At four in the morning, complaints started coming in from other patients. They said someone in the corridor had been screaming all night, calling for help in a voice that didn't sound human.
Medical staff and night guards checked every room.
They found Kurose Kuro collapsed on the floor of Room 304.
His body was drenched in sweat. One arm was stretched forward, fingers barely short of the call button. He must have tried to reach it and failed, falling out of bed in the process.
"Does it hurt?" a young nurse muttered as she stepped forward to help him.
The moment her hand touched him, her body jerked violently, like she'd been shocked. She collapsed to the ground, eyes wide and unfocused.
The people nearby froze.
"What just happened?"
"I don't know, she just dropped!"
"It's the kid—something's wrong with him!"
More staff rushed in. Someone tried to pull Kuro back onto the bed—
The instant they touched him, they convulsed and fell the same way.
One after another, five people collapsed.
No one moved after that.
Kuro lay in the middle of the room like a hazard no one understood. No one knew what was happening, what caused it, or what would happen next.
An emergency meeting was called.
Even Fujita Emi was brought in at Nekoyama Fumiko's request.
"The patient is unconscious," someone reported. "Severe dehydration. He needs fluids immediately."
"We can't get close to him."
"Use equipment. Try the machines."
"Have the unconscious staff regained consciousness? Move them to another room for treatment."
"Doctor! He touched him with his hands—move him out of the way!"
By the time dawn broke, the hospital was fully awake.
Lights filled the corridors.
But without understanding Kuro's condition, Emi couldn't use her quirk. In his current state, even standard healing could make things worse.
Kuro felt like he had fallen into hell.
Pain tore through him in waves.
It felt as if his bones were being pulled apart, his skin peeled away, his flesh cut open. Every part of him burned, twisted, broke, and reformed in an endless cycle.
He opened his eyes briefly.
"He's awake!"
"Get saline—baking soda—something!"
A cup was pressed to his lips. He swallowed a little without thinking.
Then the world went dark again.
When he opened his eyes this time, he wasn't in the hospital.
He stood inside a large, old house. The tiled roof outside was covered in moss, small plants growing between the cracks. The air was warm.
Inside, a group of people sat around a hot pot.
Steam curled upward. Meat, fish balls, vegetables—everything was laid out neatly. Each person held chopsticks and a bowl.
One seat had been left empty.
Waiting.
"Is that Kuro?" a young man called out. "Didn't expect you to grow up like this."
Kuro stared at him. The face felt familiar, but he couldn't place it.
"I told you to get married earlier," the man went on. "If you had, your kid might've turned out like him."
"Dad!" Kuro blurted out.
His voice shook.
His father had died ten years ago.
So why was he standing right there?
Was this… a dream?
"Not dad," someone said, laughing. "That's your uncle. Izumizuki Nagasaki."
"…Uncle?" Kuro hesitated, then nodded. "Nice to meet you."
"Hey, polite kid," Nagasaki said with a grin. "I remember I had something to leave you before I died… oh, right. There's a cave in that waterfront park in the city—"
Before he could finish, a hand smacked the back of his head.
"Stop rambling," said a composed middle-aged man, lowering his hand. "You're acting your age for once."
He looked at Kuro and smiled. "Sit down first. I'll introduce everyone properly."
The empty seat was for him.
Kuro sat.
He glanced around. Everyone present was male, most of them young—somewhere in their twenties or thirties. But their faces shared a clear resemblance.
They were family.
The hot pot in front of him smelled exactly like the one he had once mentioned wanting to try.
"Go on, taste it," a white-haired man across from him said, handing him a bowl. "Our cooking hasn't changed in generations."
"Try this too," someone else added, dropping meat into his bowl. "Didn't you always say you wanted more?"
"Those two are your great-grandfathers," Kurose Haruto explained, adding more ingredients to the pot. "Don't worry, there's plenty."
"…Right."
Kuro picked up his chopsticks.
The moment he tasted it, he froze.
It was good.
Really good.
The broth, the meat—everything fit his taste perfectly.
"Good, right?"
"…Yeah. It's great."
"Of course it is," one of the younger men said with a grin. "If I were still alive, I'd cook for you every day."
Kuro hesitated.
Being called "good grandson" by someone who looked barely older than him felt strange.
Kurose Haruto noticed and chuckled. "Everyone here looks the way they did before they died. Don't let appearances fool you."
So they had really died that young.
The young-looking elder scowled. "Akihito, how did you raise your son?"
Kurose Akihito sighed. "If you can't beat him, don't drag me into it."
Then he turned to Kuro, his expression serious.
"You weren't born when I died. I'm your grandfather. Kurose Akihito."
As they ate, Kuro slowly learned who everyone was.
These were his ancestors.
The twin great-grandfathers possessed two distinct quirks.
One, [Life Renewal], could transfer lifespan from one person to another.
The other, [Return to Soul], could revive someone who had died within thirty minutes, at the cost of a random permanent disability.
Kurose Akihito had two quirks of his own.
[State Replacement], which could completely swap a person's physical and mental state with someone else.
And [Super Regeneration], a powerful self-healing ability capable of restoring the body continuously.
Then there was Izumizuki Nagasaki.
His quirk, [Received on Behalf], redirected all damage aimed at allies within range onto himself.
And Kurose Haruto's quirk—
[Blood Recovering Price].
He could trade his own vitality to heal others, keeping them at peak condition while weakening himself.
"One, two, three, four, five, six," Nagasaki counted, clapping his hands. "Six quirks in total. We can lend them to you."
Every ability in the family revolved around the same principle.
Exchange.
Replacement.
Kuro looked at them, hesitating.
"…I don't want these kinds of quirks."
The room fell silent.
He spoke plainly.
He didn't want healing abilities.
His own quirk—[Damage Replacement]—was already enough. Why would he want more powers that required him to sacrifice himself?
In the end, healing heroes always depended on others.
And when they lost those people…
They were left with nothing.
"Don't we have anything more offensive?" Kuro asked quietly. "Something with real combat potential?"
He clenched his fists.
He wanted to protect himself.
He didn't want to be helpless again.
He didn't want to be beaten down without a way to fight back.
He wanted revenge.
He wanted the strength to kill the people who had destroyed his family.
His current quirk wasn't enough.
Not even close.
What he needed… wasn't the kind of power the Kurose family had.