The white expanse was thinning now.
Cracks of light spread through it, not violent—inevitable. Like dawn pushing through fog.
The other Ren stood very still.
He looked… lighter.
As if the weight he had carried was finally loosving its grip.
Before Ken could speak, the other Ren stepped forward and placed a hand over Ken's chest.
The contact was warm.
Real.
"Before you wake," he said softly, "I'll give you these memories."
Ken's breath stuttered. "Memories…?"
"All of them," the other Ren replied."Everything that was mine."
The white space rippled.
Images flooded in—not as pain, not as force, but as understanding.
A childhood room.A voice calling his name.Fear. Regret.Moments of weakness Ken had never known—and moments of quiet hope he had never earned.
Not knowledge.
Experience.
Ken dropped to one knee, overwhelmed—not by suffering, but by weight.
"…Why?" he asked hoarsely.
The other Ren smiled—small, sincere.
"Because you stayed," he said."And because this body chose you."
The light around them dimmed further.
The other Ren's outline began to blur.
"Cherish them," he continued."They're proof that I existed. That I mattered."
Ken looked up sharply. "You still matter."
The other Ren nodded once.
"I know."
The heartbeat thundered—final, urgent.
Ken felt himself being pulled away.
"Wait," he said. "Will I ever see you again?"
The other Ren stepped back into the fading light.
His voice echoed—not sad, not distant—simply complete.
"I will see upon you."
The white collapsed.
Hospital Room — Reality
Machines hummed softly. The steady beep of a heart monitor filled the room like a metronome counting borrowed time.
Ren lay unconscious on the bed.
Pale. Still.
Everyone stood there—students pressed together awkwardly, pro heroes lingering near the walls, uncertainty hanging heavier than the antiseptic air.
Akira stood closest to the bed.
She hadn't let go of Ren's hand.
Eri, meanwhile, was sitting on a chair far too big for her, legs swinging gently. She watched Ren's face with serious concentration, as if willing him to wake up through sheer focus.
Then, quietly:
"…Daddy?"
Every adult froze.
Every student malfunctioned.
Midoriya's brain blue-screened."E-Eri—! Th-that's—!"
Uraraka grabbed his sleeve. "Why did she say it like it's normal?!"
Denki whispered loudly, "I feel like we missed several arcs."
Bakugo cracked his neck. "Who taught her that."
Mirio raised both hands defensively. "Before anyone explodes—context matters!"
Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. "It always does. And it's never good."
Eri looked around, confused by the sudden tension. "Did I say it wrong?"
Akira blinked. Slowly turned her head.
"…Daddy?"
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
The air temperature dropped.
Tsuyu croaked, "Ribbit… this is awkward."
Iida chopped the air violently."THIS IS A SERIOUS SOCIAL MISUNDERSTANDING THAT MUST BE ADDRESSED IMMEDIATELY—"
Before anyone could continue, Ren stirred.
A sharp inhale.
The heart monitor spiked.
"—!"
Everyone rushed forward at once.
Ren's eyes fluttered open, unfocused, dull with exhaustion. He stared at the ceiling like it was unfamiliar.
"…Bright," he muttered hoarsely.
Akira leaned in instantly. "Ren? Can you hear me?"
His gaze shifted slowly. Landed on her.
Recognition flickered.
"…Akira?"
Relief hit the room like a wave.
She laughed shakily. "Yeah. You're awake, idiot."
Ren blinked again, confusion knitting his brow. His eyes drifted past her… and stopped.
On Eri.
She had climbed off the chair and was standing right next to the bed, hands clasped.
She beamed.
"Daddy!"
Absolute silence.
Ren's expression froze.
Not shock.
Not embarrassment.
Just… blank.
"…What."
Bakugo pointed. "SEE?! EVEN HE'S CONFUSED."
Ren looked at Eri. Then at Akira. Then at the ceiling again, as if checking whether he was still unconscious.
"I think," he said carefully, voice weak, "you may be mistaken."
Eri tilted her head. "But you promised. You said you'd stay. You said I wasn't alone anymore."
Ren's fingers twitched.
For half a second—just a half—his expression cracked.
Something old. Something heavy.
Then it was gone.
He offered a faint, awkward smile. "I… remember saying you weren't alone."
Midoriya leaned forward, whispering, "That's… actually really sweet."
Bakugo snarled. "DON'T ENCOURAGE IT."
Akira studied Ren closely.
Too closely.
Something about his eyes felt… off. Like he was awake, but not fully present. Like a man stepping into memories that weren't arranged properly yet.
She squeezed his hand. "How do you feel?"
Ren hesitated.
"…Like I woke up in someone else's dream."
No one laughed.
Aizawa's eyes sharpened.
Eri tugged Ren's sleeve gently. "So… can I still call you Daddy?"
Ren stared at her.
Then sighed.
"…For now," he said quietly. "We'll talk about it later."
Eri smiled so brightly it hurt to look at.
Akira exhaled. "Great. I'm dating a man who just adopted a child while unconscious."
Denki nodded solemnly. "Legend."
Ren closed his eyes again—not asleep, not resting.
Just thinking.
Somewhere deep inside, a voice that sounded like his—but wasn't—whispered:
Cherish them.
Ren did not know why that sentence made his chest ache.
And no one in that room knew—
—that the man who woke up was not the same one who had fallen unconscious.
Not yet.
Ren's voice was weak, but steady enough to cut through the room.
"…Hey, guys. I need to talk with Akira. Alone."
The reaction was immediate.
Midoriya stiffened. "A-Alone?"
Bakugo scoffed. "You wake up five minutes ago and now you're kicking people out?"
Iida adjusted his glasses sharply."THIS IS HIGHLY IRREGULAR, GIVEN YOUR MEDICAL CONDITION—"
Aizawa stepped forward, eyes half-lidded. "He's conscious. Stable. And asking clearly."
He looked around the room. "That's enough for me."
Mirio clapped his hands once. "Alright! Field trip, everyone. Let's give the guy some breathing room."
Denki leaned toward Kirishima. "Bet you ten yen this turns dramatic."
Kirishima nodded seriously. "Man-to-man talk incoming."
Eri looked up at Ren, gripping the edge of the bed. "…I should go too?"
Ren met her eyes. His expression softened without him realizing it.
"…Yeah," he said gently. "Just for a bit."
She nodded, satisfied. "Okay. I'll wait."
As Mirio guided her out, she waved. "Don't go anywhere, Daddy!"
The door slid shut.
The silence left behind was heavier than before.
Only the machines remained.
Beep.Beep.Beep.
Akira stood by the bed, arms crossed now, her earlier humor gone. She waited. Letting him speak first.
Ren swallowed.
"…You look tired," he said.
She laughed once. Not amused. "I sat here for hours wondering if you'd wake up. That tends to happen."
"I'm sorry."
That came out too fast.
Akira narrowed her eyes. "That's not what you usually apologize for."
Ren stared at his hands. They didn't feel unfamiliar—but they didn't feel fully his either.
"There's… something wrong with me," he said carefully.
Akira didn't interrupt.
"I don't mean injuries. I mean—" He paused, searching for words that wouldn't expose too much. "My head feels crowded. Like I remember things I shouldn't. Like I lost time that wasn't empty."
Her jaw tightened.
"…You're scaring me."
Ren looked up at her then. Really looked.
"I don't feel like I disappeared," he said. "But I don't feel like I came back alone either."
Akira's fingers clenched at her sleeves. "You're saying this after waking up from a coma, Ren. Of course you're disoriented."
"Maybe." He nodded once. "But I need you to listen anyway."
She stepped closer.
"I don't know what's going to happen next," he continued. "But if I start acting different—hesitating when I shouldn't, knowing things I never told you—I need you to stop me."
Her eyes searched his face. "Stop you from what?"
Ren hesitated.
"…From becoming someone who isn't me."
The heart monitor ticked faster.
Akira placed her hand over his, grounding. Firm.
"Then listen to me," she said quietly. "You don't get to decide that alone. Not anymore."
He exhaled, tension easing just slightly.
"…You stayed."
"Yes," she said. "I did."
A pause.
Then, softer:
"Ren… when you wake up and the first thing you ask is about everyone else—when you don't panic about yourself—that's still you. Whatever else is going on, that part hasn't changed."
Ren closed his eyes.
Something inside him twisted—grief that wasn't his, relief that felt borrowed.
"…Thank you," he murmured.
Akira leaned down and rested her forehead briefly against his.
"Next time," she said, voice low, "try not to scare me half to death."
"I'll… try."
Outside the door, Bakugo's voice suddenly cut through the quiet.
"ARE THEY DONE YET?"
Akira snorted despite herself.
Ren almost smiled.
Almost.
Ren was quiet for a long moment after that. The machines kept their steady rhythm, as if deliberately pretending not to listen.
Then he spoke again—lower this time.
"…There's something else."
Akira lifted her head slightly. "Go on."
He swallowed. His fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles faintly white.
"My real name," he said, carefully, "is Ken."
The word hung between them.
Akira didn't react right away. No gasp. No dramatic step back. Just a slow blink as she processed it.
"…Ken," she repeated.
He nodded once. "I don't want anyone else to know. Not Midoriya. Not Aizawa. No one."
Her eyes sharpened. "That's not a nickname, is it."
"No."
"Or a joke."
"No."
She studied his face, searching for cracks—for deception, for panic, for instability.
"What does that name mean," she asked, "to you?"
Ren hesitated. "It's… who I am underneath everything they think they know. And if they hear it—if they connect it—things will get complicated fast."
"That sounds like an understatement."
He gave a faint, humorless breath. "I'm good at those."
Akira leaned back against the chair, arms folding again—not defensive, but steady.
"Alright," she said after a moment. "I won't tell them."
Ren looked up sharply. "…Just like that?"
She met his gaze. "You asked me not to. And you trusted me with it. That's enough."
Another pause.
Then, more quietly: "But don't confuse secrecy with distance. If this name comes with danger—real danger—you tell me. I won't protect a mystery at the cost of your life."
His chest tightened.
"…Deal."
She reached out and tapped his forehead lightly with two fingers. "Also, for the record—whether you're Ren or Ken—you're still the idiot who tried to carry three injured people at once."
A ghost of a smile finally broke through. "Some things are consistent."
A knock came at the door.
Aizawa's voice, flat as ever. "You alive in there, or should I start worrying again?"
Akira straightened. "We're done."
Before she opened the door, she leaned in once more and said, softly, so only he could hear:
"Ken stays between us."
Ren nodded.
The door slid open. Noise, people, reality rushed back in.
Midoriya immediately leaned forward. "Everything okay?"
Ren answered without hesitation, voice steady, practiced.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm fine."
And no one noticed the way Akira glanced at him—not as a girlfriend checking on him—
—but as someone now guarding a name that did not belong to this world.
Ren lifted his head slightly, eyes sharper now despite the exhaustion.
"We need some more time, Midoriya."
The room stilled.
Midoriya froze mid-step, hands half-raised in that apologetic way of his."O-Oh—! I mean—I was just—if you're tired then—"
Aizawa cut in calmly, already reading the situation. "Midoriya. Out."
"Yes, sir!" Midoriya straightened instantly, then hesitated. "…Take care, Ren."
The door slid shut again, slower this time.
Silence returned, thicker than before.
Akira exhaled through her nose. "You're getting better at that."
Ren frowned faintly. "At what?"
"Sounding like you know exactly what you want."
He didn't answer immediately.
"…It feels like if I don't draw lines now," he said at last, "I won't be able to later."
Akira studied him. "That didn't sound like something you would've said a week ago."
"No," he admitted. "It didn't."
Another pause.
The heart monitor kept counting seconds neither of them acknowledged.
Akira pulled the chair closer and sat again, elbows resting on her knees. "You're not going to explain everything. I get that."
Ren looked at her.
"But," she continued, "you're also not going to shut me out. If you start slipping—if you say or do things that don't add up—I'll notice."
"I know."
"And if someone starts asking questions you can't answer?"
Ren's jaw tightened. "Then I'll need you to help me lie."
That earned a sharp look.
"…I didn't say I'd be good at it," he added quietly.
Akira sighed, then shook her head. "You're unbelievable."
She reached out and took his hand again anyway.
"Rest," she said. "Whatever's going on inside that head of yours—it can wait a few hours."
Ren leaned back against the pillow, eyes drifting toward the ceiling.
"…Akira?"
"Yes?"
"If I forget something important… remind me who I was."
Her grip tightened, just slightly.
"I won't let you forget," she said. "Ren or Ken. Whoever you are right now."
Ren's eyes flicked toward Akira, curiosity breaking through the exhaustion.
"How was Project Genos?" he asked, voice quiet but precise.
Akira exhaled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "It… was on pause. You know, because the mastermind"—she paused, letting the word linger—"was… here."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "…Mastermind, huh?"
She smirked faintly. "Yeah. But don't worry. It'll be done by Monday. We just needed a little… breathing room."
Ren nodded slowly, letting the information settle. "Alright… good to know. Guess chaos had to wait for me to wake up."
Akira chuckled softly. "Pretty much. You have a knack for timing."
Ren allowed a faint, dry smile. "…I'll try to keep that skill under control next time."
The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the faint hum of the hospital machines filling the space between them, knowing there was still much to sort out—but for now, at least, they had a small pocket of calm.
Ren shifted slightly on the bed, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles. He glanced at Akira, eyes serious.
"I need to talk with Aizawa," he said quietly. "Can you… call him for me?"
Akira nodded immediately, pulling her phone from her pocket. "Right. Don't move too much. I'll get him here."
Ren let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Thanks… I just… I need to be clear about some things. Before anyone else gets involved."
Akira gave him a reassuring look. "I get it. You'll have your conversation. I'll make sure no interruptions—Midoriya and the others stay out."
Ren nodded, leaning back against the pillow, feeling the weight of the room—but this time, at least, he wasn't facing it alone.
A few moments later, Akira's voice called softly from the hallway:"Aizawa-sensei, Ren wants to speak with you—alone."
The faint click of footsteps echoed down the hall. Aizawa's shadow appeared at the doorway, expression unreadable.
"Ren," he said flatly, but his eyes—always sharp—flicked over him carefully. "What's the situation?"
Ren straightened slightly. "Sensei… I need to explain a few things. Just between us. No one else."
Aizawa's gaze didn't waver. "Understood. Go ahead."
And with that, the room contracted to just the two of them, silent except for the faint beeping of the machines—a calm before the explanation that had to be precise, careful, and… secret.
Ren exhaled slowly, looking at Akira.
"I… need to leave until Tuesday," he said. "Some urgent work came up. I can't avoid it."
Akira tilted her head, concern flickering in her eyes. "Tuesday? That's… a few days. Are you sure you're up for it? You just woke up."
"I'm sure," he replied, tone firm. "I can't let this wait. But… I'll make sure everything here is stable before I go."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. I'll handle things while you're gone. But you better come back in one piece."
Ren gave a faint, almost wry smile. "I'll do my best. You don't need to worry."
Akira crossed her arms but couldn't hide the faint smirk. "Don't screw it up, Ken."
He chuckled softly under his breath. "Wouldn't dream of it."
The room was quiet again, the tension easing slightly, though the weight of secrets—and the work waiting for him outside—still lingered.