Now fifteen, Eri gathered strength into her small fingertips. A clean beam of light extended forward, making the air ripple lightly.
“Sensei... I can do it properly now.” Her voice trembled as she went on. “I couldn't do anything back then... but I want to help now. Please let me.”
Aizawa, who'd been leaning on an arm at the desk, didn't answer for a while. From between the strands of black hair, his one visible eye turned to her—slowly.
“...Stop. I'm fine.” His tone was even, but long-stacked fatigue bled through. “I barely go out to fight anymore. I'm getting old.”
He settled back in his chair. “More than that... I lost it too long ago. If you rewind me, there could be side effects.” He drew a breath, then added in a low voice: “I might lose... the memories I've built over these eight years.”
Eri flinched and let the light at her fingertips fade. “But...” her eyes wavered. “You always protected me, Teacher. I... want to protect you, too.”
Aizawa let out a short sigh. Then his face loosened—something close to a small smile flickered there. “That feeling is enough. The fact you've grown that much—that's what makes me glad.”
Silence drifted for a moment. He rose to his feet.
“And your power isn't something you shoulder alone. We have to report to Public Safety.” His one leg tapped the floor, a slow beat, as he moved for the door. “Let's go find Hawks. Your Quirk... from here on, the nation needs to share the responsibility.”
Eri nodded. But the want in her eyes didn’t fully fade.
The next day, the observation lab was silent enough to hear a heartbeat. Two shadows stretched long under the sterile lights.
Inside the transparent barrier, a mid-rank hero sat straight in his chair—his right hand had been severed two days ago. Sensors dotted his wrist; neural pads clung to his temples. Aizawa narrowed his visible eye—close enough to erase if something went wrong. Hawks checked the timestamp on the monitor: anchor point, forty-eight hours prior.
Eri steadied her breath and placed both hands over the patient’s body. Her fingertips lit faintly; the air itself trembled. Pulse, temperature, and brain waves all began to rewind.
A flash—the waveform spiked, then leveled.
Where a stump had been, a whole hand returned. Scars and fatigue values merged into the “before.”
Eri drew back at once; the light died. Aizawa watched a beat longer before exhaling. The patient flexed a fist—disbelief melting into awe. Eri, chest heaving, touched her shortened horn.
“Good. Rewind by two days: successful and stable,” Aizawa said.
Hawks entered the note. “Report reads: ‘Full-body temporal regression, precise to the minute.’” He gave a dry laugh. “Guess surgery wards will go quiet soon.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Aizawa replied evenly, “Don’t forget her limits. Or the ones who’d covet that power. The Shie Hassaikai hasn’t been forgotten.”
Hawks nodded. “Understood. Still—today, one person came back whole.” His smile lingered, but his eyes stayed still, shadowed.
On the day a sweep on the city's outskirts wrapped, Hawks stood outside the Public Safety HQ training hall with a bouquet. Bright colors centered on red gerberas.
When the elevator doors parted, a whiff of sweat came out with a sudden pair of rabbit ears. Mirko spotted him and grinned. “What, you start a fan club?”
She snatched the bouquet rough enough to snap a few stems, and didn't care. “Smells great.”
Hawks shrugged. “This op was on you. Without you, we'd have lost a few more blocks.” He paused, then added softly, “Congrats, Rumi.”
“Hero work's all the same! Not worth making a fuss.” Mirko laughed big and lifted the flowers. Her laugh rang off the ceiling, and Hawks couldn't look away.
After a moment she headed for the gear room. She swapped the prosthetic arms and leg for training frames. With a crisp click at each joint, her body found balance—light as a rabbit. Before stepping onto the floor, she reached up and unlatched the prosthetic at her right ear tip.
The small plate came free with a soft metallic hiss. A thin scar ran where flesh met alloy, catching the light for just a moment—then she tucked the piece aside, as if shedding armor. Flower-sweet and metal-sharp brushed together in the air.
In Hawks's eyes, her laughing profile and the empty spaces in that body arrived together. Watching her brace it all with steel, something in his chest turned heavy.
Mirko tightened her belt. “Gotta run again today. You just gonna spectate?”
Hands raised in mock surrender, Hawks said, “I'm a spectator now. No wings—can't exactly run. But I clap like a pro.”
“You'll get soft that way, President.”
Mirko sprang straight up onto the rig. She landed and drove prosthetic fists and leg into a steel pillar.
Thud, thud!
The sound shivered the walls. Arms folded, Hawks smiled, but his eyes never left her. A flash in his head—the spring that once split a training hall, the raw sound of power before loss. The heavy drum of impact, the gleam of sweat, power alive down to her fingertips.
“Hawks! You watching? This is Luna Rush!” A sharp kiai, a laugh, ears trembling. Even then he'd stood by the door and couldn't look away.
Present and past overlaid. Mirko still drove forward, filling the blanks with steel and nothing but will. Hawks shook his head and said inwardly, I never once imagined... it would come to this.
“Hey!”
Her big voice broke the echo. Landing clean, Mirko shot him a look; sweat-damp ears trembled. “Spaced out again? Your eyes go glassy so easily.”
Caught, Hawks stalled, then forced a grin. “Not spaced—moved. It's the signature act of Bunny the Weapon.”
“Ha! Save it. Why don't you run with me?” She drummed the mat with a toe and laughed.
He waved a hand. “Pass today. Don't you ever run out of gas?”
“Gotta hold. This is a body that fights with railguns on both arms.” She tapped each bionic forearm.
Hawks smiled, but the light in his eyes wavered. Mirko sank back into drills.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
As metal struck metal, Hawks's gaze grew heavy.
When Aizawa stepped in, Hawks was leaning against the window. No easy quip, no playful smile.
“What brings the President to me?”
Aizawa dragged out a chair and sat. His look was, as always, level. Hawks answered by pressing a button on the remote.
The wall TV lit and news flooded out.
“〈Bunny the Weapon, outfitted with latest combat railguns!〉”
On screen, Mirko was boarding a military transport with massive mechanical railguns locked to both arms. Even her prosthetic leg had traded up for reinforced parts. She smiled big as always for the cheering crowd. Camera flashes swallowed her.
“Bunny the Weapon—still at the front line!” The anchor's voice tangled with the roar.
The footage looped once, the crowd’s roar fading under the hum of the office. Hawks didn’t turn off the screen. Aizawa’s eye twitched. Hawks watched a moment longer, then spoke low.
“...May I ask you for something?”
He turned his head toward Aizawa—slowly.
“Rewind.”
Aizawa's eye shot wide. A beat of silence. The air felt colder than the breeze outside.