The evening rush was in full swing.

  Kaito's grandmother's food stall sat tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store, nothing fancy—just a small counter with a worn awning, a few plastic stools, and the kind of warm, savory smell that made people stop mid-step and follow their noses.

  "Two bowls of stew, extra vegetables!"

  "Coming right up!" Kaito called, his voice bright despite the exhaustion pulling at his shoulders. He moved quickly behind the counter, ladling steaming portions into chipped ceramic bowls, arranging them on trays with practiced efficiency.

  He'd changed out of his school uniform the moment he arrived—traded the button-up and slacks for an old T-shirt and an apron that was two sizes too big. His hands moved on autopilot: take orders, serve food, collect payment, smile, repeat.

  His grandmother stood at the stove, her back arched with age, stirring a massive pot with slow, deliberate motions. She was small—barely five feet tall—with hair gone completely silver and hands gnarled from decades of work. But her smile was warm, and her voice carried over the noise of the street.

  "Kaito! We're low on stock—go grab the backup pot from the storage!"

  "On it, Grandma!"

  Kaito jogged to the back of the stall, where a second enormous pot sat waiting. It was heavy—really heavy—the kind of thing that should've required two people to lift. When he'd first started helping out, he could barely budge it.

  Now, he hefted it with both hands, muscles straining but holding, and carried it back to the front.

  "Here you go!"

  His grandmother glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "You're getting stronger, Kaito. Keep that up and you won't need a quirk to be a hero."

  Kaito's smile faltered, just for a second, before he forced it back into place. "Just trying to help, Grandma."

  She gave him a long look—sharp, assessing, the kind of look that said she knew he was hiding something but wouldn't push. Not yet.

  "Good boy," she murmured, turning back to the stew.

  By the time the rush died down, the sky had turned deep purple, streetlights flickering on one by one. Kaito helped his grandmother pack up the stall, wiping down counters and stacking bowls while she counted the day's earnings.

  "Not bad," she said, tucking the cash into a worn envelope. "We might actually make rent this month."

  Kaito laughed, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's the spirit."

  They walked home together, his grandmother's hand resting lightly on his arm for balance. The streets were quieter now, the city settling into its nighttime rhythm. Their house was only a few blocks away—a small, shabby building wedged between two larger apartment complexes. The paint was peeling. The front step creaked. The door stuck unless you knew exactly how to jiggle the handle.

  It was home.

  Inside, the space was cramped but clean. A tiny kitchen, a living area that doubled as a bedroom, and Kaito's even smaller room in the back. The walls were bare except for two frames hanging above the old couch.

  Three pictures.

  The first: a man in his thirties, smiling confidently at the camera. Strong jaw, kind eyes.

  The second: a woman with Kaito's same dark hair and soft features, laughing at something off-screen.

  The third: a family photo. The man and woman holding a five-year-old boy between them, all three of them grinning like the world was theirs.

  Kaito glanced at the photos as he passed, then looked away.

  His grandmother noticed. She always noticed.

  "Kaito." Her voice was gentle but firm. "You look bleak today."

  He turned, forcing another smile. "I'm fine, Grandma. Just tired."

  She shuffled closer and reached up, poking his cheeks with her fingers and pushing them into an exaggerated grin. "There. That's better. You're too young to look so serious."

  "Grandma—"

  "Is someone bothering you at school?" Her tone sharpened, eyes narrowing. "Because if they are, you just tell me. I'll knock some sense into them. Don't think I won't."

  Kaito couldn't help but laugh—a real one this time. "It's nothing like that. Just... school stuff. Tests and homework. The usual."

  She studied him for a long moment, then sighed and let him go. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

  "I learned from the best."

  She swatted his arm lightly. "Cheeky boy. Go turn on the TV. I'll make tea."

  Kaito did as he was told, crouching beside the ancient television set and smacking it in just the right spot on the side. The screen flickered to life, static clearing to reveal a news broadcast.

  "—another successful rescue by the hero team at Endeavor's agency. Witnesses say the pro hero arrived within minutes of the distress call—"

  His grandmother snorted from the kitchen. "Heroes. All show, no substance. Where were they when people actually needed them?"

  Kaito didn't respond. He just stared at the screen, watching the hero pose for cameras while civilians cheered in the background.

  Where were they when Mom and Dad needed them?

  The doorbell rang.

  Kaito jumped, startled out of his thoughts. "I'll get it!"

  He opened the door to find two people standing on the doorstep: a woman in a dark suit with short gray hair and sharp eyes, and a younger man in similar attire, holding a tablet.

  "Kaito Yamada?" the woman asked.

  "Uh... yes?"

  She pulled out a badge. "Hero Public Safety Commission. We'd like to ask you a few questions about an incident at your school. May we come in?"

  Kaito's stomach dropped.

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  The living room felt even smaller with four people crammed into it.

  Kaito sat on the couch, hands folded in his lap. His grandmother sat beside him, arms crossed, glaring at the two agents like they'd personally offended her.

  The woman—Agent Fujikawa, she'd introduced herself—sat in the only chair. The younger man stood near the door, tablet in hand, taking notes.

  "We're here to follow up on the quirk usage incident that occurred at your school last week," Fujikawa said, her tone professional but not unkind. "You were involved, correct?"

  "I was there," Kaito said carefully.

  "And you were threatened by another student. Akari Tanaka. Is that correct?"

  Kaito hesitated. "It... wasn't really a threat. She was just—"

  "She used her quirk on you," Fujikawa interrupted gently. "Fire-based. In a classroom. Without provocation."

  "She didn't actually hurt me—"

  "But she could have." Fujikawa leaned forward slightly. "Kaito, we're trying to understand what happened. To make sure students are safe. We need your honest account."

  His grandmother made a noise of disgust. "You people. Always poking your noses where they don't belong. My grandson said it wasn't a big deal. Leave it at that."

  Fujikawa's expression didn't change. "With all due respect, ma'am, quirk-related incidents are taken very seriously. Especially when minors are involved."

  "Respect?" His grandmother's voice rose. "You want to talk about respect? Where was the HPSC when my son and daughter-in-law were killed? Huh? Where were your 'heroes' then?"

  The younger agent glanced at his tablet, his expression shifting to something uncomfortable. He leaned toward Fujikawa and whispered, "Her family was caught in the Kamino incident. Casualties."

  Fujikawa's jaw tightened slightly, but she kept her composure. "Ma'am, I understand your frustration—"

  "No, you don't." His grandmother stood, jabbing a finger toward the door. "You people in your fancy suits, making rules and deciding who's a hero and who's not. You didn't save them. You didn't save anyone. So don't come into my home and pretend you care about my grandson's safety."

  "Grandma, please." Kaito stood, gently guiding her back toward her bedroom. "It's okay. I'll handle this. Just... go rest. You don't need to stress about this."

  She looked at him, eyes blazing, then at the agents. "Answer their questions and get them out. I don't want them here longer than necessary."

  She disappeared into her room, the door closing with a sharp click.

  Kaito turned back to the agents, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry about that. She's... she doesn't like government types."

  Fujikawa's expression softened. "It's understandable. I'm sorry for your loss, Kaito."

  He nodded stiffly and sat back down. "Can we just get this over with?"

  "Of course." Fujikawa pulled out a small recording device and set it on the table. "Let's start from the beginning. What happened in the classroom?"

  Kaito took a breath. "Akari was... she was making fun of me. About wanting to be a hero even though I'm quirkless. She burned my assignment and got in my face with her quirk active."

  "And then?"

  "Dante stopped her."

  The younger agent looked up from his tablet. "Dante Corvo. The student who injured Akari Tanaka."

  "He didn't injure her," Kaito said quickly. "He just... grabbed her wrist to stop her from hitting me. Her quirk was still active. I think that's why she got hurt."

  Fujikawa tilted her head. "So you're saying it was accidental?"

  "I don't know." Kaito's hands clenched in his lap. "I just know he wasn't trying to hurt her. He was trying to help me."

  The younger agent frowned. "Witnesses say his quirk manifestation was... extreme. Described as 'monstrous.' Several students reported feeling afraid."

  "Yeah. I was afraid too." Kaito's voice was quiet. "But not because I thought he'd hurt me. I was just... scared of what I didn't understand."

  Fujikawa leaned back slightly. "Can you elaborate?"

  Kaito looked down at his hands. "I've never seen a quirk like his before. It was dark and cold and wrong. And I panicked. I ran." He swallowed hard. "But that doesn't mean he's a villain. It just means I let fear make the choice for me."

  The agents exchanged a glance.

  "So you don't believe Dante Corvo is a threat," Fujikawa said slowly.

  "No," Kaito said firmly. "I think he made a mistake. We all did. Akari shouldn't have used her quirk. Dante shouldn't have grabbed her so hard. And I shouldn't have run. But nobody was trying to hurt anyone. It just... escalated."

  Fujikawa studied him for a long moment. "You're very forgiving, Kaito."

  "I'm realistic." Kaito met her gaze. "If you're looking for me to say Dante's a monster, you're not going to get it. He's just a kid. Like me. Like Akari."

  The younger agent made a note on his tablet. Fujikawa nodded slowly.

  "Alright," she said. "Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

  Kaito hesitated. Then, before he could talk himself out of it: "Actually, yeah. If you're going to fine Akari or whatever, can some of that money go toward helping families like mine?"

  Both agents blinked.

  "Excuse me?" Fujikawa said.

  Kaito's cheeks flushed, but he pressed on. "I'm just saying—it's my grandma and me. We're barely scraping by. If the HPSC is so concerned about students being safe, maybe you could, I don't know, actually help the students who need it. Instead of just making examples out of people."

  The younger agent's eyebrows rose. Fujikawa's expression was unreadable.

  "That's... a bold request," she said finally.

  "I know." Kaito's hands were shaking slightly, but he kept his voice steady. "But you asked if there was anything I needed. That's what I need."

  Fujikawa was quiet for a long moment. Then she stood, tucking the recording device back into her pocket.

  "We'll see what we can do," she said. "Thank you for your time, Kaito. And... I'm sorry. For everything."

  The agents left.

  Kaito sat alone in the living room, staring at the closed door, heart still pounding.

  His grandmother's voice drifted from the bedroom. "Did you get rid of them?"

  "Yeah, Grandma."

  "Good boy."

  The next day at school felt different.

  Kaito walked through the hallways and noticed the stares—some curious, some pitying, some just uncomfortable. Word had spread. The "quirk incident" was now the "devil child incident" on social media, complete with grainy phone footage and exaggerated retellings.

  "Did you see that video? That kid's quirk is terrifying."

  "I heard he's from Italy. Probably a mafia family or something."

  "Why is he even allowed at this school?"

  Kaito kept his head down and made his way to class.

  Akari was already there.

  She sat alone near the window, her usual entourage nowhere to be seen. No Yumi. No Hana. No Mika. Just Akari, notebook open in front of her, sketching something with sharp, aggressive pencil strokes.

  Kaito slowed as he passed her desk.

  She noticed. Her amber eyes flicked up, locking onto his.

  For a moment, neither of them said anything.

  Then she scoffed and looked back down at her notebook. "Mind your own business, Yamada."

  Kaito blinked. "I didn't say anything."

  "You were staring."

  "I was just—"

  "Staring." She turned the page with more force than necessary. "So stop."

  Kaito opened his mouth, then closed it. He kept walking.

  Things were different, but not that different.

  Akari was still a firecracker. Still petty. When the teacher handed out test papers, she passed hers forward without a word—but when it came to Kaito's row, she deliberately skipped him and handed the stack to the person behind him instead.

  Kaito sighed and reached back to grab his paper. "Really?"

  Akari didn't even look at him. "Really."

  But there was something different, too. Subtle, but there.

  She wasn't performing anymore. Wasn't putting on the act of the untouchable, superior girl surrounded by admirers. She was just... quiet. Focused. Alone.

  And weirdly, she seemed almost okay with it.

  Lunchtime came, and Kaito found a spot under a tree in the courtyard. He pulled out his homemade bento—rice, pickled vegetables, a bit of leftover stew from the night before—and ate in silence.

  Around him, the school buzzed with gossip.

  "I heard the HPSC is investigating."

  "Do you think he'll get expelled?"

  "He should be. That quirk is dangerous."

  "But he was defending Kaito, right?"

  "Doesn't matter. He hurt someone. That's illegal."

  Kaito's grip on his chopsticks tightened.

  They don't know anything. They weren't there.

  He wanted to say something. Wanted to stand up and tell them they were wrong, that Dante wasn't a villain, that the whole thing was just a mess of fear and misunderstanding.

  But he didn't.

  Because part of him—the part that had run away, that had looked at Dante's transformed face and felt nothing but terror—wasn't sure if he had the right to defend him.

  I need to talk to him. Clear this up before it gets worse.

  But Dante's seat in class had been empty for over a week now.

  And Kaito had no idea where even to start looking.

  He finished his lunch, packed up his things, and headed back inside.

  As he passed Akari in the hallway, she was leaning against her locker, arms crossed, glaring at a group of students whispering nearby.

  One of them noticed her looking and quickly turned away.

  Kaito caught her eye for just a second.

  She glared at him, too.

  But this time, there was something else in her expression. Something tired. Something almost... understanding.

  He gave her a small nod. She rolled her eyes and looked away.

  But she didn't snap at him. It was progress.

  Kaito kept walking, hands in his pockets, mind already turning over how he was going to find Dante and set things right.

  Because if there was one thing he'd learned from his parents' deaths, from living with his grandmother, from working every night at that food stall—

  It was that running away didn't solve anything.

  And he was done running.