The night she received a call from a neighboring hospital that Yuta had been found in a near death state in a neighboring city, Aiko was scared out of her wits.
It only worsened when she learned how.
Yuta had fought a villain. Not just any random villain. An incredibly dangerous one and almost got himself disassembled in the process.
The moment he woke up and explained to the authorities that he had been saved by a vigilante before he could die, she should have been relieved.
Yet she couldn't be. For as her son explained word for word as best he could, her quirk registered something wrong.
Yuta didn't feel right.
There was this metallic, sharp edge to his emotions when he told the police about that 'vigilante,'
He wasn't afraid nor was he shaken. He wasn't even relieved. Instead he felt ... Guarded.
To her, he felt like how a person would look when they tensed up. Worse, she didn't know what to really make of it.
Something sat between the seams of his explanation which he was choosing not to say.
As the days passed, her worry only grew. Then it all cumulated at the sports festival. When Yuta displayed his powers at the scale she had never seen before.
Her mind spun through possibilities, each worse than the last.
She wasn't foolish enough to latch onto one conclusion, but…
It all seemed too much of a coincidence where the vigilante simply, "appeared" at such a convenient moment.
'Why?' Her fingers curled tightly around the ceramic of her mug.
There was a chance her son had done something irreversible.
Or made a choice that he didn't know how to carry.
She wasn't sure what it was.
What was worse, if he did, he didn't show it. Regardless of the scenario, Yuta didn't display anything wrong with him. Be it in his body language, words, or his day to day actions. If not for her quirk, she would definitely feel her son was perfectly fine.
For a moment, she almost doubted her senses.
And that uncertainty terrified her more than any definitive answer ever could.
Logically, she should be happy that her son survived. Proud that he staked his life to protect for a little girl he didn't even know.
And she was proud. She was.
Yuta had risked himself without hesitation, had thrown his life between danger and a helpless child.
Despite how reckless and stupid it sounded, it was the proof she needed that he truly did have a good heart.
Her son was heroic, even if from their discussions, he didn't realize it yet. However… Aiko wasn't naïve enough to pretend heroism didn't change people. There was the kind of courage that lifted the heart, and the kind that carved something out of a person. When heroism was seen from a different perspective, most found a simple conclusion. It's much faster, much safer for the innocent, if the monster simply doesn't get back up.
She wished the words would come easily, the way they used to when concerns were as small as scraped knees or forgotten homework.
But this, this new problem was something she wasn't sure she knew how to articulate.
"He's grown," she began slowly. "Faster than I expected."
"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Rin tilted her head.
"Maybe." Aiko stared into her coffee. "But sometimes… sometimes I feel like he's carrying things he isn't ready for. Things he's not telling me about. And I can tell, Rin. I always know when he's hiding something."
Rin winced. "Your quirk again?"
Aiko nodded faintly.
"I don't know what he went through that night. I just… I feel it. Something happened out there that he isn't ready to speak about."
The sigh that followed displayed her mental exhaustion.
"I ... I hoped he would come to me on his own. Tell me whatever happened so I could help. But he hasn't. And I'm scared of how he'll react if confronted. ..."
Rin's expression softened, sympathy pulling gently at her features. "Aiko… he's a teenager. They hide things. It's practically in their nature at this age."
"I-I know. And I wish that were the case so desperately. But this is different. His emotions don't match his words sometimes. Not in the ways they used to. I've grounded him more than usual, hoping he would take that time to talk to me if I slow him down .. or get him frustrated enough for a reaction or just ... Just ... Anything."
Rin's expression softened. "Aiko, listen," she said, placing both hands on Aiko's shoulders. "He's alive. He's in school. He has friends. He has that sweet little girl he's taking care of. He's not spiraling. He's trying to move forward. Whatever he's hiding… maybe he just needs time."
Aiko nodded, though her eyes were distant.
"…Maybe."
Rin wanted to say more .. then her timer rang. "Ugh. I have to get back. Patrol shift starts in ten."
Aiko forced a small smile. "Then go then."
"But .."
"It's ok. Just be careful."
".... Always." Rin sighed and nodded. Then began collecting her hero gear from the entrance rack. "And try not to worry yourself to death while I'm gone."
"No promises." Aiko chuckled weakly.
Rin leaned down, kissed her cheek, and headed out.
Aiko wheeled herself to the doorway, watching her friend disappear down the street before closing the door softly.
The house fell quiet.
She turned back toward the living room, and immediately froze.
Eri was curled on the couch in a tight fetal position, small fingers clutching her plushie like it was a lifeline. Her tiny shoulders trembled with each uneven breath. Silent tears had dried at the corners of her eyes, leaving faint salty trails down her pale cheeks.
"…Oh, sweetheart," Aiko whispered. She moved closer, reactivating her Attunement as she approached.
The moment her quirk touched Eri's emotional state, the emotional weight of the room nearly knocked the wind out of her.
Fear. Confusion. Pain. Loneliness. It was a suffocating, grey fog of isolation.
All of it tangled together in a knot so dense it felt like drowning.
'How long has she been like this?'
Guilt stabbed through her. She'd been so focused on her conversation with Rin that she hadn't noticed Eri's distress.
"I'm sorry," Aiko murmured, reaching out gently. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."
She placed her hand on Eri's small shoulder, letting her quirk flow outward. Over the years, she had learned to use her quirk not just to read emotions, but to project a steadying, calming influence
Emotional Soothing.
Beneath her touch, Eri's tense body began to loosen. The tight grip on the plushie relaxed, and the girl's breathing slowed, sinking into a deeper, more restorative sleep.
Aiko exhaled slowly, aching at how fragile the girl felt.
'She's been through too much. Far too much for someone so young.'
Trauma didn't vanish just because a child smiled in daylight.
Carefully, Aiko scooped Eri up, cradling her against her chest. The girl barely stirred, her head resting against Aiko's shoulder, fingers still clutching the plushie.
Aiko wheeled herself down the hallway, one hand guiding the chair. When they reached Eri's room, Aiko laid her down gently on the bed, tucking the blanket around her small form. She brushed a strand of silver hair from Eri's face, her heart heavy.
"Sleep well, little one," she whispered. "You're safe here. I promise."
Eri let out a small, contented sigh in her sleep, finally at peace. Aiko stayed there for a long moment, watching the rise and fall of her chest, before retreating, leaving the door slightly ajar.
The hallway felt longer than usual.
Aiko made her way to her own room and closed the door behind her with a soft click.
She sat there for a moment, staring at nothing, before finally wheeling herself to her desk.
Her hand hovered over the bottom drawer.
Until finally, she opened it.
Beneath old hero licenses, faded commendations, and a stack of handwritten notes sat a single photograph, face-down.
Aiko's fingers trembled as they brushed against the frame's worn edges. She didn't flip it over.
She stopped doing that a long time ago. Instead, she just let her hand rest there, feeling the weight of memory pressing back.
"…You'd be so proud of him," she whispered to the empty room. "He's so much like you. Too much, sometimes."
Her hands clenched.
"But he's not you," she continued, voice firmer now. "He won't make the same choices. I won't let him."
She stayed like that for a while, then slowly withdrew her hand. The drawer closed.
Aiko turned the small key in the lock, removed it, and tucked it back into her pocket.
She sat there in the stillness of her room, and couldn't help but reminisce on the past fifteen years of being a single mother. Sighing, she smoothed her expression, and wheeled herself back toward the hallway.
Passing by Eri's door, she paused, listening for the soft snores within. A faint smile touched her lips. Then she continued down the hall, readying herself before Yuta returned home.
___
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