The car ride was long. That was normal.

  Robinn sat in the back seat, arms crossed, fingers gently tapping the inside of her elbow like a metronome. Not anxious. Just counting time. Outside the window, Musutafu thinned behind them, glass and steel fading into telephone poles, overgrown ditches, and the occasional rusted vending machine that hadn’t worked in years.

  The silence inside the car wasn’t awkward. It was practiced. Comfortable, in its own way. Neither of them spoke. That was normal, too.

  She kept her eyes on the road’s edge, watching the buildings fall away one by one. Sidewalks gave up to gravel. The sky got bigger. Crows circled low over rice paddies. Laundry flapped from wooden decks and crooked verandas. The kind of view that didn’t ask anything of you.

  All Might drove with both hands on the wheel, even though he didn’t need to. The car was sleek, but not fancy, quiet, without quirks. Like the man himself when he wasn’t on a stage.

  They passed through a smaller village, one Robinn knew too well. It had changed over the years, fresh paint, a few new roofs, but the important things were still there. The old bronze statue in the park. The rusted jungle gym she used to swing from. Her house. Or what was left of it.

  It sat tucked between trees, half-hidden by tall grass. The windows were dark, the paint peeling. But the shape, the slope of the roof, the dented mailbox, it still looked like home.

  She didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

  Eventually, the car pulled off onto a narrow gravel shoulder, tires crunching like brittle bone. The cemetery gates stood ahead, paint peeled, wood weathered gray. Same as ever.

  All Might shifted into park with a slow, familiar motion. “I’ll wait here.”

  She nodded, already unbuckling.

  The gravel shifted under her shoes as she walked up the slope, past the freshly maintained sections with rows of white lilies, trimmed hedges, polished headstones lined up like soldiers. Too clean. Too new.

  She took the long way, like always. Around the old stone wall, past the sagging bench where people used to sit and talk but didn’t anymore. The trees were taller here. The wind quieter.

  She stopped in front of a familiar stone in the back corner. A little tilted. Faint moss gathered in the grooves of the letters.

  Two names.

  Kiyomi Reibach Bastian Reibach

  The engraving was worn around the edges now. Bastian’s name had always been fainter.. he died a while ago. Kiyomi’s was a bit cleaner, but still old. Six years old now.

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  Her hands dropped to her sides.

  She didn’t cry. She hadn’t for years. Not here.

  She crouched slowly, knees popping. A few stray leaves had drifted to the base of the stone, brown and damp, clinging to the earth. She brushed them aside with her fingertips.

  The silence wrapped around her like a second coat. Heavy, but warm in a strange way. She let it settle.

  Mom would probably like that I keep my hair longer now, she thought.

  She used to wear it short. Barely to the neck. Back when every fiber counted. Now it was past her shoulders. Still practical. Still unstyled. But softer.

  She didn’t speak. Not out loud. There was no point. They already knew everything worth saying.

  Just one thought, quiet and sharp in her head:

  I’m in U.A. now.

  Not I made it. She didn’t pass a test. She was let in. Slotted between names. Quietly.

  She exhaled. Stood again, brushing the dust from her knees.

  The wind shifted slightly, carrying the smell of old stone and something faintly floral from the newer rows below. She turned to head back down.

  And then...

  “Is that you, Robinn?”

  She stopped.

  An elderly woman stood a few meters away, holding a bundle of small flowers. She shaded her eyes with one hand, squinting through wire-framed glasses.

  Robinn turned her head.

  The woman lit up. “Oh, it is you! You’re so tall now. And your hair.. it’s amazing. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  Robinn blinked. “Oh... yeah. It’s me.”

  The woman glanced past her toward the grave, then lowered her head slightly. “They were good people... I’m sorry.”

  Robinn didn’t answer at first. Just nodded.

  After a beat, she said softly, “You haven’t seen me? I visit like once a month.”

  “Oh, maybe I’ve just missed you,” the woman said, kind and unbothered. “I don’t come as often anymore. Hips aren’t what they used to be.” She gave a short chuckle. “But I’m glad you still do. That means something.”

  Robinn didn’t know what to say to that. She gave a small nod and let the silence return.

  The woman turned back to her path, and Robinn lingered a second longer.

  She didn’t remember the woman’s name. But her daughter used to play with Robinn on weekends, memories of sidewalk chalk and cicadas, juice boxes in the shade. Simpler times.

  She walked the rest of the way down without looking back.

  The car was still there. All Might hadn’t moved. Hands on the wheel. Eyes forward.

  She climbed back in. The car door clicked shut.

  He didn’t ask how it went.

  The car rolled forward with a crunch of gravel, then hummed quietly as they rejoined the main road.

  Robinn leaned her head against the window. The stars were clearer out here. Unbothered. No haze. No noise. Like the world had shrunk down to just two headlights and a long ribbon of dark road.

  No one said a word the whole way back.

  Back at the apartment, the usual hum of the fridge was practically the only sound. Shoes were off, bags dropped, the air felt heavier indoors.

  All Might leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her fill a glass of water.

  “Are you excited about the Sports Festival?” he asked.

  She considered the question. Yeah, she was. She already had plans.. strategies. Openings to exploit. Matchups she hoped for. She nodded.

  “Yeah. It’s always fun, isn’t it?”

  He gave a slight smile. “And are you planning on winning?”

  “Yup.” She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink. Of course she was planning on winning. She had to.

  “I also told young Midoriya to give it his all,” All Might added, looking away now. “To tell the world he’s there.”

  “Mhm.” She stared at him. “I won’t be doing that.”

  She took a sip of her water, then set the glass down with a soft clink.

  “I’ll win without any handouts.”

  And with that, she turned and walked to her room, sliding the door shut behind her.

  Quietly. Flatly. Just before it closed..

  “Not like him.”