Karui falls quiet, fiddling with the edge of the towel around her neck. “You’ll…you’ll come to U.A.’s gates with me, right?” she asks, almost shyly. It surprises me—she rarely betrays nerves.

  “Of course,” I reply immediately. “I’ll be right there until they call you in. Mom too, if she can slip away from work for a bit. We wouldn’t miss it.” I don’t mention Father. We both know he won’t be there. Whether he can’t or just won’t, neither of us says aloud.

  The silence around his absence is familiar and painful, so I rush in to fill it. “And afterward, you’ll come home and tell me every detail. We’ll celebrate you being done, and then before you know it, you’ll be U.A.’s newest first-year hero-in-training.” I try to infuse absolute confidence in my tone.

  Karui’s eyes shine, and she nods firmly. “Yeah. I will.” I drape my arm around her shoulders and pull her into a side-hug. She’s sweaty and she pretends to squirm away, but then she wraps an arm around my back, hugging me in return.

  “Ew, gross, you’re all sticky,” I tease, wrinkling my nose.

  “Whose fault is that, bringing me a hug after training?” she retorts, sticking out her tongue. We break apart, both smiling. The strain is subtle but it’s there—I can feel a slight tremor in her when I held her, or maybe that was me. So much is changing after today.

  She grabs the pitcher and downs another gulp of water directly from it, then hands it back to me. “I should shower and get ready,” she says. “Entrance exam instructions said to be there by 9. It’s almost 7 now.”

  I nod. “Go. I’ll clean up out here.” I gesture at the yard—some debris from her targets is scattered about. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Karui opens her mouth like she might protest, but then decides against it. “Alright. Thanks, Kai.” She reaches out and gently taps two fingers against my scar—a gesture she’s done since we were kids, one that always means I’m sorry and thank you and I care all at once. It’s so light, a little sisterly poke, but it means the world. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  I nod, and she turns to head inside. At the door, she pauses and looks back at me, her expression unreadable. “Hey… you know, after I get into U.A.,” she begins, speaking a bit hesitantly, “maybe we could—” She stops herself and shakes her head. “Never mind. I’ll tell you later.” She forces a grin. “It’s too early for big plans.”

  I tilt my head curiously, but she’s already disappearing through the doorway. “Tease,” I call after her lightly. She just laughs and shuts the door, leaving me alone in the settling quiet of the yard.

  I exhale and sit down on the back step, suddenly feeling the weight of the morning in my bones. The adrenaline of our conversation fades, and the familiar melancholy creeps back in. I absentmindedly run a thumb over the edge of my scar. Five years since that day. Karui’s explosion quirk changed both our lives in an instant. It catapulted her onto a path of vigorous training and hero aspirations. And it left me…here. Quirkless. The kid watching from the sidelines.

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  The thing is, I don’t resent Karui for any of it. I meant what I told her that day: I never blamed her. If anything, I’m grateful—I survived a blast that could have been fatal. Sometimes I wonder if her quirk subconsciously spared me, or if I was just lucky.

  Either way, she carried guilt for years, and I’d do anything to lift that from her. I’ve spent every day since trying to be the supportive brother she deserves. I cheer the loudest at her mock battles, patch up her injuries, even help strategize for her training when I can. I’ve tried to make myself useful, worthy in ways that don’t require a quirk.

  Yet… as much as I don’t hate her for it, the incident did plant a seed of doubt deep in me, one that’s grown with each passing year. Each time I saw Father praise her raw power, or heard him lament that I “had nothing to cultivate,” that seed burrowed further. My self-worth shrank a little more. I learned to smile through it, to joke that I’d be the brains or the guy in the chair, anything to avoid pity. But inside, I felt hollow. Weak. Worthless, just like those boys said.

  I run a hand through my hair, pushing aside those dark thoughts. Not now. Today’s about Karui, not me. She doesn’t think I’m worthless. Neither did Jirou…

  Jirou. I allow myself to wonder what our older brother would say if he were here this morning. Probably something cheesy like “Go get ’em, firecracker!” He was always so proud of her, of both of us, no matter what. Jirou’s off on some training internship in another city currently, too far to see her off in person, but he called last night to give her encouragement. I know she’ll be carrying that with her. Our brother’s confidence is like a warm light, even when he’s absent.

  I sigh and begin picking up splintered bits of wood and metal strewn about the yard, tossing them into the garbage bin by the shed. As I work, I catch myself glancing at the house windows. Through the kitchen window, I can see the faint silhouette of Karui moving around—probably gathering her gear or wolfing down breakfast. She’ll be leaving for U.A. soon, stepping into a bright new chapter of her life.

  And I… I’ll still be here when she comes home, eager to hear every story. I’ll celebrate her victories and console her defeats. That’s what I can do, quirk or no quirk. Still, a part of me whispers, Is that enough? I shove that voice down. It has to be enough. Because it’s all I have.

  After dumping the last of the debris, I take a final look at the training area. The scorch marks and crater will fade with time (honestly, the backyard has so many scorch marks already, one more doesn’t matter). The sun’s higher now, golden light making the burned patches glint faintly. I find myself standing exactly where Karui must have stood earlier when she unleashed that final blast. The ground is still warm.

  I close my eyes and imagine what it’s like. The rush of power pulsing from your hands, the adrenaline, the control over something so destructive. It must feel incredible. And terrifying.

  For Karui, her quirk has always been tied up with emotion—fierce love, anger, protectiveness. She’s tamed it over the years, but I know a part of her still fears losing control like that first time. Maybe that’s why she pushes herself so brutally: to ensure she never hurts someone she loves again by accident. To prove to Father—and to herself—that she’s strong enough and good enough.

  I swallow hard, a sudden surge of empathy washing over me. In her own way, Karui carries scars too, the kind you can’t see. We’re both prisoners of our own insecurities. I feel that subtle strain every time I catch her looking at my scar when she thinks I’m not noticing, or when I flinch at a sudden loud bang. We never talk about it outright, but it’s there: a quiet guilt on her side, and an unspoken inadequacy on mine.

  I open my eyes and step away from the blast site, dusting off my hands. As I head back inside to grab my jacket, I make a silent vow: I won’t let my worries weigh Karui down today. She needs to focus on that exam and be her best. I can fret about our father’s influence and her well-being on my own time. This morning, I’ll be her supportive little brother, nothing less.