The police car's engine hummed steadily as we drove through the snowy streets toward home. The officer at the wheel kept his eyes forward and kept silent. Bobby sat in my lap and occasionally whimpered when he sensed my tension.
My father sat beside me in the backseat, staring out the window at the passing buildings. His jaw was tight, hands clasped together so hard his knuckles had gone white.
The silence was oppressive, filled with everything we weren't saying.
I killed him.
The thought circled my mind like a vulture. My hands had created that ice, and the physics had done the rest, but it had started with me.
I know that it was self-defense but knowing that didn't make the weight in my chest any lighter. Didn't erase the image of my father stepping back from the truck cab, hand over his mouth, face pale with shock.
Didn't change the fact that a man was dead and I was alive.
I stroked Bobby's fur repeatedly, the repetitive motion the only thing keeping me anchored. He leaned into my touch warmly.
At least I saved him. At least Bobby's okay.
It was a small comfort that made me feel less guilty in my stomach.
My father shifted beside me, and I felt his eyes on me.
"Kori," he said quietly.
I didn't look at him and kept my eyes on Bobby, on the passing streets, anywhere but my father's face.
"Kori, look at me."
I did, reluctantly. His expression was gentle but firm behind his glasses.
"What happened wasn't your fault."
The words should have helped. It should have eased something, but instead, they made my throat tight.
"I know," I said.
"No, I don't think you do." His hand found my shoulder, "You're blaming yourself. I can see it on your face. The way you're holding yourself, but Kori, listen to me, that driver lost control. He was coming at us at high speed. If you hadn't reacted, we'd both be dead. You, me, and Bobby. All dead."
"But he—"
"He died because he lost control of his vehicle in dangerous conditions. Not because you defended yourself. The ice wall saved our lives. What happened after was simply bad luck."
I wanted to believe him and let his words sink in and absolve the weight pressing on my chest.
But I'd seen too much.
"I'm not blaming myself," I said.
Another lie.
My father's hand tightened on my shoulder. He knew. Of course he knew. But he didn't push, didn't force me to admit it. Just sat there, letting me carry the weight I wouldn't put down.
The rest of the drive passed in silence.
The police car pulled up in front of our house. My father thanked the officer, exchanged a few quiet words about follow-up statements, then helped me out of the car.
The front door opened before we reached it. My mother stood there, still in the same clothes from this morning, eyes wide and searching.
"Hiroshi? Kori?" Her voice was high, strained. "The police called, they said there was an accident, are you—"
She saw us unharmed, walking toward her, and something in her face crumpled.
"Oh kami. Oh, thank kami."
My father reached her first, and she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. Her body shook, and I realized she was crying. Deep, gasping sobs that made her whole body tremble.
"We're okay," my father murmured, one hand rubbing her back. "We're okay, Ayumi. We're home."
"They said a truck, they said Kori used his quirk, they said someone died—" The words tumbled out between sobs, barely coherent.
"Come inside. Let's get inside, and I'll explain everything."
I followed them into the house, Bobby still in my arms. My mother was still clinging to my father, crying into his chest. He guided her to the living room couch, sat her down, and kept one arm around her shoulders.
"The truck lost control on ice," he said quietly. "It was going to hit us. Kori created an ice wall that stopped it from crushing our car. But the truck jackknifed and rolled. The driver... the driver didn't survive."
My mother's hand flew to her mouth. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
"You could have died. Both of you. If Kori hadn't—" She reached out, grabbed my arm, pulled me toward her. "Come here. Come here, baby."
I set Bobby down on the floor carefully. He wandered off toward the kitchen, sniffing curiously at everything.
My mother pulled me into a hug so tight it almost hurt. She was shaking, crying into my hair.
"My baby. My sweet baby. You saved everyone."
And that was the breaking point.
I started crying.
Full on sobbing that came from somewhere deep and broken inside me. All the shock, the guilt, the horror, the fear, everything I'd been holding back since I saw that truck coming at us.
"I killed him," I choked out. "I didn't mean to, but I killed him."
"No. No, sweetie, you didn't. You protected yourself. That's not the same thing."
"But he's dead, and I'm aliv,e and it's because of me—"
"Because you chose to live. Because you have a powerful quirk and good instincts and you saved yourself and your father. That's not murder, baby."
"He had a family," I said. "The truck driver. He probably had a family, and now he's dead, and they don't have him anymore because of me."
My mother's arms tightened around me. I could feel her crying too, her tears falling into my hair.
My father moved closer, sitting on my other side. His hand found my back patting it lightly.
"Let it out," he said quietly. "Both of you. Just let it out."
So we did.
My mother and I cried together on the couch while my father sat with us, Bobby wandered back from the kitchen and sat at our feet, whining softly at the distress he could sense but not understand.
Time stretched. Could have been five minutes, could have been an hour. Eventually, the sobs subsided into hiccups, then into shaky breathing, then into exhausted silence.
My mother pulled back, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. Her face was blotchy and red, makeup smeared.
"You're home," she said, voice rough. "You're both home and you're safe. That's what matters."
"That's what matters," my father echoed.
She took a deep breath, visibly pulling herself together. "You haven't eaten. Either of you. It's almost five, and I doubt you had lunch after..."
"We didn't," my father confirmed.
"Then I'll make something. You need to eat."
"Ayumi, you don't have to—"
"Yes, I do." She stood, wobbly but determined. "I need to do something. I need to... I need to take care of you both. So I'm making dinner."
My father watched her for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Thank you."
She started toward the kitchen, then paused. Turned back to look at us.
"You're safe," she said again, like she needed to keep saying it to believe it. "You're home and you're safe and that's what matters."
Then she disappeared into the kitchen.
My father and I sat in silence for a moment.
"She's right, you know," he said eventually. "We need to eat and keep our strength up.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He stood, patted my shoulder once, and followed my mother into the kitchen.
I stayed on the couch, Bobby jumping up to curl against my side. His warmth was comforting, his presence a small point of normalcy in a day that had gone so wrong.
From the kitchen, I could hear my parents talking in low voices. The sound of cabinets opening and water running.
I closed my eyes and tried to just breathe.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Hiroshi stood at the kitchen counter, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator.
Hamamatsu gyoza was Ayumi's favorite dish. It was something he could make without thinking too hard, something that would give his hands purpose while his mind processed.
Hiroshi measured out flour, water, salt. Started mixing the dough for the wrappers. His hands moved through familiar motions while his thoughts spiraled.
I couldn't do anything.
The thought came bitter and familiar.
I sat there in the driver's seat, watching that truck come at us, and I couldn't do a single thing to stop it.
Quirkless. He'd been quirkless his whole life, and most days that was fine. He'd made peace with it, found success in other ways, and built a good life.
But today, when his son's life had been in danger, when death had been barreling toward them.
He'd been useless.
Some father you are. Your child had to save you.
Hiroshi kneaded the dough harder than necessary, flour dusting his hands.
The memories came anyway, uninvited and sharp.
It was during third grade at the playground, bigger kids with bigger quirks surrounding him.
"What's wrong, Takeda? Can't fight back? Oh, wait, you can't do anything!"
Laughter and then shoving, his glasses getting knocked off and stepped on.
Teachers who'd seen but hadn't intervened because "boys will be boys" and "he needs to learn to stand up for himself."
How was he supposed to stand up for himself without a quirk? How was anyone?
Middle school had been worse. The bullying got more sophisticated, more cruel. Not just physical but social. The quirkless kid got excluded, mocked, and not even treated like a human.
He'd thrown himself into academics, into anything that didn't require powers. Had gotten good grades, gotten into a good university, found work in tech support where his lack of quirk didn't matter.
Had thought he'd left all that behind.
But today, sitting in that car, watching that truck slide toward them on ice—
All those old feelings had come roaring back. The helplessness and the knowledge that he couldn't protect the people he loved because he didn't have the right genetics.
Kori had a powerful ice quirk that was growing day by day.
Kori would never feel that helplessness.
But he'll feel other things, like guilt for saving himself. Like responsibility for someone else's death.
Hiroshi started mixing the filling. Ground pork, cabbage, garlic, ginger.
Was that better or worse? Having power but carrying the weight of its consequences? Or having no power at all?
He didn't know.
Ayumi appeared beside him, eyes still red but composed. "What can I do?"
"The tea. Can you make tea?"
"Of course."
She moved to the stove, filling the kettle with water, pulling down the green tea leaves they kept for special occasions.
They worked in silence, the familiarity of cooking together helping with their thoughts.
Hiroshi rolled out the dough, cut circles, and began assembling the gyoza. Fold, pinch, seal. Over and over.
You can't protect him from everything, he thought. You couldn't protect him from that truck. Can't protect him from the guilt he's feeling. Can't protect him from a world that will ask him to use his quirk in ways that hurt him.
But you can be here. You can make him dinner. You can sit with him while he processes. You can be the father he needs, even if you're not the father who can fight his battles.
It wasn't enough but it had to be enough.
The gyoza went into the pan, sizzling as they hit the hot oil. Hiroshi adjusted the temperature, added water, and covered them to steam.
Ayumi poured tea into three cups, the green tea smelling like cut leaves.
"He's going to be okay," she said quietly.
"I know."
"We'll help him through this."
"I know."
"And you're okay too. You're processing too."
Hiroshi looked at his wife; her eyes were knowing and gentle.
"I couldn't do anything," he said. "I just sat there."
"You were driving and in shock."
"Kori's six and he reacted faster than me."
"Kori has a quirk that responds to threats, but you don't, and that's okay; it doesn't make you any less of a person than Kori is.
Hiroshi wanted to believe that and let go of the uselessness sitting heavy in his chest.
The gyoza finished cooking. He plated them carefully, arranging them just so. Set the plates on the kitchen table along with the tea cups.
"Kori," Ayumi called toward the living room. "Dinner's ready."
They heard small footsteps as their son appeared in the doorway with Bobby trailing behind him. Kori's eyes were swollen from crying.
They sat together at the table. Hiroshi looked at his family, his wife still processing the fear of almost losing them, his son still processing the guilt of survival, and felt a protective surge go through him.
He couldn't protect them with a quirk, but he'll protect them with his love and always being there.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Across the city, in a modest apartment in a different neighborhood, Ubume was folding laundry when the doorbell rang.
She glanced at the clock, which was nearly six in the evening, and she was not expecting anyone.
The doorbell rang again, "Coming!" she called, setting down the shirt she'd been folding.
Through the peephole, she saw two police officers, and they had that kind of expression people wore when delivering bad news.
Her stomach dropped.
Taiko
She opened the door, one hand gripping the frame for support.
"Mrs. Hinata?" the older officer asked.
"Yes. What's wrong? Is it my husband?"
The officers exchanged a glance.
"May we come in?"
"Just tell me. Please."
The older officer's expression softened with sympathy. "There was an accident this afternoon. Your husband's truck lost control on ice. We're very sorry to inform you that he didn't survive."
The words didn't make sense at first. She heard them, understood them, but together they were impossible.
No, no, no, how?
Taiko was Dead.
Her husband of ten years. Father of her daughters. The man who'd kissed her goodbye this morning with promises of being home by dinner.
Dead.
"No." The word came out small, disbelieving. "No, there's been a mistake. Taiko's a good driver. He's been driving trucks for fifteen years, he knows how to handle ice-"
"The conditions were extremely hazardous. There should have been a warning on the news, but it was black ice in an intersection. He lost control, and the vehicle rolled. According to witnesses, another driver created an ice barrier to protect themselves. That barrier caused the trailer to catch, which resulted in the jackknife to roll. Your husband died on impact and he didn't suffer."
Didn't suffer.
As if that mattered. As if quick versus slow made any difference when the end result was her husband dead and her daughters without a father.
Ubeme's legs gave out, she tried to grab the doorframe but missed, and started to fall—
The younger officer caught her and helped her to the couch.
"Is there someone we can call?" he asked. "Family? Friends?"
She couldn't speak and couldn't think either. The world had narrowed to a single point of incomprehension.
Taiko was dead.
The officer was still talking, words about victim services and counseling and contact information. She heard none of it. Just sat there, staring at nothing, while her mind tried to process the impossible.
"Mrs. Hinata?" The older officer's voice was gentle. "Is there someone we can call for you?"
She shook her head. Managed to find words through the shock.
"My daughters. They're upstairs. I need... you need to go. Before they come down."
"Are you sure? We can stay until—"
"Go. Please. I can't... they can't see me like this. Just go."
The officers hesitated, then nodded. Left business cards on the coffee table with numbers for grief counseling, victim services, morgue information.
Then they were gone, and Yuki was alone with the knowledge that would destroy her daughters' childhood.
She sat there, numb and hollow, while the world continued around her. Cars passed outside. Upstairs, she could hear her daughters laughing at something, innocent and happy.
Then the tears came.
Silent at first, then building into wrenching sobs that bent her double. She pressed her face into her hands, trying to muffle the sounds, trying to keep the grief contained until she could process enough to function.
Her partner, her love, her daughters' father was gone.
"Mama?"
She looked up through blurred vision. Her daughters, Futaba and Yukari, eight-year-old twins, stood at the bottom of the stairs in matching pajamas, faces confused and frightened.
"Mama, why are you crying?"
Ubeme wiped frantically at her face, trying to compose herself and failing completely.
"It's nothing, sweethearts. Just... just go back to bed."
"But you're crying really hard," Futaba said, moving closer. "Did something bad happen?"
"I'm just tired," she lied, voice breaking on every word. "Very tired. Please, just go back to bed. We'll talk in the morning."
The girls exchanged worried looks.
"Are you sure?" Yukari asked.
"I'm sure. Please. Please just go back to bed."
They hesitated, clearly not believing her but not knowing what else to do. Finally, they turned and went back upstairs, whispering to each other.
The moment they were gone, Ubeme collapsed back onto the couch and let the grief consume her.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
I pushed the gyoza around my plate, not really eating.
My mother had made all my favorites. The gyoza were perfectly crispy on the bottom, the tea was the exact right temperature. Everything should have been comforting.
Instead, it all tasted like cardboard.
My parents ate in silence, occasionally glancing at me with concern. Neither pushed me to talk.
I managed to eat two gyoza and drink some tea before my stomach rebelled. The food sat heavily and wrong, and I set down my chopsticks.
"I'm not hungry," I said quietly.
My mother opened her mouth, probably to encourage me to eat more. My father put a hand on her arm, shook his head slightly.
"That's okay," he said. "You can be excused."
I stood, picked up Bobby from where he'd been sitting patiently under the table, and headed for the stairs.
"Kori?"
I turned. My mother was looking at me, eyes worried.
"We're here if you need us. Okay?"
"Okay."
I climbed the stairs slowly. My room felt simultaneously too small and too empty when I entered.
I set Bobby on the bed, and he immediately started exploring, sniffing at my pillows and blankets. His tail wagged, innocent and happy.
I lay down on the bed, pulling Bobby close. He settled against my chest, his small body rising and falling with breath.
I stroked his fur, and it was soothing, but my mind wouldn't stop replaying it.
I closed my eyes, trying to sleep. Trying to escape into my dreams where I wouldn't have to think.
But every time I started to drift, I saw the truck.
Eventually, exhaustion won, and I fell into sleep but the nightmare came suddenly.
The truck, sliding toward me on ice, but this time, my quirk didn't work. This time, and the truck hit us, all I could hear was the sound of my father screaming my name—
I jerked awake, gasping. The clock on my nightstand read 2:17 AM.
My room was dark and cold. Bobby was still asleep, curled into a tight ball against my side.
I couldn't breathe and couldn't get enough air; the walls felt too close, the ceiling too low.
I needed to move.
I carefully removed myself from the bed without waking Bobby, pulled on shoes and a jacket, and crept downstairs.
The house was silent. My parents' bedroom door was closed, and no light was visible underneath.
I slipped out the back door into the yard.
Snow covered everything in white. I walked to the center of the yard, the same place I'd been training yesterday morning. Before everything changed.
The emotions were too much.
I needed to let them out.
I raised my hands and let my quirk flow without control. Ice exploded from my palms, spreading across the snow in chaotic patterns. Spires and walls and jagged crystals, forming and reforming as I poured everything into it.
All of the emotions I've been feeling today, I let out.
I created and destroyed, until my hands were numb and my head was pounding and I couldn't feel anything except exhaustion.
The cold in my chest pulsed in time with my heartbeat, with my quirk responding to my emotion.
I kept going until finally, my legs gave out.
I collapsed into the snow, too tired to move, too drained to think. The icy garden I'd created surrounded me like a frozen graveyard; it was absolutely beautiful to see.
Bobby was going to wonder where I went. My parents would worry if they found me gone. But I couldn't make myself move, couldn't even be bothered to make myself care.
I just lay there in the snow I'd created, staring up at the dark sky, until I eventually fell asleep. I woke to warmth. I opened my eyes to find myself in my parents' bed, blankets pulled up to my chin.
The door opened. My father came in, still in pajamas, and his face relaxed when he saw I was awake.
"Kori." He crossed the room quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"What happened?"
"You had a nightmare. I heard you get up, went to check on you. Found you passed out in the backyard surrounded by snow." His hand found my forehead, checking for fever. "Thankfully, it seems like your immunity to the cold saved you."
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize." He pulled me into a hug, sudden and tight. "Don't ever apologize for being affected by trauma. You went through something horrible, of course, you're not okay."
The hug broke something in me. I started crying again, pressing my face into his shoulder.
"I can't stop seeing it," I sobbed. "The truck, the roll, all of it. It won't stop playing in my head."
"I know. I know it won't." His hand rubbed my back in steady circles. "It's going to take time. But you're going to be okay. We're going to help you through this."
"I killed him, Dad. I keep telling myself it was self-defense, but he's still dead because of me—"
"No. He's dead because he lost control of his truck in dangerous conditions.
"But—"
"No buts. Listen to me, Kori." He pulled back to look at me, hands on my shoulders. "What you're feeling is normal. Guilt, fear, all of it. That's what makes you human. You didn't do anything wrong.
Eventually, the tears slowed. My father handed me a tissue, and I wiped my face.
"Your mother is making breakfast," he said quietly. "Nothing fancy. Just toast and eggs. Think you can eat something?"
"Maybe."
"That's good enough. Come on."
He helped me out of bed, kept a hand on my shoulder as we walked downstairs.
Bobby was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, tail wagging furiously. He jumped up at me, whining, clearly relieved I was okay.
I picked him up, buried my face in his fur for a moment.
"Good boy," I whispered. "Such a good boy."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Across the city, Ubeme sat on her couch watching the morning news with dead eyes.
She hadn't slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face. Heard his laugh. Remembered a thousand small moments that had meant everything and nothing until they were all she had left.
The news anchor's voice cut through her thoughts.
"Tragic accident yesterday afternoon when a delivery truck lost control on black ice. The driver, 35-year-old Taiko Hinata, died when his vehicle rolled after encountering an ice barrier created by a quirk user in self-defense. Police have ruled the incident as justified self-defense, and no charges will be filed.
Ubeme's hand flew to her mouth, and she started sobbing. Seeing it on the news made it real in a way that the police officers' words hadn't.
"Mama?"
She turned to find Futaba and Yukari standing in the doorway, still in their pajamas, faces scared.
She couldn't lie anymore. "Come here," she said, voice rough from crying. "Both of you. I need to tell you something."
The girls came slowly, sensing the weight of what was coming. They sat on either side of her on the couch.
Ubeme took a shaky breath, trying to find words to explain.
"Your father... there was an accident yesterday. In his truck."
"Is he in the hospital?" Futaba asked.
"No, sweetheart. He... he didn't make it. He died."
Silence.
Then Yukari started crying. "No. No, you're lying. Daddy said he'd take us to the park this weekend, he promised—"
"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Futaba was staring at nothing, face blank with shock. "Daddy's dead?"
"Yes."
"But he can't be. He was just here yesterday; he made us breakfast. He can't just be gone."
"I know. But he is."
Both girls started crying then, and Ubeme pulled them close, holding their daughters while they broke apart.
"It's not fair!" Futaba sobbed. "He promised he'd teach me to ride a bike! He promised!"
"I know, baby. I know."
They cried together, four people in a family suddenly reduced by one. The hole Taiko left was massive.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
I walked Bobby around the block slowly, still processing everything.
Bobby sniffed at everything, pulling on the leash occasionally when something caught his interest.
The park came into view, and I saw a familiar figure on the playground. It was Izuku; he was sitting on the swings, notebook open on his lap despite the cold, scribbling something with intense concentration.
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to turn around, go home, and avoid having to pretend I was okay.
But another part, the part that remembered Izuku was my best friend, that he'd always been there for me, wanted the comfort of normalcy of just being kids playing together.
Bobby made the decision for me, tugging on the leash toward the playground.
"Okay, okay. We're going."
Izuku looked up as we approached, and his face split into a huge grin.
"Kori! You got a dog!" He hopped off the swing, running over. "When did this happen? He's so cute! What's his name?"
"Bobby. Got him yesterday."
"Bobby! That's a cool name!" Izuku knelt down, letting Bobby sniff his hand before petting him carefully. "He's so soft! And his eyes are blue like yours!"
Bobby responded by trying to lick Izuku's face, tail wagging frantically.
"He likes you," I said.
"Dogs always like me. I'm very likeable." Izuku grinned, scratching behind Bobby's ears. "What kind is he?"
"Siberian Husky, he's eight weeks old."
"Perfect for someone with an ice quirk! Are you going to train him to—"
Izuku stopped mid-sentence, looking up at me properly for the first time. His smile faded.
"Kori? Are you okay? You look..."
"I'm fine," I said automatically.
"No, you don't. You look like you haven't slept. And your eyes are red. Have you been crying?"
"I'm fine," I repeated.
"You're not fine. Something happened. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just tired."
"Kori." Izuku stood up, "You can tell me. We're friends. If something bad happened—"
"I don't want to talk about it." The words came out sharper than intended.
Izuku flinched slightly but didn't back down. "Okay. You don't have to talk about it. But... but if you want to, I'm here. Okay?"
"Okay."
We stood there for a moment in awkward silence. Bobby pulled on the leash, wanting to explore.
"Want to just... play?" Izuku asked hesitantly. "We could throw snowballs for Bobby. Or build a snow fort. Or I could show you the new hero moves I analyzed this morning. Whatever you want."
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, that sounds good."
Izuku's smile returned. "Come on. I'll show you this thing I figured out about Endevors' fire quirk.
He launched into an explanation, hands moving excitedly. Bobby trotted alongside us as we walked toward his favorite spot on the playground.
And for a few minutes, I let myself just listen. It didn't erase what happened, and it didn't make the guilt go away.
But it helped.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
A/N: Hopefully, this tragic event didn't come off as forced, but Kori needed that character development, and it also opens a new arc, which I'm excited to show you guys. And we were also on the ranking, thank you guys again, appreciate the support
300 Powerstones: Incomplete
450 Powerstones: Incomplete