Chapter 6: Reflections and Refractions
The world returned in fragments.
First, there was the cold. A dull, sterile chill that clung to his fingers even through the gloves someone had slipped back onto his hands.
Then, sound. Muffled voices. A distant hum of fluorescent lights overhead. The sharp, too-clean scent of antiseptic.
Aoi blinked his eyes open. White ceiling. Pale curtain. The edge of a medical light hanging above his bed. Hospital.
He shifted slightly—and pain flared in his temples, sharp and crystalline, like glass splintering inside his skull. His breath caught.
Not again.
A quiet knock at the door came before it slid open. Dr. Fushimi stepped in, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable behind a thin pair of glasses.
"Good," he said gently. "You're awake."
Aoi tried to sit up. His muscles protested.
He moved to his side and adjusted the bed's incline for him.
"You've been out for about seven hours," he explained. "We stabilized your vitals and ran preliminary scans. No neural damage, but the side effects of the Quirk flare were… intense."
"Did I hurt anyone?" he asked, voice hoarse.
Fushimi paused. Just for a second.
"One of the boys had to be treated for superficial lacerations. Nothing life-threatening. The others had minor abrasions and were discharged within the hour."
Aoi stared at the wall. That didn't make it better.
"And the damage?" he asked quietly.
"The alley was cordoned off by local authorities. Public Safety's Quirk Oversight Division will be contacting your parents within the week to review the footage and determine if formal documentation is necessary."
He closed his eyes. His hands curled into fists beneath the blanket.
"I lost control."
Fushimi's tone didn't soften. It never did—not out of cruelty, but clarity.
"You reacted in fear. You were provoked. The activation was defensive, not aggressive. There's a difference."
"But it still happened," Aoi murmured. "I fractured the rail. The crystal structure expanded on its own. I couldn't stop it. And when it shattered…"
His throat closed.
"They were in the blast zone."
Fushimi nodded. "And you shielded them when the fragments went wide. You remember that?"
"I don't know if I meant to," he admitted. "It just—happened."
There was a silence then, filled only by the soft hiss of air through the room's vents.
"Do you know what that means?" he asked.
Aoi didn't answer.
"It means instinct is developing. Control is still rough, but your body responded with intention. That's important. That's progress."
"I didn't want to progress like this," he whispered.
His expression shifted—just a flicker of something gentler.
"I know."
He was discharged later that evening, under the condition he would return for a psychological and Quirk response evaluation later in the week. The gloves—retrieved and scrubbed clean of crystal residue—sat quietly in a box beside him as he walked.
His mother met him at the exit. She didn't say anything at first—just took the box from his hands and held his shoulder long enough to guide him toward the car.
The ride home was quiet.
The next morning, he didn't return to school. Not because he was told to stay home, but because he couldn't face the stares yet.
Instead, he sat in his room, staring at the pair of gloves on his desk. Still intact. Still functional.
They weren't the ones that failed.
A faint sheen of morning sun passed through the window, glinting off the box's surface. The light refracted faintly through a thin, lingering strand of crystal that had lodged in one of the seams.
Aoi picked it up. Turned it over in his fingers.
It looked harmless.
Beautiful, even.
But he knew better.
The session two days later was held in a government-licensed Quirk Response Center—a stark, steel-lined room with layered safety glass and biometric sensors. Dr. Fushimi waited just beyond the containment line, joined by two observers in dull blue uniforms.
Aoi stood inside the test zone. Gloves on. Breath steady.
"Let's begin," came Fushimi's voice through the intercom.
A small iron rod extended from the wall—replicating the trigger material from the incident.
Aoi approached it.
He placed a single palm on the surface.
The cold resonated beneath his skin.
And this time, he didn't flinch.
The transformation began slowly—controlled. The metal turned translucent, a glimmer of crystal veins spiraling outward with precision. Light flickered through the construct—but the edges remained stable. No overgrowth. No fractures.
Aoi stepped back, hand lifted.
The construct held.
No panic. No pulse spike.
The observers jotted notes. One of them gave a small nod.
Aoi said nothing.
Later, Fushimi met him in the waiting room.
"You did well," he said.
"It was just a test," he replied, quiet.
He handed him a slim file. Inside were a series of charts, data logs, and a small note in his handwriting.
Controlled Quirk Response achieved under pressure conditions. Potential for stable field use with further training. Recommend continued support gear use and supervised exposure.
Emotional response still highly active. Watch for Glass Sickness development.
He stared at the words: supervised exposure.
"You think I should do it again?"
"I think you're already doing it," he replied. "The question is whether you want to keep running from it… or learn how to steer it."
That night, Aoi returned to the same spot in his room. He laid the gloves out again. His reflection shimmered faintly in the box's polished lid—distorted and fractured by the lingering crystal sliver still lodged there.
Reflections and refractions. The way light broke, scattered, and reformed itself.
Maybe that was what he was now.
Not broken.
Not whole.
Just something caught in between—still figuring out which angles held the truth.