“So you balanced fighting and rescuing,” Jirou summarizes, clearly impressed. “Smart. U.A. loves to see that.” Karui smiles, slowing her pace a little as the initial adrenaline fades.

  “I remembered what you said, Kai. That it’s not just about blowing stuff up. I think… I think that might be what saved me.” She kicks a pebble on the sidewalk. “To be honest, I think I was lagging on points near the end. Some super fast kid with a speed quirk zoomed by destroying everything before I could tag them.” She sounds a touch frustrated at that. Ever competitive.

  But then she brightens. “But after I helped that girl, I kinda switched gears. Started focusing on making sure other examinees weren’t getting hurt. I pulled a couple out of jams, directed one guy away from a trap…stuff like that.”

  I beam at her. “That’s amazing, Rui.” She scrunches her nose. “Maybe. I mean, I only ended with like around twenty-three or so points. Some people probably had way more. But hopefully those other efforts count for something.” Jirou reaches over and lightly squeezes her shoulder.

  “They will. Trust me. A hero exam isn’t just about offense.” He speaks with a conviction that makes me wonder if he knows more, but either way, Karui looks reassured.

  By now, we’ve reached the train station. We decide to ride one stop over to a family-favorite restaurant near our place rather than head straight home—Mom had insisted we treat Karui, and frankly, I think all of us could use a nice dinner out.

  On the train, Karui continues regaling us with smaller anecdotes: how one boy’s quirk came in handy binding a broken robot, how she nearly got herself trapped under collapsed debris before blasting her way free, how insane the largest “zero-point” robot was (she wisely avoided that one entirely, as it was a death trap for anyone who tried it).

  Jirou listens with rapt attention, asking smart follow-up questions that get her to delve into details: “What did you do when you saw someone about to be hit?” (She shoved them away and took a glancing blow to her shoulder instead – she proudly shows the bruise as proof.)

  “How did you handle not being immune to your own explosions in a crowd?” (She had to be extra careful, using smaller controlled blasts or delayed triggers with her cards to avoid injuring bystanders.) Every answer she gives, Jirou nods.

  We arrive at the restaurant – a cozy little noodle place our family frequents – and slip into a booth toward the back. It’s evening now; neon signs flicker on outside, and a comfortable post-rush quiet permeates the eatery.

  Karui is practically vibrating, riding the high of the exam being over and having her whole family (well, almost whole…) around the table.

  Mom wasn’t able to leave the cafe early, but she’ll join us at home soon. For now, I take it upon myself to text her that we’re treating Karui to dinner with Jirou – I know she’ll be happy we’re celebrating, even if she couldn’t be here in person.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  The waitress comes by, and we all place hearty orders (two entrees for Karui – she’s starving after the day she’s had). Once we have glasses of water and tea and a moment to breathe, Karui finally leans back against the booth, the energy in her eyes softening.

  Now that the nonstop recounting is over, I can see the fatigue weighing on her. She rests her head against Jirou’s shoulder; he smiles and lets her, sliding an arm around her in a loose hug.

  It’s a tender, rare moment. I sip my tea quietly, content to just watch them. “I still can’t believe you showed up,” Karui murmurs, closing her eyes for a second. “Best surprise ever.” Jirou chuckles. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Our food arrives – hot bowls of ramen and plates of gyoza – and Karui perks back up to dig in. Conversation flows easily at first. We avoid heavy topics, sticking to funny anecdotes from the exam or Jirou’s tales of his own hero training (he keeps those pretty light, focusing on amusing incidents like accidentally using his quirk to startle his mentor awake – I get the sense he’s filtering out anything worrisome). For a while, it’s just like old times.

  It’s only after the edge of our hunger is dulled that the conversation naturally dips into a mellow lull. Karui leans back, twirling her chopsticks. “So, results come in a week,” she says.

  I notice her voice wavers a bit on that – the wait will be its own kind of torture for her. Jirou starts to encourage her, but she barrels on, “I think I did okay. I mean, I wish I’d gotten more villain points… but I saved a bunch of people. That’s gotta count, right?”

  Her bravado is faltering now that she’s not riding the immediate high. Jirou nods firmly. “It absolutely counts. Trust me, kiddo, you likely did better than you think.” I agree, adding, “No matter what, you gave it your all.” Karui smiles appreciatively at both of us, eyes shimmering.

  Then Jirou’s face grows a touch more solemn, and he asks quietly, “Any word from Dad?” The question lands like a thud on the table. I see Karui’s expression freeze, the light in her eyes dimming.

  She slowly sets her chopsticks down. “…No,” she says after a moment, barely above a whisper. Her tone is hard to read – a mix of disappointment and bitterness. Jirou lowers his gaze, his jaw working. “I see.”

  The silence that descends is heavy and awkward. The air between us suddenly feels thick. I look at Karui – she’s staring into her half-empty bowl as if it might say something.

  Her earlier joy has faded into something more guarded, hurt. Jirou’s lips are pressed thin, regretful perhaps for even asking.

  I clear my throat softly. “Mom was cheering you on this morning, Rui,” I offer, trying to steer the focus to the family that was there.

  “She’s dying to hear how it went. She wanted to close the cafe but you know her, she wouldn’t inconvenience her customers.” Karui nods, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’ll tell her everything when we get home.”

  Jirou reaches and briefly squeezes Karui’s hand. “He’ll regret it, you know,” he says, a hint of anger beneath the words. “Missing out on days like this.” Karui’s eyes flick up to meet Jirou’s, and something unspoken passes between them.

  She quickly looks away and shrugs, attempting nonchalance. “His loss.” But her voice cracks just a bit. I feel a lump in my throat. It strikes me that no matter how strong Karui appears, a part of her is still the little girl who wanted Dad to acknowledge her. To be here, telling her he’s proud.

  We pay the bill soon after, conversation remaining minimal but not hostile – just subdued. Jirou cracks one or two silly jokes about the over-salty miso broth which make Karui snort despite herself.

  By the time we step back outside into the cool night air, the mood has lifted slightly. Karui even loops an arm through Jirou’s, leaning her head against him as we walk.