young teenager should have no business being out in the street. Yet, there he was.

The crowded streets of downtown Yokohama bustled with activity. Illuminated by colorful sign lights and surrounded by tall, cramped buildings on every direction, waves of people flowed in every direction. It was a Saturday night after all, the perfect time for people to de-stress after a long week of work. The noise of chatter, music and entertainment drowned out even the boy's own thoughts, and yet again, there he was. But perhaps that was his intention all along.

Hands buried deep inside the pockets of his denim jacket, his face partially hidden by a mint-colored hoodie and a red scarf, the boy calmly weaved through the crowds of people. It was a cold November night, but the human heat of the streets made it almost uncomfortably warm. The boy didn't seem to care though, and aimlessly wandered through the streets. Where almost everyone else was merrily partying with their friends, he was alone and distant. It wasn't fear of being talked to or some social insecurity, he just didn't care about anything going on around him.

Street vendors and other such individuals approached him every once in a while, but were soon discouraged. Some by his age, but most by the piercing grey eyes that instinctively told them to stay away. Someone tried to report him to a nearby police officer, arguing that a kid his age shouldn't be allowed into this part of the city at this time of the night, but it was too late. By the time the officer turned towards the direction the man was pointing at, the boy had already disappeared. He had slid into one of the many side streets connecting with the main road, and kept walking.

Even though he wasn't paying much attention, he quickly noticed that the smaller street was vastly different from the other one. No streetlights or neon signs to illuminate it, the dank smell of it made it feel more like an alley than an actual street. He had left the white noise of the city's activity behind him, and entered into what felt like a completely different realm. He felt the cold of the night slowly starting to overtake his body, and though he couldn't pick up any movement in the dark path, so did the feeling that he wasn't alone.

His suspicions were swiftly confirmed, as several pairs of footsteps shuffled behind him. He couldn't count exactly how many of them there were, but one thing was for sure, one of them was much heavier than the rest.

"Oh? What do we have here?" As the lighter footsteps surrounded him from all around, the heaviest of them all made its way in front of him. They -and the coarse voice that had called out to him- belonged to a massive man. He towered over the perfectly still boy, with thick dark skin and two long horns protruding from his prominent forehead which added even more to his height.

One of the men standing behind the boy stepped up and pulled his hood down, revealing his snowy white hair. The spiky hair fell as icicles on the sides of his head, and parted to either side in the middle of his hairline. He held a neutral expression on his face, which -together with his age- upset the horned thug.

"A kid!?" He exclaimed, provoking all sorts of shocked looks from his companions.

"Boss!" One of them began, "Yous said we'd be jumpin' the drunk 'uns who wandered in 'ere, you ain't said nothin' bout no damn kids!"

"Hey man" Another continued, "It could still be fun. When was the last time you bet random kid up?"

"Hey, kid, aren't you gonna say something, or did you shit yourself already!?"

The men laughed, upsetting their boss. The horned man looked visibly frustrated. He angrily demanded that his associates shut up, but their laughter echoed loudly through the empty street. Finally, the young teenager spoke up.

"lame…" He muttered, barely loud enough to be picked up amid the men's laughter. However, he did cause them to stop.

"What did ya' say!?" One of the men standing closest to him said.

All of the sudden, the teenager stared straight at the man in front of him.

"I said you are lame. What kind of third-rate bullies stand around waiting for some drunk guy to come shambling their way?" His voice was calm and neutral, showing not even a hint of fear. He might have even come across as defiant, in fact, which upset the horned man even more.

"W-What did you say!?" The thug standing to his right moved to take a hold of his arm, which was still resting on his jacket's pocket. The white-haired boy didn't make an attempt to move out of the way, and instead let the man take a hold of it. But as soon as the man pulled his arm out of his pocket, he quickly twisted it around and took a hold of the thug's wrist. From his pale, slender fingers, a layer of frost formed around the man's limb. It quickly spread to cover the entirety of the appendage, effectively freezing his arm all the way up to the shoulder.

The man panicked and shrieked in pain. The cold ice cut off all movement and feeling from his limb, and its weight threw him out of balance. He stumbled, tripping over a trash can and falling on his behind, all the while crying for help. His associates, however, were none too keen as they instinctively stepped away from the young teenager.

"Oi, Oi, Oi! That kid froze his damn arm!" One of the thugs, carrying a long pipe as a weapon, called out.

"So what!? He can't freeze all of us!" Finally deciding to act, the horned mammoth of a man took a step forward. "Beat his ass up!"

Hesitant, the rest of the armed thugs let out a deafening rallying cry that drowned the shrieking man's screams. One of the thugs turned part of his skin into stone, encasing himself in a protective armor. Another one's fingernails grew into sharp claws, like a raptor's. Others merely held their weapons, pipes, and bats, and knives, at the ready. Their leader, as his appearance would imply, charged at the white haired boy horns-first. All of them, however, had acted upon an incorrect assumption.

Like a snowstorm exploding in an enclosed space, the air in the lonely street froze around the young man. With gusts of impossibly cold wind, the area surrounding him was covered in frost and ice. The thugs, which had all leapt forward to strike, were pushed back and stuck violently against the walls of the surrounding buildings, which were all covered in thick layers of solid ice. All it took was for him to direct the action with his hand, and suddenly every single one of the assaulters was immobilized and rendered unconscious from the shock.

But even colder than the ice that had covered almost the entire street was the young man's glare. His dark grey orbs eyed the men with contempt and disdain. Just how many people have these men hurt? He asked himself. He had managed to stop himself from inflicting any fatal damage or permanent injuries upon their bodies, but he wasn't sure he should have. This realization once again stirred great conflict inside his mind and he felt himself sighing. His breath condensed immediately, as he was brought back to reality by the stinging pain in his right arm.

He looked at his hand, which was covered in frost. Or more accurately, his skin had begun to freeze and turn into frost. He couldn't see it, but the patches of frozen skin extended down to his forearm. He clenched his fist and felt a stinging pain that he was all too familiar with by now. The toll his gift took over his body was a weighty one. With no means of heating himself up, his skin and flesh were free to freeze under his own power.

"Shirou-kun!" An elderly voice weakly shouted from behind him. The youth groaned, he was busted.

The boy turned to face several men wearing dark suits, led by a seemingly frail old man clad in an expensive tuxedo. His name was Miyamoto Hayao, a servant of the Fubuki Family. The large suit-wearing men were completely cold and neutral, while the elderly man held a worried and almost frightened expression on his face. He rushed over to the boy, trying not to slip on the ice covering the ground, and held him by the shoulders. He was a bit taller than the boy, but not even by a full head.

"Shirou-kun! W-what have you done!?" The old man overlooked the scene. The unconscious bodies of the thugs stuck to the walls, the ice covering them and the street. The air in the street was as cold as the grave, causing some of the bodyguards to start shivering uncontrollably not too long after entering the street.

The white haired boy, Shirou, avoided the manservant's gaze. He knew very well that he had done something terrible, but was too prideful to admit it. In response to his young master's silence, the elderly man took his arm and lifted his sleeve. He gasped at the boy's frozen skin. He knew very well that the young man's biology was better adapted to deal with cold temperatures, but he still felt horrified at the sight of it.

"I was just defending myself..." The boy muttered.

"If Fubuki-sama finds out about this-"

"What?" Shirou cut the old man off, "He'll ground me again? I'm already grounded. What does a double-grounding even look like?" He yanked his arm away from the old man and buried it inside his pocket once more. He then brushed past the family servant, raising the hood from the mint colored hoodie back over his head.

"You can't keep running away from home, Shirou-kun…" The old man was visibly saddened by the whole situation. As the other employees began work to release the unconscious men from the ice, he once again noticed the unnecessary brutal way in which they had been dealt with.

"Those people don't care about me." He shot a glare back at the old man, just as he had attempted to catch up to him.

"Please don't say that… everyone was really worried about you."

"Yeah, I bet they were." He sighed, "Just think what a tragedy it would be if their investment went missing right before the Entrance Exam."

"Shirou-kun!" The old man raised his voice, startling even the young man in front of him.

"I know it's hard on you, but please, come back home with us. If you talk with your grandfather, I'm sure you can come to an understanding!" The man was as agitated as Shirou had ever seen him.

"The only thing that man understands is his own ideas..." He felt his teeth clenching just at the thought of his grandfather. He called himself a Hero, the founder and principal of Kirisaki Academy. But in Shirou's eyes, he was just another power-hungry tyrant. Tired from the earlier outburst of energy however, Shirou finally began to relent.

"...But I guess I've caused enough trouble already." He continued, looking back at the unconscious men being carried off by his family's other employees. They may have been evil men, but he could have seriously hurt them. And that was his own doing.

"Then…?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll go back."

He frankly shuddered at the thought of returning to his family's estate. A large prison surrounded by walls and disguised as a traditional Japanese home. Or at least, that's how he saw it.

"But the old man better be around to hear me out when I get there."

Yo, thanks for reading. This was just a small prologue to get the ball rolling and introduce my character for this thing, Fubuki Shirou. In terms of time-slot, this prologue takes place not too long prior to Kirisaki Academy's Entrance Exams. So sometime in January, possibly.

I really hope you'll consider joining me in this ride. Until next chapter then.

Once again, you'll find the Form and all the information you need on my Profile Page.