_At the Hospital_
A healer with a medical quirk treated Aiko's injuries with practiced hands. Gentle waves of warmth spread across her skin where the healer's quirk knit together bruised tissue and eased her shallow cuts.
"Nothing serious," the doctor reassured, giving Aiko a small smile as he closed his medical kit. "She just needs rest and a nutritious diet for a few weeks."
But Aiko's mind was elsewhere. Her lips parted before he had even finished speaking, worry sharpening her tone."What about Takeshi? Is he alright!!!!?"
Her hands twisted together in her lap, the fear in her eyes betraying more than just a mother's instinct. Takeshi was the hope of her life; if anything ever happened to him because of her, she could never forgive herself.
Haruto placed a hand over hers, steadying her trembling fingers. His voice was calm, his smile warm, as though to anchor her storm."The doctor said he's fine," he murmured gently. "He just overexerted himself and needs rest."
Aiko's shoulders sagged with relief, though a hint of doubt lingered in her expression. She leaned back, finally letting herself breathe.
But the truth was different.
Earlier that afternoon, when Haruto had spoken privately with the doctor, his world had shifted. The small office smelled faintly of antiseptic, and the blinds were half-drawn, casting stripes of muted light across the floor.
"Mr. Moriyama," the doctor began, his voice low and grave. "Your son has awakened an extraordinary quirk. But it comes with a dangerous drawback."
Haruto had frozen, every muscle locked in place as the words sank in.
"His physical strain and mental exhaustion are just the beginning," the doctor continued. "If he doesn't learn proper control, that raw power could cause a catastrophe—for himself and for others. His body is still developing. If he keeps recklessly pushing his limits, the damage could be… irreversible."
The weight of the words pressed heavily on Haruto's chest. He thought of Aiko, her gentle heart and fragile frame, how she carried worry like a second skin. She would crumble under the burden of that truth.
So when Haruto stepped out of that office, he made his decision: Aiko doesn't need to know this. Not yet.
That evening, after dinner, Haruto called Takeshi aside. Takeshi had been expecting good news from his father, but the look on his face left him silent. Haruto's face was serious, the kind of expression Takeshi rarely saw.
"Takeshi," Haruto said, his voice firm yet not unkind, "from now on, I don't want you playing recklessly with other children."
he tilted his head in confusion flickering in his dark blue eyes. "but why Dad—"
Haruto knelt so they were eye to eye. "Listen to me. your quirk is Powerful, but without control is dangerous. Do you understand? You want to be a hero one day, don't you?"
takeshi, who carried a mature soul within his young body understand his father worries, didn't hesitate and nodded quickly.. "Of course I do!"
"Then you'll need more than just strength," Haruto continued. His tone softened, though it carried an edge of urgency. "You'll need discipline. Patience. Precision. That's why you'll spend time with me in the workshop. I'll teach you woodcarving. If you can shape delicate things with those hands, you'll learn to control your strength."
Looking at his father's determined face, Takeshi, who had no interest in carving, sighed
"Alright, Dad. I'll do it."
Haruto placed a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed firmly, pride and fear mingling in his chest. Deep down, he hoped this would be enough to keep Takeshi to learn to control or manage his quirk.
Later that night, as Aiko tucked Takeshi into bed, the boy's mind was still racing. His father's words echoed in his head: Power without control is dangerous.
He looked at his hands, still tingling faintly from the surge of energy earlier that day. Those hands had felt unstoppable, invincible. But if his Dad was right—and Dad was always right—then raw power wasn't enough.
If I really want to be a hero, he thought, curling his fingers into fists, I'll need to learn control.
And so, the path of Takeshi Moriyama truly began—not with glory or grand battles, but with wood shavings scattered, and broken sculptures across a quiet workshop floor, and a father's determination to guide his son before his power consumed him.
End of chapter _
Sorry guys for the short chapter i dont know what more should i add!!!