The streets of Musutafu were bathed in the golden warmth of early evening, and the world felt… quieter. Not silent, just hushed—like the city itself was still catching its breath after the storm that was the U.A. Sports Festival.
My gold medal bounced gently against my chest with each step I took, still unfamiliar in its weight, still warm from the spotlight. Beside me, Nejire walked with a bounce in her step, as if we hadn't just spent the whole day surrounded by cheering fans, reporters, and the occasional nosebleed from a quirk mishap.
She twirled in front of me, her blue eyes practically glowing in the fading sunlight. "Sooo~ Mr. Champion," she sang, teasing, "how does it feel to be the hottest topic in Japan right now?"
I smirked and shoved my hands in my pockets. "Dunno. You tell me—how's it feel dating the hottest topic in Japan?"
"Pfft!" Nejire poked my cheek, grinning. "So full of yourself! I liked you better when you were just the weird mochi boy sneaking into my training sessions."
I snorted. "Liar. You thought I was cool from day one."
"Did not!"
"Did too."
Her cheeks puffed up like she was about to start vibrating with indignation, but then she cracked—laughing, leaning into me like she couldn't help it. "Okay, maybe a little."
That was the thing with her. With Nejire. Everything just felt easy. Even after the chaos, even after the world screamed my name in fifty different headlines, she still looked at me like I was just Kenjiro. Not the mochi prodigy. Not the freak anomaly. Just me.
We walked like that for a while, trading jabs and jokes until we hit the crossroad near her dorm. She stopped, turning to face me with that signature grin—mischief dipped in sunshine.
"You gonna be okay walking the rest of the way alone, Mr. Invincible?"
I rolled my eyes. "Pretty sure I can handle it."
"Mmm, I dunno~" She tapped her chin dramatically. "What if a villain jumps you? Or—or a fan tackles you for an autograph?"
"I'll phase through them and keep walking."
"Boooooring," she sighed.
Then, quick as lightning, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed me. Just a soft, teasing thing—barely there, but enough to make the breath catch in my throat.
"Don't miss me too much," she whispered, stepping back with a wink.
I didn't trust my voice at first, but I managed to say, "Not a chance."
She vanished around the corner, her laughter still echoing in the air, and I stood there for a second longer, staring at the empty street and wondering how the hell I got this lucky.
The orphanage hit me like a tidal wave the second I stepped through the door.
"HE'S BACK!"
I barely had time to brace myself before the stampede hit—kids crashing into me like I was a prize-winning piñata. Arms wrapped around my waist, neck, legs—anywhere they could grab.
Aiko practically tackled me. "Kenjiro! Kenjiro! Did you see us cheering?!"
"We made signs!"
"You were so cool when you punched that explodey guy!"
My medal vanished under a sea of small hands, everyone clamoring to touch it, like it had magic in the gold. Honestly? I didn't mind.
Mrs. Tanaka stood in the hallway with her arms crossed, but her face was soft, her eyes shining with something like pride. "Took you long enough," she said. "The food's getting cold."
I let myself be dragged into the common room, where the walls were strung with construction paper streamers and a banner—clearly homemade—read CONGRATS KENJIRO! in lopsided letters.
The table groaned under the weight of food. Fried chicken, tamagoyaki, grilled fish, curry rice… and mochi. So much mochi I was starting to worry they thought I ate it to power up or something.
Aiko shoved a plate into my hands. "Eat! You gotta get stronger, right?"
I ruffled her hair. "Bossy as ever."
But I did eat. And I laughed. For a few hours, I forgot about the pressure of headlines and the creepy intensity of Endeavor's stare. I wasn't Japan's next top hero. I was just Kenjiro, the weird older brother figure who turned into snacks and snuck extra desserts after bedtime.
Later, after the last dish was scrubbed clean and the kids shuffled off to bed (though not without trying to guilt-trip me into one more story), I slipped into my room and flopped back on the bed with a groan.
Quiet again. Finally.
I stared at the ceiling for a long time, my body still humming with leftover adrenaline and something I couldn't name. The medal was on my desk, gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
Eleven years.
It had been eleven years since I woke up in this world, reborn as a four-year-old with no family and memories of a completely different life—a life where "quirks" were just fiction and U.A. High was some flashy anime that ended after a few seasons.
I flexed my fingers, watching as mochi unspooled from my wrist like a ribbon of living clay.
My quirk was like Katakuri but I didn't get his awakening state. It was weird. Elastic and durable, sure, but it shifted as I trained. Picked up traits. Fire when I moved fast enough. Density control. Partial intangibility. The more I pushed it, the more it gave.
I'd fought for every scrap of strength I had. Scraped together skills with no mentor, no legacy, no guarantees. Just raw instinct and a need to protect what little I had.
Now I had Nejire.
Now I had this family. These kids. This house.
Now I had enemies I didn't even know about.
I sighed and rolled onto my side, eyes locked on the faint outline of my medal.
The day after tomorrow, the offers would start pouring in. Agencies. Internships. Mentors. I could already picture the press hounding me for a quote.
But tonight?
Tonight, I let myself be just Kenjiro.
I didn't see the shadow watching from the rooftop across the street. Didn't hear the blade being sharpened miles away in a cramped apartment filled with photos of my face.
Didn't know that All For One had already taken notice.
Didn't care.
Because for once—just once—I felt safe.
I closed my eyes.
Let them come.
I'll be ready.