The loft smelled of fresh coffee, scrambled eggs, and something faintly metallic—blood, carefully measured and mixed into the food by Nemuri the night before. Morning light poured through the tall windows, turning the concrete floor into warm gold. Purple Spot was the first to wake Toga, as usual. The little purple plush dog had slept curled against her side all night, one paw draped over her arm like a living security blanket. Now he was licking her nose with enthusiastic, wet swipes, tail thumping against the blanket.
Toga's eyes fluttered open. For a split second panic flashed—then she remembered. The couch. The blanket. The dog that didn't run. She exhaled slowly and let Purple Spot continue his morning ritual. His tongue was soft, warm, and smelled faintly of lavender fabric softener Nemuri had used on him yesterday.
"Morning, Spot," she whispered. Her voice cracked from disuse.
Purple Spot barked once—bright, happy—and flopped onto her chest, nuzzling under her chin. Toga giggled. It was small, rusty, but real.
Nemuri appeared in the kitchen doorway, apron tied around her waist, hair pulled back in a messy bun. She carried two plates: fluffy scrambled eggs mixed with finely diced tomatoes, toast with butter, and a tall glass of orange juice that looked suspiciously pinker than usual.
"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," Nemuri said gently. "Breakfast is ready. And yes—before you ask—there's a little extra in there. Just enough to keep your energy up. No judgment. No questions. Eat what you need."
Toga sat up slowly, Purple Spot sliding into her lap with a contented huff. She stared at the plate.
"You… put blood in it?"
Nemuri nodded, sitting on the arm of the couch. "From a blood bank donation pack. Clean, safe, legal. You need it to stay healthy. We're not going to make you starve yourself to fit some idea of 'normal.' Drink the juice too—it's got a little mixed in. You'll feel better fast."
Toga lifted the glass with shaking fingers. One sip. Then another. Warmth spread through her chest like sunlight after endless rain. Her shoulders relaxed. Color crept back into her cheeks almost immediately.
"Oh…" she breathed. "I feel… better. Like, actually better."
Nemuri smiled. "Good. Now eat the eggs before they get cold. Yamcha helped scramble them—he's surprisingly good at not burning things."
Yamcha walked over from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He sat on the floor in front of the couch so he was eye-level with her.
"Morning. Sleep okay?"
Toga nodded shyly. "Purple Spot kept me warm. He… didn't leave my side all night."
Yamcha glanced at the plush dog, who was now licking egg crumbs off Toga's plate with great concentration.
"Yeah. He's good at that. Sticks to people who need him."
Missori joined them, carrying a small handheld scanner. Her antennae swayed curiously.
"May I?" she asked, gesturing to Toga.
Toga tensed for a second—then nodded.
Missori knelt and ran the device over Toga's arm—non-invasive, just a soft green light. The screen lit up with data.
"Quirk signature: hemokinetic in nature. Blood-based transformation and regeneration. Energy levels: rising rapidly after ingestion. Emotional signature: fear at twenty-one percent, curiosity at forty-seven percent, safety at sixty-two percent. Fascinating. Your quirk is not evil—it is simply misunderstood. Like many abilities I have encountered across worlds."
Toga stared at her. "You… don't think I'm gross?"
Missori tilted her head. "Gross? No. Intriguing. Efficient. Beautiful in its complexity. Blood is life. Why should using it be wrong?"
Toga's eyes filled again—this time with something softer than pain.
Nemuri stood and disappeared into her room, returning with a pile of clothes: soft black leggings, an oversized purple hoodie (to match Purple Spot), fuzzy socks, and a simple black choker.
"Try these. I guessed your size. If they don't fit, we'll go shopping later. You deserve to feel cute, not just survive."
Toga took the clothes with reverent fingers. She disappeared into the bathroom. When she came back, the hoodie swallowed her small frame, sleeves dangling past her hands. She looked… normal. Like any teenager on a lazy Sunday.
Nemuri clapped. "Perfect. Now spin for me."
Toga did—awkwardly at first, then with a shy giggle. Purple Spot barked approval and chased her heels in a circle.
Yamcha watched with a small smile. When she sat back down, he leaned forward.
"You don't have to rush anything. But if you want… we can help you learn to control it. Not hide it. Use it safely. For you, not for anyone else."
Toga looked at her hands—then at Purple Spot, who had climbed back into her lap and was now snoring again.
"I… I'd like that. I don't want to hurt people anymore. I just… wanted to feel close to them. To be like them."
Nemuri sat beside her and pulled her into a gentle side hug.
"You can be close to us without hurting anyone. Starting right now."
Toga leaned into the embrace—tentative, then fully. She buried her face in Nemuri's shoulder and let out a shaky breath.
Purple Spot woke up, licked her ear, then flopped across both their laps like a living blanket.
For the first time in her life, Himiko Toga smiled—small, real, and unafraid.
"I think… maybe I could stay here forever."
Yamcha's voice was quiet, but firm.
"You're welcome to. As long as you want."
Missori's antennae glowed a soft, happy cyan.
"Emotional signature: hope now at eighty-nine percent. Belonging detected. Pack cohesion: optimal."
Nemuri laughed softly and kissed the top of Toga's head.
"Welcome to the family, kid."
Purple Spot barked once—loud, proud—and snuggled deeper.
Outside, the city moved on.
Inside, a broken girl began to heal.
And the Pack—stronger, warmer, more complete—closed ranks around her.