U.A. High School was a place where heroes were trained by professionals from every field. It had a reputation for producing top-tier talent, a pipeline into the heart of hero society. On paper, it was one of the safest places a young person could be.
But safety was a strange word in a place where quirks were used freely.
Could Kurose Kuro really survive in an environment like that?
Would he lose control again, like before, hurting others without thinking?
After chatting for a while about everyday matters, Nekoyama Fumiko and Fujita Emi parted ways. The old woman lit a lamp, then tapped twice against the wall. Her ears twitched as a faint, muffled sound answered from the other side.
She pushed open a hidden panel.
Behind it was a small, carefully arranged room.
Everything inside was neat, almost untouched by time. The floor was spotless. Two sets of clothes lay side by side. One was an old U.A. school uniform. The other was a worn combat suit, crudely patched together.
Fumiko stepped forward, her fingers trembling as she picked up the uniform. She smoothed out its wrinkles one by one.
Embroidered on the collar was a name:
Kurose Akihito.
Her eyes grew damp.
"Is this just how your family is…?" she murmured, tracing each letter slowly. "Your son was like this. You were like this. And now that child… he's the same."
She had thought about telling Kuro the truth. About his past. About everything.
At one point, she had believed he could carry on the family legacy. Become a proper hero like his parents.
Maybe even avenge them.
She had believed he could recover.
But she had been wrong.
Her gaze shifted to the combat suit beneath the uniform.
It was torn clean through, stiff with old blood that no amount of scrubbing had ever removed. She remembered how her hands had gone raw trying to wash it clean.
The stains never faded.
"…I found something, Aoi. Our family… it's hiding a secret."
A voice echoed in her memory.
"I only told you and one other person. You're my closest friends. I didn't want to keep it from you."
"I checked the family records. Ever since quirks appeared, every child born into our line has been male. Maybe it's genetic. Maybe that's why someone like me ended up with two quirks… My mother said the scans showed I'd be a girl. But in the end, I was the only one…"
Tears fell silently onto the fabric.
Fumiko lowered her head, unable to hold them back.
Even after all these years, the memory of that final smile still twisted something deep inside her chest.
"…They've found me, Aoi. I can't run anymore. They're threatening my wife and child. If I don't go, they won't spare the rest of the family."
"You're a good person. Thank you… for everything."
She had wanted to shape Kuro into someone just like him.
Someone who could smile brightly.
Someone strong.
Someone who could become a great hero.
She had poured everything she had into that goal. Pulled every string she could to get him into U.A. High School.
She had believed he could inherit it all.
That he could become the next Kurose Akihito.
But she couldn't do it.
She couldn't accept losing him too.
All these years, she had been forcing Kuro into a mold, pretending that the past hadn't happened.
But the truth refused to stay buried.
Would he walk the same path?
Would strength only draw danger toward him?
Would entering U.A. place him directly in the sights of those people?
Would he end up abandoned on a battlefield, just like before?
Torn apart alone?
"No…" she whispered, her hands tightening into fists. "No. That can't happen."
Kuro could never become a hero.
He would never take the U.A. entrance exam.
She made her decision.
Once he graduated from middle school, she would leave everything behind. She'd take him and disappear overseas.
Somewhere far away.
Somewhere those people would never find him.
Somewhere the shadow over the Kurose family couldn't reach.
Late that night, in a hospital room, Kuro dreamed.
Snow fell endlessly around him.
The scene felt familiar.
Mountains loomed in the distance. A wrecked car sat half-buried in white. Several figures stood nearby, their outlines blurred by the storm.
He walked closer.
A sharp, tearing pain spread through his chest, as if something inside him was being ripped apart.
Memories he didn't want surfaced anyway.
The car massacre in Kita Bay City.
Ten years ago.
His father—Kurose Haruto—knelt in the snow, arms outstretched to shield his wife and child.
His face was bloodied, beaten beyond recognition.
"What do you want?" Haruto demanded hoarsely. "Haven't you done enough to our family?"
The man standing across from him was soaked in blood. He licked it from his fingers with a twisted grin.
"No choice," the man said. "Your family got involved in something they shouldn't have."
He tilted his head, voice dripping with mockery.
"Compared to your father, Kurose Akihito… you're a disappointment. He didn't beg. Not once. But you? You're groveling for your wife and kid."
Kuro strained to see his face.
But the snow swallowed everything.
All he could grasp was the voice. The cruelty in it. The shape of blood-stained hands.
"Oh, and your twin brother? Izumizuki Nagasaki? We took care of him too."
The man laughed.
"He tried to stop us. Kept transferring other people's injuries onto himself. Funny, right? A healing type thinking he could stand in our way."
"Your whole family lacks self-awareness. People like you should just stay in support roles."
Kuro's father lunged, trying to fight back, but was struck down immediately.
"You…" Haruto choked. "Come at me… don't touch them…"
Behind him, Kuro's mother, Miki, pulled him close, shielding him with her body. Her voice trembled, but her eyes were steady.
"I've already contacted a nearby hero agency. Don't push your luck."
The man burst into laughter.
"You still believe in heroes?"
"The moment Kurose Haruto retired, this world stopped needing him. No one's coming to save you."
They waited.
And waited.
For nine long hours, they stayed in that frozen hell.
No one came.
The snow beneath them turned red.
In the end, the man stepped forward and drove a blade straight into Kuro's chest.
"You see?" he said lightly. "A healer who saves everyone… but can't save himself. Or his family."
Oil was poured.
A lighter flicked open.
The clock struck three.
In the silent hospital, the night shift began to change.
Then—
A violent crash shattered the stillness.
A roar echoed from one of the rooms, raw and inhuman, like a beast thrashing inside a cage.
The bed rattled violently. Teeth ground together with a sickening sound.
Something was breaking.
"It hurts…"
"I… it hurts…"
"Mom… it hurts…"
His voice cracked, hoarse and desperate, echoing down the corridor.
"Ahhh—! It hurts! It hurts!"
"Kill me!"
"It hurts! Please—kill me!"
"Dad! Kill me! It hurts!"