Pain Recall.
It triggered the body's memory of pain, creating the illusion of being injured. In reality, there was no physical damage.
Kurose Kuro repeated it to himself over and over.
It's fine. You're not hurt. It's fine.
His body didn't listen.
His muscles stayed locked, his expression twisted with pain. No matter how clearly he understood his Quirk, the reaction was automatic. Pain made the body recoil, made it curl inward, made it want to escape.
He forced himself forward.
Each step felt slow, unsteady, like his bones might come apart if he pushed too hard.
He knew the real injuries were limited. His arm. His cheek.
But his mind kept screaming anyway.
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
The distance from the road to the small cave felt endless.
The cave looked like it had been there for years. Empty bottles, plastic wrappers, and discarded shells were scattered across the ground. Kuro nudged a few aside with his foot, found a rock, and sat down.
He let out a breath.
The real pain surfaced.
The explosion from Katsuki Bakugo had burned a patch of skin on his arm. His face was bruised. His sleeve had been shredded completely.
He tried to touch his face, but the heat from his arm made him flinch before his hand got there.
"That idiot…"
He leaned back against the cave wall.
From the entrance, the coastline stretched out in front of him. Waves rolled in and erased the footprints in the sand, only for new ones to appear again.
Somewhere out there, Izuku Midoriya was probably still training.
Kuro closed his eyes for a moment.
Today had been exhausting. First, everything at school. Then the fight.
He only meant to rest.
Sleep took him before he realized it.
In the haze of half-sleep, someone appeared at the cave entrance.
A man in a police uniform. No hat. A pen clipped to his jacket pocket.
He held a square box.
There was a torn piece of paper stuck to the top.
Kuro pushed himself up slightly, frowning.
The man felt familiar.
But he couldn't place him.
"Another business trip… what a pain," the man muttered.
He walked into the cave and set the box down in the center, pressing a rock on top of it as if worried it might be taken.
"Seriously annoying…"
He took out something oval from his pocket, stared at it for a moment, then placed it beside the box.
Then he left.
Kuro woke with a start.
The cold sea breeze cut through the cave, dragging him fully back to reality. He stretched, wincing as his numb legs protested.
The moon hung high in the sky.
The air was sharp enough to bite.
He stepped further into the cave—and nearly tripped over something.
A box.
Wrapped like a gift, but worn down with age. The ribbon was dirty, the edges frayed, and dark patches of mold spread across the surface.
He nudged it with his foot, flipping it over.
A torn piece of paper clung to the bottom.
Despite the stains, the writing was still readable.
To Nephew Kuro.
Kuro froze.
"For me…?"
The name signed beneath it made his breath catch.
Izumizuki Nagasaki.
His uncle.
The one who had died years ago.
Fragments of a memory surfaced.
"After you get back, remember to go to the seaside park… I left something there. I wanted to take you there myself… Hey, stop pushing my head!"
A bright, easygoing voice.
The man he'd just seen—
Was that… him?
Kuro stood up quickly, his legs steadier now. He picked up the box and looked deeper into the cave.
It was completely dark. No light reached inside.
He hesitated, then gave up.
Whatever answers were there, he couldn't find them tonight.
He left with the box in his hands.
By the time he reached Nekohoshi Orphanage, it was close to two in the morning.
The front door was still unlocked. A light glowed faintly inside.
Fujita Emi sat on the stairs, half-asleep as she waited.
She stirred when he stepped in.
"You're back," she said, rubbing her eyes. "What's been going on with you lately?"
"Nothing."
She studied him for a moment. "Hungry?"
"…A little."
His stomach answered for him.
He set the box down, peeled off his torn jacket, and dropped it into the laundry basket.
"Go to bed, Emi. I'll handle it."
"I already saved you some food. It won't take long."
Her gaze flicked to the box.
It looked too worn to be a gift. And no one had ever given Kuro anything like that before.
While she reheated the food, Kuro cleaned and dressed his wounds as best he could.
Then he brought out a cutter and opened the box.
The outside was ruined, but the inside had been sealed carefully. A faint smell of salt and dust lingered.
Inside were small toys, each wrapped in plastic.
Simple hero figures. The kind made for young children.
He unwrapped them one by one.
At the bottom, he found a small birthday card.
The handwriting was messy, uneven, like it had been written without much thought.
"Happy? I picked out the most popular toy."
"I don't know who'll end up delivering this to you. Maybe one of my coworkers who couldn't be bothered. But it's better if it's me. I'm your uncle, after all."
"My hometown's all mountains, but the sea here is beautiful."
"I've always liked this seaside park. It's a good place."
"Kuro, happy birthday."
There were crossed-out words and corrections scattered across the card.
It felt careless.
Unpolished.
Real.
Fujita Emi returned, carrying a simple meal.
She hesitated, then pulled out a small cake from the cupboard.
She placed candles on top, lit them, and turned off the lights.
"Emi…"
"Happy birthday," she said softly. "If something's bothering you at school, you can talk to me. Granny Neko's been busy lately, but we all care about you."
"We love you."
The candlelight flickered gently.
Kuro stared at it, then at the gift box beside it.
"…Today's my birthday?"
"…Yeah."
Maybe it always had been.
He'd just stopped noticing.
The people who used to celebrate it were gone.
One by one.
Emi stepped behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders.
"Kuro, you should have more confidence. Your family… they were all incredible people. And you are too."
His vision blurred.
From the small cake… to the worn box…
His chest tightened.
But no tears came.
Years ago, someone had gone out of their way to prepare this for him.
Why hadn't he come back?
Why had he died?
Kuro couldn't even remember his face clearly anymore.
It was like that person had never been part of his life.
Until now.
For the first time, he thought about it seriously.
Why had Izumizuki Nagasaki died so young?
He wasn't a Pro Hero.
If becoming a hero led to early death, that was one thing.
But if even ordinary police officers weren't safe in this world…
Then what kind of danger had he faced?
What had killed him?
And if fate had nothing to do with being a hero—
Then why couldn't Kuro become one?