Ayumi stared at the calendar on the kitchen wall, counting backward for the third time that morning.
It's been five weeks since the expected day of her period.
Her hand drifted to her stomach. The nausea that had been plaguing her for the past week suddenly made terrible, wonderful sense.
No, she thought. I took the pill every single fucking day.
But her body knew what her mind was denying. The fatigue hit her like a freight train around two in the afternoon. The way certain smells made her stomach lurch. The tenderness in her breasts that she'd been attributing to her upcoming period.
Except her period wasn't coming because she was pregnant.
The realization soon hit her, and her legs gave out. She sat down hard on one of the kitchen chairs, gripping the edge of the table.
I can't do this again.
The traumatic memory rose, three years ago, laboring for eighteen hours with Kori. The pain had been beyond anything she'd imagined, beyond what the prenatal classes had prepared her for. And the recovery afterward, the tearing, the bleeding, the weeks of not being able to sit without wincing.
She'd told Hiroshi afterward, exhausted and holding their beautiful blue-haired baby: Never again. I love Kori more than life itself, but I can't go through that again.
He'd understood, or she thought he had.
They'd been careful. She'd gone on the pill, taken it religiously. She'd done everything right.
And yet.
Ayumi pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to stave off the tears building behind them. This should be happy news. A sibling for Kori, a larger family, another chance to experience the profound joy of holding her newborn.
But all she could think about was the pain and the fear of her body breaking apart to bring new life into the world.
She was still sitting there, shaking, when Hiroshi came downstairs an hour later.
"Ayumi?" His voice was soft, filled with concern. "Are you okay? You've been down here for—"
He stopped when he saw her face.
"What's wrong?" He crossed the kitchen in three strides, kneeling beside her chair. His hand found hers with warmth. "Talk to me."
The words stuck in her throat. She opened her mouth twice before anything came out.
"I'm pregnant."
Silence.
Hiroshi's hand went slack in hers. His eyes widened behind his glasses, his mouth opening and closing without sound.
"You're... what?"
"Pregnant." The word felt heavier the second time. "About five weeks, I think. Maybe six."
"But you're on the pill. You take it every day, I've seen you—"
"I know." Her voice cracked. "I don't understand it either. But I'm late, and I've been nauseous, and I just... I know. The same way I knew with Kori before the test confirmed it."
Hiroshi sat back on his heels, processing. She watched multiple emotions flicker across his face in an instant. Shock. Confusion. And then, slowly, something that looked like wonder.
"A baby," he whispered. "Another baby."
"Hiroshi—"
"We're going to have another baby." His face split into a wide grin and so full of joy it made her chest ache.
"I can't." The words burst out of her, raw and desperate. "I can't do it again. The pain, the labor, I told you I couldn't—"
"Ayumi." He took both her hands now, his grip firm but gentle. "Look at me."
She did, meeting his eyes through the blur of tears.
"You are the strongest person I know," he said quietly. "You brought Kori into this world. You've raised him to be this incredible, thoughtful, brilliant boy. You run a business, you take care of our home, you never stop moving."
"That's different—"
"And you're scared. I understand that." His thumbs rubbed circles on the backs of her hands. "The labor was hard. I was there, remember? I saw what you went through. But you did it. You survived it. And you'll survive this too."
"What if something goes wrong? What if—"
"Then we'll handle it together." He squeezed her hands. "But Ayumi, listen to me. You have the best care available. We have resources we didn't have with Kori. We can hire help after the birth. We can get a doula, a night nurse, whatever you need to feel supported."
"It's not about support." She pulled one hand free to wipe at her eyes. "It's about my body. About what it's going to go through. About the fact that I told you I didn't want to do this again, and now I have to."
Hiroshi was quiet for a long moment.
"Do you want to get an abortion?"
The question hung between them for a while.
Ayumi pressed her hand to her stomach again. Underneath the fear and panic that was going on inside her, there was also another small thing going on inside her, something fragile and growing, a new life, and most importantly, kori sibling.
"No," she said finally. "No, I... I don't want that. I'm just scared."
"Then we'll work through the scared together." He stood, pulling her up with him and wrapping his arms around her. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne. "Every step of the way. I promise."
They stood there in the kitchen while outside, snow continued to fall, covering the world in white.
"We should tell Kori," Hiroshi said eventually, his voice muffled against her hair.
"Not yet." Ayumi pulled back enough to look at him. "I want to wait until the first trimester is over. Make sure everything is... stable."
"Okay. When, then?"
"After I see the doctor. After we know for sure everything's developing normally." She paused. "And I want to make it special, and a surprise. Something happy, not scary."
"He'll be excited," Hiroshi said. "Kori loves taking care of things, remember how he is with the neighborhood kids?"
Ayumi smiled despite herself. "He'll probably try to teach the baby to skateboard the moment it can walk."
"Or freeze things."
They both laughed, the tension breaking slightly.
"We need to start planning," Hiroshi said, his mind already jumping ahead. "Converting the spare room, getting baby supplies, figuring out schedules—"
"Hiroshi."
"Yes?"
"Can we just... not, for a minute? Can we just exist with this information before we start planning the next six months?"
He stopped, looking at her properly, then he nodded.
"Of course. Whatever you need."
"What I need," she said quietly, "is to remember that I can do hard things. That I'm stronger than I think I am."
"You are. And I'll remind you every single day until you believe it."
She kissed him then, softly, though she was still terrified, but hopeful all at once.
"We're going to have another baby," she whispered against his lips.
"We're going to have another baby," he confirmed.
And despite the fear and uncertainty, Ayumi felt something warm bloom in her chest.
This was really happening, but they would have to make it work; they had to, for us, for Kori.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The snow crunched under my feet as I walked into the backyard, my breath forming clouds in the cold air.
Today was December 26th, the world was still wrapped in that post-holiday quiet, everyone sleeping off too much food and celebration.
But I was wide awake, energized by the new skateboard still waiting for me in the garage and the possibilities of winter break stretching ahead.
Perfect training weather, I thought, surveying the pristine snow covering our small yard.
My quirk had been growing steadily over the past year, not just in power, but in control. I could create ice constructs that lasted for minutes instead of seconds. Could manipulate existing snow and ice within a ten-foot radius and drop the temperature in a room just by concentrating.
But there was something I'd been trying to do for months now, something that kept slipping just out of reach.
I've been trying to do a copy version of the kamehameha, it has been every kid's dream to do it, and so is mine
The idea had started as a joke to myself. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Iceman could create ice in any form, could launch shards and spears. If I could figure out how to condense and project ice as a concentrated beam, the applications would be incredible. I could also use it for mobility if I could use it for propulsion.
Time to actually do it instead of just thinking about it.
I centered myself in the middle of the yard, feet shoulder-width apart, hands held out in front of me like I was about to fire a kamehameha. I focused on my hands, and felt the cold gather, concentrate, compress.
Ice formed, but instead of a beam, it just created a lumpy sphere that dropped into the snow with a soft thump.
"Great. Ice snowballs. Exactly what I was going for."
I tried again. This time, focusing less on gathering ice and more on projection. On the idea of the ice moving forward, extending, becoming a line instead of a mass.
The result was slightly better. The ice extended about six inches before falling apart.
Third attempt. I changed my approach entirely. Instead of thinking about gathering ice first, I thought about the path I wanted it to take. Visualized a line extending from my hands to the fence at the far end of the yard, then I let my quirk follow that mental blueprint.
Ice formed and shot forward for about two feet before dissipating into frozen mist.
"Closer. I'm getting closer."
I spent the next hour trying variations. Different hand positions. Different mental frameworks. Different amounts of moisture pulled from the air.
My fingers were going numb despite my quirk's natural cold resistance. My head was starting to ache from the sustained concentration but I kept trying.
Attempt twenty-three was when something clicked.
Instead of trying to create a beam of solid ice, I created a stream of supercooled particles. Tiny ice crystals, moving fast enough to stay cohesive, small enough not to fall apart under their own weight.
The effect was somewhere between a water jet and a sandblaster made of frost.
It shot from my hands in a concentrated stream, crossing the entire yard and hitting the fence with enough force to leave a coating of ice where it struck.
I held it for three seconds before my concentration broke and the stream dissipated, but it had worked.
"Holy shit. I actually did it."
I tried again immediately, while the muscle memory was fresh. The stream formed more easily this time and was more controlled. I could feel the individual ice particles forming and accelerating, pushed by a combination of quirk force and the temperature differential I was creating.
Five seconds this time before exhaustion made me drop it.
"Okay. Okay, this is something."
I attempted it twice more, each time lasting a bit longer, the stream becoming slightly more refined. By the sixth attempt, I could maintain it for nearly ten seconds and even adjust the direction slightly by moving my hands.
But it still wasn't doing justice to the Kamehamaha, but it was Frost Beam at least.
This is going to be fun.
My head was pounding now, the familiar sign that I'd pushed my quirk too hard for too long. Time to stop before I gave myself a migraine.
I trudged back toward the house, hands shoved in my pockets, feeling pleased with myself despite the headache building behind my eyes.
Hot cocoa. That's what I needed. Something warm to offset all the cold I'd been generating.
The kitchen was empty when I came in through the back door, stomping snow off my shoes. I could hear the TV in the living room, the familiar sound of hero news playing.
I grabbed the cocoa mix from the cabinet, milk from the fridge, and started heating it on the stove. The warm, sweet smell filled the kitchen as I stirred.
"Kori? That you?" My father's voice from the living room.
"Yeah, Dad! Making hot cocoa. Want some?"
"No thank you. Come here when you're done though, there's an interesting segment about quirk development in children."
I finished making my cocoa, added extra marshmallows because I could, and carried it into the living room.
My father was sitting in his usual spot on the couch, glasses on, attention on the TV. The news anchor was discussing some study about quirk manifestation patterns.
I sat down next to him, blowing on my cocoa to cool it.
"How was training?" he asked without looking away from the screen.
"Good. Figured out something new."
"Oh? What?"
"A beam, kinda. It's a concentrated stream of ice particles that I can project."
That got his attention. He turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. "A projectile attack? At such a young age?"
"I mean, it's rough, I can only hold it for about ten seconds before my head starts hurting. But yeah, it works."
He studied me for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression.
"You're progressing faster than most quirk users your age. Significantly faster."
I shrugged. "I practice a lot."
"You do. But still..." He trailed off, then shook his head. "Just be careful not to push too hard. Your body is still developing; overextending your quirk could have consequences."
"I know, Dad. I'm careful."
He nodded and turned back to the TV.
We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, me sipping cocoa while watching heroes respond to some minor villain incident. Then an idea struck me.
"Dad?"
"Hmm?"
"Can we get a dog?"
The question hung in the air. My father's head turned slowly toward me, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline.
"A dog."
"Yeah. A Siberian Husky, specifically."
"Where is this coming from?"
I'd actually been thinking about it for a while. Dogs were common in this world, quirked and non-quirked alike. I'd seen several families in our neighborhood with them. And something about the idea of having a Husky, a breed literally built for cold climates, appealed to the ice-quirk user in me.
Plus, in my old life, I'd always wanted a dog. My parents had refused, citing the divorce and their busy schedules. But here, now, with stable parents and a backyard?
"I just think it would be cool. We have the space, I could help take care of it, and Huskies are great dogs."
"You'd have to help take care of it," my father corrected. "Dogs are a lot of responsibility. Feeding, walking, training, cleaning up after them."
"I know. I'd do all of that."
He looked at me, assessing. "Why a Husky specifically?"
"They're cold-weather dogs. And I have an ice quirk. It feels... appropriate?"
A smile tugged at his lips. "That's actually pretty logical reasoning. But this isn't my decision alone. Go ask your mother. If she says yes, we can discuss it further."
I set my cocoa down and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time.
"Mom?"
"In the bedroom!" Her voice sounded slightly off. Tired, maybe?
I found her sitting on the bed, folding laundry. She looked up when I came in, and I noticed dark circles under her eyes.
"You okay, Mom?"
"Just tired, sweetie. What do you need?"
"Can we get a dog? A Siberian Husky?"
Her hands stilled mid-fold. "A dog?"
"Yeah. I'd help take care of it. Walk it, feed it, clean up after it. And Dad said to ask you first."
"Did he now." She finished folding the shirt in her hands, setting it aside carefully. "You know, I've been thinking about getting a pet. Something to keep me company during the day when everyone's out."
"So... is that a yes?"
She smiled, and some of the tiredness seemed to lift from her face. "Yes. If you promise to help with the responsibilities."
"I promise!"
"Then yes, we can get a dog."
I hugged her quickly, then ran back downstairs.
"Dad! Mom said yes!"
My father set down the newspaper he'd picked up. "She did?"
"She said she's been thinking about getting a pet anyway!"
He glanced at his watch. "The pet shop downtown should still be open. It's barely two o'clock. Want to go look now?"
"Really?"
"Why not? Your mother and I were planning to go out later anyway for groceries. Might as well make a day of it."
Twenty minutes later, we were in the car heading downtown. The streets were still covered in snow from yesterday's storm, but the main roads were clear enough to drive safely.
The pet shop was warm when we entered, the smell of animals and cedar shavings immediately apparent. A young woman at the counter looked up and smiled.
"Welcome! How can I help you today?"
"We're looking for a Siberian Husky," my father said. "Puppy, if you have any."
"Oh, you're in luck! We just got a litter in last week. He's eight weeks old, vet checked, and got his first shots done. Follow me."
She led us to a section in the back where several puppies were playing in a large enclosure. Most were clearly already taken for based on the "RESERVED" tags, but three were still available.
Two were playing together, tumbling over each other in that clumsy puppy way. The third sat slightly apart, watching the others with bright blue eyes that reminded me eerily of my own.
"That one," I said, pointing.
"The quiet one? He's the smallest of the litter, but the vet says he's perfectly healthy. Just more observant than his siblings."
I crouched down next to the enclosure. The puppy tilted his head, studying me.
Then he walked over, small paws pressing into the blanket lining the bottom of the enclosure, and sat down directly in front of me. His tail wagged once, then twice.
"I think he likes you," the woman said.
"Can I hold him?"
"Of course."
She opened the enclosure and carefully lifted the puppy out, placing him in my arms. He was warm and soft, squirming slightly before settling against my chest. His ice-blue eyes looked up at me, and I felt something warm and protective bloom in my chest.
"Bobby," I said without thinking. "His name is Bobby."
My father made a choked sound that might have been a laugh. "Bobby? For a Husky?"
"Yeah. I like it."
"It's your dog," he said, shaking his head with amusement. "If you want to name him Bobby, that's your choice."
Bobby, my little icedog.
We handled the paperwork, my father writing a check while the woman gave us a rundown of care instructions, feeding schedules, and training tips. She also provided us with a small bag of the food the puppy was currently eating, some toys, and a collar and leash set.
"Do you need a carrier?" she asked.
"We'll be fine," my father said. "It's not a long drive."
Bobby sat in my lap as we walked back to the car, content to be petted and occasionally licking my hand. His fur was soft, a beautiful mix of white and gray that would probably darken as he grew older.
"He's perfect," I said as my father unlocked the car.
"He's a handful, is what he's going to be. Huskies are high-energy dogs. You'll need to walk him twice a day, minimum."
"I will. I promise."
I climbed into the middle of the backseat, settling Bobby in my lap. He immediately started exploring, sniffing at the seat fabric, my jacket, and the door handle. His tail wagged constantly, a blur of motion.
"Seatbelt, Kori," my father reminded me as he started the car.
I buckled up carefully, making sure not to squish Bobby in the process. He settled back into my lap, those blue eyes looking up at me with what I could only describe as trust.
I'm going to take good care of you, I thought, scratching behind his ears. You're going to be the best-trained Husky in Musutafu.
My father pulled out of the parking spot, navigating back toward the main road. The pet shop was on a side street, quieter than the main downtown area but still dotted with other businesses and a few parked cars.
The music on the radio was some cheerful pop song, something about new beginnings and fresh starts.
Bobby yawned, showing his tiny puppy teeth, then settled his head on my leg.
"He's already comfortable with you," my father observed, glancing in the rearview mirror. "That's a good sign."
"He knows I'm going to—"
The horn was impossibly loud.
Everything happened at once and in slow motion simultaneously.
A massive truck appeared on my right, sliding on ice, completely out of control. The driver's face was visible through the windshield, eyes wide with panic, hands fighting the wheel.
The truck was going to slam directly into my side of the car and crush the backseat where I was sitting with Bobby in my arms.
My quirk reacted before my mind caught up.
Ice exploded from my hands, through the car door, and into the space between us and the truck. A wall of ice, thick and solid and absolutely massive, materialized in the fraction of a second between seeing the truck and impact.
The truck hit the ice wall trailer-first. The sound was tremendous with metal screaming against ice and the grind of tires on pavement,
The trailer edge caught on the ice wall, and the laws of physics took over.
The tractor, the front part of the truck with the cab, kept moving forward. The trailer, anchored by the ice wall, didn't.
The rig jackknifed. The trailer swung wide, its momentum carrying it in a violent arc. The tractor unit, still trying to move forward while being pulled back, lost its fight with physics, making the entire truck roll three times across the packed snow of the intersection.
The roof of the cab collapsed on the second roll. The sound of metal crumpling was sickening, accompanied by the distinctive crash of shattering glass.
The truck came to rest on its side, about thirty feet from our car. Steam rose from the engine with fluids leaking onto the snow, creating dark puddles that spread slowly.
There was a moment of absolute silence.
Then my father's voice, shaking. "Kori. Are you hurt?"
I looked down. Bobby was pressed against my chest, whimpering but unharmed. My hands were still outstretched, ice coating them up to my wrists.
"I'm okay. Bobby's okay. Are you—"
"I'm fine. Stay in the car. I'm going to check on the driver."
"Dad, wait—"
But he was already out, running toward the overturned truck, phone in his hand, calling for emergency services.
I sat there, holding Bobby, watching through the window as my father approached the wreckage.
The driver's side of the cab was facing up, the door hanging at an odd angle. My father climbed up, peered inside.
Even from the car, I saw his face change. Saw him step back quickly, hand over his mouth.
He stumbled away from the truck and vomited into the snow.
The driver's dead.
The thought came with absolute certainty. I'd seen enough movies to recognize that body language.
The driver had died because I'd created that ice wall, because I'd reacted to save myself.
My hands started shaking. Bobby whimpered again, pressing closer, sensing my distress.
"I killed him," I whispered. "I didn't mean to, but I killed him."
The ice wall was still there, standing like a monument to what had just happened. Already starting to melt in places, but still solid enough to show exactly where the truck had caught.
There were sirens in the distance now that was growing closer.
My father was back at the car now, pulling open my door.
"Come on. Out of the car. We need to move away in case there's a fuel leak."
I unbuckled with numb fingers, still holding Bobby. My father guided me away from the car and away from the truck, to the sidewalk, where we'd be safe if anything exploded.
"What happened?" I asked, even though I knew, but I needed to hear it anyway.
"The driver lost control on the ice. Your quirk... you reacted incredibly fast. That wall saved our lives."
"But the driver—"
"I know." His voice was rough. "I know, Kori. But if you hadn't acted, we'd be dead. You, me, Bobby. We'd all be dead."
The ambulance arrived first, followed quickly by police cars and a fire truck. EMTs rushed to the overturned truck while police started cordoning off the area.
One of the officers approached us, notepad in hand.
"Sir, were you involved in the accident?"
"My son and I were in the car that nearly got hit. My son has an ice quirk. He created a barrier that prevented the truck from crushing us, but caused the truck to roll."
The officer looked at me, at the massive ice wall still standing in the street, at the overturned truck.
"How old is your son?"
"Six."
"Six." The officer wrote something down. "That's... that's impressive quirk control for someone so young. Most kids can barely manage basic shapes."
"My son trains regularly. Officer, the driver—"
"Deceased. Severe trauma from the roll. It happened fast, if that's any comfort. He probably didn't suffer."
My father's hand tightened on my shoulder. "My son was defending himself. He saw the truck coming and reacted."
"I understand. This looks like a clear case of self-defense. The driver lost control, endangered others, and your son protected himself and you. We'll need to take your statements, but I don't foresee any charges."
More questions followed. What we'd seen, when I'd created the ice wall, the sequence of events. My father answered most of them, his voice steady despite the tremor I could feel in his hand.
I just stood there, holding Bobby, watching EMTs cover the driver's body with a sheet.
I'd killed him, I'd killed him, I'd killed him, I'd killed him.
He was going to kill you, so you reacted naturally to save yourself. The rational part of my brain thought.
The coldness in my chest pulsed with acknowledgment. Bobby licked my hand, bringing me back to the present. I looked down at his blue eyes, which looked so innocent, completely unaware of the horrors that had just happened. Must be nice being a dog.
"Come on," my father said quietly. "They're going to tow our car for inspection.
We walked to the police car that would give us a ride home. I carried Bobby, my father's hand steady on my shoulder.
Behind us, the ice wall was already melting, water running into the street, erasing the evidence of what had happened. But I would remember. I would always remember.
The first person I killed.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Happy New Year, everyone! Hope 2026 treats Everyone better than 2025, and thank you guys for the powerstones, they fill me with joy. I will be uploading the third bonus chapter a little bit later, and then after that, I will upload the regular chapter, so three chapters today, or more if you guys somehow break the new powerstone goal.
300 Powerstones: Incomplete
450 Powerstones: Incomplete