The Tanaka estate sat in one of Musutafu's most exclusive neighborhoods—the kind of place where every house had gates, manicured gardens, and security cameras disguised as decorative fixtures. Akari's home was no exception. Three stories of polished white stone and dark wood accents, floor-to-ceiling windows that caught the afternoon sun and made the whole structure gleam like something out of a magazine.

  It was beautiful.

  It was suffocating.

  Akari stood in the center of the living room—all marble floors and minimalist furniture that cost more than most people's cars—while her mother paced in front of her. Kaede Tanaka moved with the kind of controlled grace that came from years of hero work, her heels clicking sharp and rhythmic against the tile. She wore a tailored gray suit, pearl earrings catching the light every time she turned her head.

  She looked perfect.

  She looked furious.

  "Akari." Her mother's voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made Akari's stomach twist. "Explain to me what you were thinking."

  Akari kept her eyes on the floor. Her wrist throbbed dully beneath the bandage—mostly healed now, but the bruises were still visible if you looked close enough. Dark purple spreading into sickly yellow-green at the edges.

  "I wasn't—"

  "You used your quirk in a classroom." Kaede's tone didn't rise. It didn't need to. "Against another student. Do you have any idea what that could do to this family's reputation?"

  Akari's jaw tightened. "He was—"

  "I don't care what he was doing." Kaede stopped pacing and turned to face her daughter fully. Her amber eyes—the same shade as Akari's, though sharper, colder—bore into her. "You know the laws. Quirk usage outside of sanctioned environments is illegal. You're fourteen years old, Akari. You should know better by now."

  "He called me—"

  "I. Don't. Care." Each word was precise, clipped. Kaede crossed her arms. "That quirkless boy probably said something to provoke you. I understand that. But you can't let people like him get under your skin. You're better than that."

  People like him.

  The phrase sat heavy in Akari's chest.

  Kaede sighed—the sound more exasperation than sympathy. "Your career is important, Akari. You have the best quirk in this family. Do you understand what that means?"

  Before Akari could answer, the air changed.

  It started as a subtle weight pressing down on her shoulders. Then heavier. Heavier. The pressure built until her knees buckled and she hit the floor hard, palms slapping against cold marble. Her lungs compressed. Breathing became work.

  Her mother's quirk.

  Pressure Point.

  Kaede stood above her, hand extended, expression unchanging. "You have a gift, Akari. A responsibility. And you're wasting it on petty schoolyard fights."

  Akari tried to push herself up, but the pressure intensified. Her arms shook. Her vision blurred at the edges.

  "Don't be a burden to this family," Kaede said quietly. "We've planned your entire life for success. The least you can do is follow through."

  Then the pressure released.

  Akari gasped, collapsing fully onto the floor, chest heaving as air rushed back into her lungs. Her mother's heels clicked past her, moving toward the hallway.

  "Learn from your brother," Kaede said without looking back. "Ryuu never gave me this kind of trouble. Try to lay low until the UA entrance exam. We've already secured your recommendation, but one more incident like this and even that won't save you."

  The door to her mother's office closed with a soft click.

  Akari stayed on the floor for a long moment, forehead pressed against the cool marble, fists clenched so tight her nails bit crescents into her palms.

  She didn't even ask if I was okay.

  Slowly, shakily, she pushed herself to her feet and climbed the stairs to her room.

  Akari's room was a showroom. Expensive furniture arranged with sterile precision. A walk-in closet bursting with designer tags still attached. A vanity crowded with unopened makeup compacts. Trophies from quirk competitions lined the shelves like museum exhibits—dust-free, never touched.

  She kicked off her shoes. One landed on the silk sheets, leaving a faint scuff on the ivory fabric. The other thudded to the floor.

  Her fingers found a pillow. Fluffed it. Smoothed the creases from the duvet. Straightened the edge of a blanket that hadn't been crooked.

  Then she stopped.

  Let the scuff stay. Let the shoe stay on the floor.

  She dropped onto the bed—on top of the sheets, shoes still on—and stared at the ceiling like it might crack open and swallow her whole. Her wrist throbbed. Her ribs ached where her mother's quirk had squeezed the air from her lungs.

  She didn't even ask if I was okay.

  Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Notifications lighting up the screen.

  Akari reached for it, thumb hovering over the lock screen.

  47 new messages.

  She opened the group chat.

  [Squad Goals ???]

  Yumi: OMG, did you guys see the video?? ??

  Hana: Which one, lol there's like five

  Yumi: The one where that goth kid GRABS Akari's arm

  Hana: He's so creepy

  Yumi: Right?? Like, who even IS he

  Mika: Transfer studen,t I think? Doesn't talk to anyone

  Hana: Probably a villain in training lmao

  Yumi: Akari, you okay??? ??

  Mika: Yeah babe, we saw your wrist that looked BAD

  Yumi: Want us to report him?

  Hana: My dad knows people at the HPSC, we could get him expelled

  Akari scrolled through the messages. Dozens of them. Concerned emojis. Offers of support. Promises of retaliation.

  Not a single one asked what actually happened.

  Not a single one asked if she'd done something wrong.

  She kept scrolling.

  [Squad Goals ???]

  Yumi: Btw are we still doing karaoke this weekend?

  Mika: YES I need a break from studying

  Hana: Same, my parents are driving me INSANE

  Yumi: Akari you're paying right? ??

  Mika: Lol obviously

  Hana: Rich girl privileges ????

  Akari stared at the screen.

  Akari, you're paying right?

  Her thumb hovered over the reply box. She typed something. Deleted it. Typed again.

  Akari: Actually, I can't this weekend

  She stared at the words. They felt weak. Cowardly. Like she was making excuses instead of just saying what she really thought.

  She deleted it.

  Akari: Find someone else to pay for your stuff

  Too aggressive. They'd turn it into drama. Make her the villain. Again.

  Delete.

  Akari: I'm not your ATM

  Her finger hovered over the send button.

  The cursor blinked. Once. Twice.

  She could see it already—the flood of messages. The shocked emojis. The "OMG what's wrong?" followed by the private group chat she wasn't part of, where they'd tear her apart. Call her dramatic. Ungrateful. A bitch.

  They'd find new friends by Monday. She'd be alone.

  I'm already alone.

  She locked her phone and stared at the dark screen.

  Her own reflection stared back—distorted, ghostly, barely visible in the black glass. Auburn hair falling loose around her face. Amber eyes that looked too tired for fourteen.

  She looked like her mother.

  The thought made her stomach twist.

  Akari threw the phone across the room with more force than she intended. It spun through the air and hit the far wall, bouncing once before landing on the plush carpet with a muffled thud.

  The screen didn't crack. Of course it didn't. Expensive case. Expensive phone. Expensive everything.

  She pulled a pillow over her face and screamed into it—long and raw and furious, the sound swallowed by down feathers and silk. Her throat burned. Her chest heaved. Tears she didn't want to acknowledge soaked into the fabric.

  When she finally stopped, the room was silent again.

  Just her. Just the expensive furniture and the perfect life she was supposed to be grateful for.

  She lay there for a long time, the pillow still pressed against her face, breathing in the faint scent of lavender detergent.

  Rich girl privileges, Hana had said.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  At least she's useful, Yumi had laughed.

  Akari's hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.

  Across the room, her phone's screen lit up with another notification.

  She didn't go check it.

  The next morning, two agents from the Hero Public Safety Commission arrived at the Tanaka estate.

  Akari watched from the top of the stairs as her mother welcomed them into the living room—all warm smiles and gracious hospitality, offering tea and pastries like this was a social call instead of a government investigation.

  "Thank you for coming," Kaede said smoothly, gesturing for the agents to sit. "I assure you, this was an unfortunate misunderstanding. Akari is a model student. This kind of behavior is completely out of character."

  One of the agents—a woman with short gray hair and a no-nonsense expression—pulled out a tablet and began scrolling through notes. "According to witness statements, your daughter used her quirk to threaten and injure another student. A quirkless student, specifically."

  Kaede's smile didn't waver. "As I said, a misunderstanding. Teenagers can be... emotional. I'm sure you understand."

  The second agent—a younger man with tired eyes glanced up at the stairs. "Is she here? We'd like to speak with her."

  "Of course." Kaede turned, her smile sharpening slightly. "Akari, come down please."

  Akari descended slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. When she reached the living room, she stood stiffly beside her mother, hands clasped in front of her.

  The female agent looked her over—sharp, assessing. "Akari Tanaka. Age fourteen. Quirk: Ember Weave. Is that correct?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Akari said quietly.

  "Do you understand why we're here?"

  Akari nodded.

  "Then you understand that using your quirk against another person outside of sanctioned training or self-defense is a criminal offense."

  Another nod.

  The agent's expression softened—just slightly. "You're young. You made a mistake. We're not here to ruin your life. But you need to understand the severity of what you did. Quirks are power. Power without responsibility is dangerous."

  Akari's throat felt tight. "I understand."

  The younger agent leaned forward. "We've reviewed the security footage. It's clear the situation escalated quickly. But you were the aggressor. You threatened another student with fire. You could have seriously hurt him."

  "I know." Her voice came out smaller than she intended.

  "Do you?" The female agent's tone was firm but not unkind. "Because from where we're sitting, it looks like you thought you could get away with it. Thought your family's connections would protect you."

  Akari flinched.

  Kaede's hand rested on her shoulder—firm, grounding, a warning. "Akari knows she made a mistake. She'll do better. Won't you, sweetheart?"

  The word tasted like poison.

  "Yes," Akari whispered.

  The agents exchanged a look.

  "This is your first offense," the female agent said finally. "And given your age and... circumstances, we're issuing a formal warning. But understand this: one more incident, and there will be consequences. Suspension from hero course eligibility. Potential criminal charges. Your future is in your hands, Akari. Don't waste it."

  Akari nodded, eyes fixed on the floor.

  The agents stood. Kaede walked them to the door, her voice warm and gracious as she thanked them for their time and assured them this would never happen again.

  When the door closed, Kaede's smile vanished.

  "Go to your room," she said quietly.

  Akari left slowly.

  The next day passed in a blur.

  Akari stayed in her room, following the rigid schedule her mother had laid out: online coursework in the morning, quirk training in the afternoon, evening "networking" calls with family friends and potential agency contacts.

  It was exhausting.

  By the time night fell, Akari was drained—mentally, emotionally, physically. She sat at her desk, staring at the stack of hero analysis homework her mother had assigned, and felt nothing.

  Her phone buzzed.

  [Squad Goals ???]

  Yumi: Babe!! We're going to that new cafe tomorrow, wanna come? ??

  Mika: Omg yes the one with the aesthetic desserts

  Hana: We can take pics for Insta!!

  Yumi: Akari you IN?

  Akari stared at the messages.

  You're paying right?

  She typed a response.

  Akari: What time?

  Yumi: 3pm!! Can't wait babe ??

  Akari locked her phone and leaned back in her chair.

  Then she pulled out her secret notebook—the one she kept hidden under her mattress, the one her mother didn't know about.

  Inside were dozens of sketches. Handbag designs. Wallet concepts. Little accessories with intricate stitching patterns and clever closures. Some were simple. Some were elaborate. All of them were hers.

  She picked up a pencil and started drawing.

  A small plushie. Round body, stubby limbs, grumpy expression. She added an eyepatch. Messy black-and-white hair.

  Dante Corvo.

  She finished the sketch and stared at it for a long moment.

  The proportions were actually kind of cute—soft and round in a way that made the grumpy face almost endearing. Not that she'd ever admit that. Her pencil hovered over the page, and before she could stop herself, she added tiny details: the way his hood always sat crooked, the perpetual slouch in his shoulders, that annoying faraway look in his one visible eye.

  Why am I even drawing this?

  Her hand moved on autopilot, shading in the eyepatch, adding texture to the hair. It was easier than thinking. Easier than remembering the weight of her mother's quirk pressing her into the floor. Easier than hearing Yumi's voice in her head—at least she's useful.

  The plushie-Dante glared up at her from the page, silent and judgmental.

  "This is your fault," she whispered to the sketch. "You had to get involved. You had to make everything complicated."

  But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't true. Not really.

  She picked up the pencil again and stabbed it through the plushie's head—hard enough that the graphite tip broke, leaving a dark smudge across the paper.

  "Idiot," she muttered.

  Her hand lingered there, pencil still embedded in the sketch. She should rip it out. Crumple it up. Throw it away with all the other mistakes she'd made this week.

  But she didn't.

  Instead, she carefully pulled the pencil free, smoothed down the torn fibers of the page, and closed the notebook.

  She didn't know why she kept it.

  Maybe because destroying it felt too much like admitting he'd gotten under her skin.

  Maybe because some small, quiet part of her understood what he'd been trying to do.

  Or maybe she just liked the way the plushie looked—stupidly earnest even with a pencil hole through its head.

  She shoved the notebook back under her mattress and turned off the light.

  The next afternoon, Akari arrived at the cafe early.

  She'd dressed carefully—designer jeans, a cream-colored sweater, the bracelet her grandmother had given her before she passed. Hair perfectly styled. Makeup flawless. She looked like the girl everyone expected her to be.

  She felt hollow.

  She ordered a drink and found a table near the window, scrolling through her phone while she waited.

  Fifteen minutes passed.

  Then thirty.

  At forty-five minutes, Akari stood and walked toward the restroom. As she passed the outdoor seating area, she heard voices.

  Familiar voices.

  She stopped.

  Yumi, Hana, and Mika sat at a table on the patio, laughing and talking, iced drinks in hand.

  They hadn't seen her yet.

  "...so broke right now," Hana was saying. "My parents cut my allowance again."

  "Same," Mika groaned. "I spent way too much on that jacket last week."

  Yumi giggled. "Good thing Akari's loaded. She'll cover it."

  "Right?" Hana leaned back in her chair. "Honestly, she's so extra sometimes, but at least she's useful."

  Mika snorted. "Did you see her wrist? That bruise was gnarly."

  "I know! That goth kid is such a freak." Yumi stirred her drink with her straw. "But like, Akari totally provoked him. You know how she gets."

  Hana laughed. "She thinks she's so much better than everyone because her brother's a hero. It's honestly pathetic."

  "Right? Like, girl, having money doesn't make you interesting."

  They kept talking. Kept laughing.

  Akari stood frozen, hidden behind a planter, hands clenched at her sides.

  Her quirk flared—just for a second. Tiny embers flickered across her fingertips before she forced them out.

  Breathe. Don't lose control. Not here.

  She turned and walked away.

  She didn't remember most of the walk.

  One moment, she was leaving the cafe. Next, she was sitting on a bench near a row of vending machines in some quiet corner of the city, staring at nothing.

  Her chest felt tight. Her throat burned.

  Useful.

  Pathetic.

  At least she's loaded.

  She stood abruptly and screamed—loud and raw and furious—into the empty street.

  No one was around to hear it.

  She walked to the nearest vending machine, hands shaking as she fed coins into the slot and pressed a button.

  The drink dropped halfway down the chute.

  And stuck.

  "Are you kidding me?!" Akari slammed her hand against the machine. Then kicked it. Hard.

  Nothing.

  She kicked it again.

  Still nothing.

  "Forget it." She turned to leave—

  Clunk.

  The machine dispensed two drinks at once.

  Akari stopped.

  "Oi."

  She turned.

  A boy stood a few feet away, hood pulled up, hands in his pockets. Black hair with white streaks. An eyepatch over his left eye.

  He walked past her, grabbed one of the drinks from the machine, and tossed the second one toward her without looking.

  Akari caught it on reflex.

  For a moment, they just stared at each other.

  Then Akari threw the drink at his feet.

  It hit the pavement with a dull thunk, the can denting but not breaking.

  "You!!!," she snarled, voice shaking with anger. "You're the reason I'm having the worst day of my life."

  Dante popped open his drink and took a sip. "I don't think so."

  Akari's hands clenched into fists. Embers sparked across her knuckles. "You broke my wrist. You humiliated me in front of the entire class. The HPSC came to my house because of you—"

  "Because of me?" Dante's voice was flat, almost bored. He sat down on the bench near the vending machine, still holding his drink. "You were about to burn a quirkless kid's face off. I stopped you. That's on you, not me."

  "He—" Akari faltered. "He was—"

  "He was what? Annoying? Rude? Existing?" Dante looked at her, his single visible eye steady and unreadable. "What did he do that made you think using your quirk on him was okay?"

  Akari opened her mouth. Closed it.

  What had Kaito done?

  He'd raised his hand. Said he wanted to be a hero. Refused to back down when she mocked him.

  That was it.

  "I went too far," Dante said quietly, still looking at her. "I know that. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that. Shouldn't have hurt you. I have a hard time controlling my quirk, and I—" He stopped, jaw tightening. "I'm trying to do better. So I'm sorry. For what it's worth."

  Akari stared at him.

  He took another sip of his drink. "But you went too far too. And if you actually hurt Kaito seriously? If you'd burned him? You think the HPSC would've let you off with a warning?"

  The words hit harder than they should have.

  "The people you hang out with," Dante continued, voice still calm, still detached. "They're not your friends. You know that, right?"

  Akari's breath hitched. "You don't know anything about me."

  "I know enough." He stood, finishing his drink and tossing the can into a nearby recycling bin. "It's better to be a loner like me than to pretend to be someone you're not just to fit in with people who don't care about you."

  "Shut up—"

  "I'm not trying to be a hero," Dante said quietly. He wasn't looking at her anymore—just staring at the empty street ahead, like he was talking to himself as much as to her. "I don't know if I even can be one. My quirk's too unstable. Too dangerous. But..."

  He paused, and for a moment something flickered across his face—something tired and old that didn't belong on a fourteen-year-old.

  Akari's fists shook at her sides. Embers sparked across her knuckles, flickering weakly before dying out. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  Dante finally looked at her. Really looked. And there was something in his expression—not pity, not judgment. Recognition, maybe. Like he was seeing something familiar.

  "You're spending all this energy trying to be what other people want you to be," he said. "Pretending it's what you want. It's easier that way, right? Easier than admitting you don't know who you are without them telling you."

  Akari's breath caught.

  "I get it," Dante continued, quieter now. "I've been doing the same thing. Running from something I don't want to face. Pretending I've got it figured out when I don't."

  He pulled his hood up, turning to leave.

  "But you're smart enough to know this isn't working," he said over his shoulder. "So are you actually going to be a hero? Or are you just going through the motions because you don't know what else to do?"

  He walked away before she could answer.

  Akari stood there, alone, the dented drink can still sitting at her feet.

  Her hands were shaking.

  Not from anger—though the heat still pulsed under her skin, embers waiting to ignite.

  From something worse.

  Because he was right.

  And because she'd been pretending not to know it for so long that hearing someone say it out loud felt like having the ground ripped out from under her.

  The fake life she'd built—the friends, the reputation, the perfect daughter routine—it was all crumbling. Had been crumbling for a while now, if she was honest.

  She just hadn't wanted to admit it.

  Akari looked down at the drink can. Then at her bandaged wrist. Then at the empty street where Dante had disappeared.

  "Idiot," she whispered.

  But she wasn't sure if she meant him or herself.

  When Akari returned to school after her three-day suspension, everything felt different.

  The hallways were the same. The classrooms were the same. The people were the same.

  But she saw them differently now.

  Yumi waved at her from across the hall, bright and cheerful and fake. "Akari! Babe! You're back!"

  Akari walked past her without responding.

  "Uh... okay?" Yumi exchanged a confused look with Hana.

  At lunch, Mika tried to sit next to her. "Hey, so, we were thinking of hitting up that new boutique after school—"

  "I'm busy," Akari said flatly.

  "Oh. Okay. Maybe this weekend?"

  "No."

  Mika blinked. "Are you... mad at us or something?"

  Akari looked at her—really looked. At the designer bag Akari had bought her for her birthday. At the expensive jacket she'd "borrowed" and never returned. At the perfectly practiced expression of concern that didn't reach her eyes.

  "I'm done," Akari said quietly.

  "Done with what?"

  "With this. With you. All of you." She stood, gathering her things. "Find someone else to leech off."

  Mika's face flushed red. "Excuse me?"

  But Akari was already walking away.

  Behind her, she heard the whispers starting. The gasps. The outrage.

  She didn't care. For the first time in months—maybe years—she didn't care what they thought.

  She found an empty seat near the window and sat down, pulling out her notebook. Not the homework her mother assigned.

  The other notebook.

  She flipped to a blank page and started sketching.

  A handbag. Simple lines. Elegant closure. Something she would want to carry. Around her, the cafeteria buzzed with noise and drama and the usual teenage chaos. Akari tuned it all out.

  Across the room, Dante's empty seat stared back at her.

  You went too far, too.

  She looked down at her bandaged wrist.

  Yeah. I did.

  She kept drawing.