The loft was quiet except for the soft hum of Missori's gadgets and the occasional bark from Purple Spot. Himiko Toga stirred on the couch, eyelids fluttering. Her first conscious breath was sharp, panicked—body tensing like a cornered animal. She bolted upright, hands scrabbling for a knife that wasn't there.
Purple Spot yipped happily and immediately launched himself onto her lap, plush paws on her chest, tail wagging so hard his baseball cap nearly fell off. He licked her cheek once, twice—warm, gentle, completely unafraid.
Toga froze. Her wide eyes stared at the purple dog-thing nuzzling her. No fear. No disgust. Just… affection.
She exhaled shakily. "You're… not scared of me?"
Purple Spot barked softly, licked her chin again, then curled up against her side like he belonged there.
Nemuri approached slowly, holding a tray with hot soup and fresh bread. "Hey. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you here."
Toga's gaze darted between them—Yamcha standing calmly by the window, Missori sitting cross-legged on the floor with glowing antennae, Nemuri kneeling beside the couch with a gentle smile.
Missori's antennae swayed. "Emotional signature: fear dominant, but decreasing. Loneliness… very high. Hope… emerging."
Yamcha stepped closer, hands open, voice low and steady.
"I'm Yamcha. Wolf Fang. That's Nemuri—Midnight—and Missori—Keikai Star. We're not here to judge you. We just want to know what happened. Why you were with them."
Toga swallowed hard. Her voice came out small.
"They… they said I could be useful. That my quirk was special. That people like me don't get to be normal. So I… I tried to be what they wanted."
Nemuri set the tray down and sat on the edge of the couch. "Eat something. You're shaking. When was the last time you had real food?"
Toga hesitated, then took the bowl with trembling hands. The first spoonful made her eyes water—not from the heat, but from something deeper.
"No one's ever… fed me like this. Without wanting something back."
Nemuri brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You're not a monster. You're a kid who's been hurt. And we don't throw hurt kids away."
Missori tilted her head. "Your energy is chaotic, but not evil. Just… very, very lonely."
Toga stared at the soup, tears falling in.
"I've always been told I'm wrong. That wanting blood makes me bad. That I should hide it. Or be used for it."
Yamcha crouched to her level.
"I've been told I'm weak. That I'll never be first. That I'm just comic relief. But these two—" he nodded toward Nemuri and Missori "—they didn't let me believe that. Maybe we can do the same for you."
Toga looked up, eyes wide.
"You… you'd let me stay?"
"For now," Yamcha said gently. "Until you're stronger. Until you know what you want. No cages. No chains. Just a chance."
Purple Spot nuzzled her hand. She scratched behind his ears—tentative at first, then with growing wonder.
A soft knock echoed from the roof access door.
Yamcha tensed. Missori's antennae glowed. Nemuri reached for her whip.
The door opened slowly.
Stain stood there—bandages, red eyes, sword sheathed.
No one moved.
"I'm not here to fight," he said quietly. "I saw what you did today. And yesterday. You're not fake."
Yamcha stepped forward. "Then why are you here?"
Stain's gaze flicked to Toga. Then back to Yamcha.
"To warn you. The rehabilitation system is rotten. They'll take her—" he nodded at Toga "—and twist her quirk into something worse. They'll make her a weapon or a lab rat. They did it to others. They tried it with me."
Silence.
Yamcha narrowed his eyes. "You were in the system?"
Stain exhaled through his nose.
"Years ago. They promised help. Instead they asked me to eliminate 'problem' heroes. Innocent lives ruined for politics. I left. Broke out. Became what I am because I refused to be their tool."
He looked at Toga again.
"She's young. Still salvageable. But if you hand her over… they'll break her."
Nemuri's voice was steel. "We're not handing her over."
Stain nodded once.
"Good. Then maybe you're worth something after all."
He turned to leave.
"Wait," Yamcha called. "Why tell us?"
Stain paused at the door.
"Because someone has to believe there are still real heroes left. Even if I don't trust the system… I can recognize the people fighting it."
Then he was gone—melting into the night.
Toga stared at the empty doorway.
"He… didn't call me a monster."
Nemuri squeezed her shoulder.
"No one here will."
Toga looked down at Purple Spot, who had fallen asleep across her lap, snoring softly.
"I want to stay. Please. Just… for a little while."
Yamcha smiled—small, genuine.
"You're Pack now. Until you decide otherwise."
Missori's antennae glowed warmly. "Emotional signature: fear reduced by seventy-three percent. Hope increased by one hundred forty percent."
Nemuri laughed softly.
"Welcome home, kid."
Toga buried her face in Purple Spot's fur.
For the first time, she didn't feel like a monster.
She felt like a girl.
And the Pack—Yamcha, Nemuri, Missori, and the little purple guardian—closed ranks around her.
The system might be corrupt.
But this family wasn't.