For a long moment, neither spoke. The hum of the office lights filled the silence like static. Aizawa stayed seated, one hand covering his mouth. He looked as though he might say something, then stopped. The thought circled, heavy and unspoken, before it finally broke loose.
“Hawks,” Aizawa said quietly, “you know as well as I do... Eri's Rewind targets the entire living body. Not days—eight years. It's an unknown.”
Hawks didn't answer. His eyes were fixed somewhere past the glass, lost in a distance only he could see.
Aizawa’s voice came again, steady but low. He touched his brow, then pointed to his temple. “Set the body aside—what of the mind? She could lose every memory from the last eight years. The Mirko we know might vanish.”
Hawks laced his fingers and bowed his head. A long silence stretched between them before a rough murmur escaped his lips.
“...In the war with All For One, she lost too much.” His gaze finally shifted, fixing on Mirko's back displayed on the screen. “Both arms, her right leg, even the tip of her ear... and that right leg—she severed it herself. Abandoned rehab to make the final fight.”
She didn’t just lose limbs—she gave them up, piece by piece, to keep fighting.
Aizawa lowered his eyelids, his expression darkening. “I lost only my Quirk to All For One. My wings... they're part of me, but my body remains.”
Hawks lifted a hand as if to grasp something in the empty air. “But she—she carved away her whole self. Burned everything to fight.” He stopped, shutting his eyes tight against the memory. “I still remember. Mirko without a scrap of gear, crossing all of Japan on two arms and two legs. No villain ever got away. That wasn't the ring of metal—that was a living resonance.”
On the TV screen, Mirko laughed into the cheers. Hawks kept his eyes closed.
“...I want to give that laugh... that body back. If she preserved this world, then now the world should preserve her.”
Aizawa covered his face with his hand. After a long pause, he peered through his fingers at Hawks—anger, pity, and duty all mixing in his gaze. On the screen, Mirko continued to wave at the cheering crowd. The roar was too loud, too bright—sounding crueler than reality.
“...I'll talk to Eri first.” His voice was hoarse, but firm. “And I'll speak with Mirko alone. But you—do your job as Director. Guard Eri, prep media response, and plan care for Mirko.”
Hawks drew a tight breath. His shoulders eased a notch; he bowed his head, feeling the weight of what he’d just set in motion. “Thank you. And... forgive me, but please keep it quiet that I asked.”
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
A curious look crossed Aizawa's half-closed eye—tired, but knowing. “...You really do make things difficult.”
He answered with silence. The weight of it was consent.
Hawks dipped his head and opened the office door. The corridor was still. Shadows stretched long against the wall. He walked, hands slipping absentmindedly into his pockets. His steps were light, but something in his chest sank heavy.
He lifted his head. The ceiling lights caught in his eye and flashed.
Eri sat quietly with a guitar case at her side. Her horn, now noticeably longer, cast a heavy shadow; her fingers fidgeted on her knees.
Aizawa began slowly. “There's been a request—about rewinding Mirko.”
Eri's eyes widened. She instinctively touched her horn and spoke in a low voice. “I don't know how much I can use... but...” Bowing her head for a moment, she raised it with resolve. “If I can help, I want to.”
Aizawa half-closed his eye. “I know how you feel.” His tone was dry as ever, yet a faint warmth threaded through it. “But will and can aren't the same.” He paused. “And ‘can’ and ‘should’ aren't either.”
The words settled heavy between them. Eri lowered her gaze, clasping her hands tight on her knees. “I know. Still—I saw it. She always smiled, but... even when she got flowers, there was a little hurt in her eyes.”
Aizawa exhaled through narrowed lids. “...You probably saw right.”
His hand brushed the edge of the desk, as if to anchor himself. He shut a file and came to a decision. “All right. I'll speak with her directly. Your Quirk is not our final card. First comes her choice.”
Eri smiled small. “Yes, Teacher. And... I'm glad you asked me.”
He didn’t reply right away. For a heartbeat, the room was only breath and sunlight. Then he walked to the window. From outside, students’ laughter carried in on the air—ordinary, fleeting.
He murmured, just loud enough for the glass to hear.
“This time... can we protect her?”
Fresh from training, Mirko sat with sweat beading on her skin. Arms folded, a big laugh still hanging at her lips.
“Ha? I'm the No. 6 Hero!” Her rough laughter shook the walls. “I'm more popular than ever. ‘Bunny the Weapon’, right? A nightmare to villains, a hero to citizens.”
Aizawa studied her for a moment, then asked, his voice low and serious. “...Are you really all right?”
“What? You're asking me that?” A spark flashed in Mirko's eyes.
He didn’t answer—his gaze traced the lines of steel and scar, quiet and unflinching. Two arms replaced by steel, a prosthetic below the right knee, the notch where a rabbit ear once was.
“...You've lost too much.”
A beat passed. Mirko's mouth curled; she flexed the metal hand as if to taunt.
“So what? You think what I lost made me weak? What I lost was meat. I'm Mirko, and that doesn't change.”
When her lips slanted, sharp canines showed. “My bite, my kick, my mind—no one touches those. I've still got plenty left. Stronger, tougher than before. I still fly, run, kick, crush.”
She lifted her chin.
“This body is mine—my choice. It was the price needed, and I did what I had to do.” There was no tremor in her face. “I don't regret it.”
Aizawa closed his eye and let out a slow breath. For a moment, a weight that words couldn’t hold lay over the room. Somewhere behind her grin, the silence felt heavier than pride.
Outside, the wind brushed faintly against the window—carrying the echo of applause that still refused to fade.