The first thing I became aware of was the sterile sting of antiseptic in my nose. Then the dull, throbbing ache that seemed to pulse through every inch of my body, ribs, arms, even my eyelids. For a disoriented second, I wondered if I'd been dragged back to an MLA hideout.
Then my vision cleared.
White ceiling tiles. The rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. A doctor in a crisp coat, flipping through a chart with the detached focus of someone who'd seen worse.
Just a normal hospital.
I exhaled, and even that small motion sent a sharp twinge through my chest.
"Ah, you're awake." The doctor didn't smile. "Good. You've been out for nearly 48 hours."
I tried to speak, but my throat was sandpaper. A nurse pressed a cup of water into my hands, cold, condensation slick against my fingers, and I drank greedily. The relief was instant, the chill of it cutting through the fog in my head.
"Your injuries were extensive," the doctor continued, tone clipped. "Cracked ribs, a punctured lung, bilateral radial features, retinal burns from the intense light exposure, and a ruptured spleen. You're fortunate to be alive."
Fortunate.
The word rung bitterly in my head. I survived Daiki's onslaught, Nighteye's delusions and an area of effect attack from All For One that wasn't even aimed at me. It wasn't luck, it was because I was trained to endure. Broken bones and burst organs were nothing new. Although even the memory of being healed back then faded, it was just like going to sleep and waking up trying to remember a dream.
Movement at the edge of the room caught my attention. Three figures lingered near the doorway, their presence humming with tension.
Centipeder. His mandibles twitched as I laid eyes on him.
Lady Nagant. It was good to see she made it out alive.
And Hawks. Why? His wings were tucked and he had a small bandage on his face. A smirk played on his face that didn't reach his eyes.
The doctor and nurse excused themselves, the door clicking shut behind them. For a heartbeat, the room was silent save for the steady beep-beep-beep of the monitor.
Hawks opened his mouth, I figured it would be something about me working for them and thanking me and then apologizing for the fact that I had to be put in so much danger. But Centipeder cut him off.
"How did he die?"
His voice was raw, stripped of its usual professionalism.
I set the cup down carefully. "Who?"
Centipeder's claws dug into his palms. "Don't. Just... tell me the truth. Did you kill Sir?"
The question hung in the air.
I could obviously lie here. Spin some story about Nighteye sacrificing himself to try and help All Might. It would probably give him a good conscious. But there was no need for that. The people close to him should at least know the full extent of his final moments.
"I stabbed him," I admitted. "Through the chest."
Nagant went still keeping a side eye on Centipeder and Hawks' wings twitched. Centipeder's breath hitched, but I kept going.
"He didn't die from that though. But I did intend for him to die. He turned and ran toward All Might like he could save him." My fingers curled into the sheets. "Then the light hit him. He burned up before he could even scream."
The image flashed before my eyes, Nighteye's silhouette unravelling into ash, his outstretched hand vanishing into the white void.
Silence.
Centipeder swayed slightly, like a tree in a storm. I expected anger. Accusations. Instead, his mandibles trembled, and when he spoke again, his voice was shattered.
"He was... he was better than this."
I exhaled slowly thinking on what to say. I doubt anyone would expect me to say this, but I thought it would be good for the sour situation. "He was a good hero."
Centipeder's head snapped up.
"You don't have to tell the world how it ended," I said. "Let them remember the man who stood beside All Might, not the one who broke at the finish line."
For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then, with a shuddering breath, he bowed, deep, formal, the kind of respect you'd give a fallen comrade.
"I... apologize. For my past grievances."
I waved a hand. "Already forgotten."
It was true, I didn't give a crap about what he done in the past anymore. It was over and done with already and I had been through too many greater situations that could or even should have gotten me killed.
He left without saying another word and shutting the door behind him.
Hawks whistled lowly. "Damn. And here I thought I was the smooth talker."
Nagant elbowed him. "Shut up pigeon." It looked like they were close which was weird, Nagant had only known of Hawks long before he became a hero. So maybe she was just used to his personality already.
Before either of them could say any more, the door opened again.
A woman stepped inside, short ashen blonde hair, blue eyes sharp as cut glass. Nagant stiffened, her fingers twitching.
I knew her.
Rika Amamiya. Head of the Hero Public Safety Commission.
She bowed, perfectly measured. "Kobe Arakawa. Thank you for your service."
Hawks' smirk vanished. He was serious in the presence of his 'keeper'.
The older woman continued. "Your sister and mother are in the waiting room. They've been waiting her for two days."
My stomach dropped.
Yuki. And my Mother.
The thought of seeing them again, now that they know my past. It sent a cold sweat down my spine. But I was going to have to confront it sooner.
Amamiya studied my reaction. "I'd prefer to discuss business now, but... family comes first." She gestured to Nagant. "When you're discharged, the both of you are invited to a private building that will be free of many of the standard Commission people for security reasons. We have offers to extend. And apologies to make."
Nagant's eyes narrowed. "How generous."
Amamiya ignored the jab, offering another bow before gliding out. Hawks followed, throwing me a lazy salute. "Try not to die before the meeting, yeah?"
Then it was just Nagant and me.
She lingered by the door, arms crossed. "Glad you survived. And..." she lowly whispered. "I got my job done."
She waved a salute but this one more firm than the one Hawks gave, like she looked at me as her actual captain. I nodded as a sign of acknowledgement and thanks.
I flexed my fingers, the IV tugging at my skin. Nagant had left the room now. Alone I was. And Alone I counted.
Instead of thinking of answers I could give it would be better if everything just came out as natural as I thought. And to keep me from going through fifty different conversations in my head I thought it would be better to just count.
I got to one minute. And the lights felt brighter than they were the moment I woke up.
Two minutes. My hearing was picking up sirens, most likely leaving the hospital to rush to an emergency scene.
Three minutes.
The door creaked open.
Yuki stepped in first. She was the same, as when I last saw her, which was more recent actually. Tall, brown skin flushed with exhaustion, her riot of curly hair tied into a messy bun. Purple eyes, bright and sticking out even in the brightly lit room.
Behind her, smaller, paler, stood her.
My Mom.
Kasumi Arakawa froze in the doorway, one hand to press her mouth. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders, longer than I remembered. The bags under her eyes were new.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then... my name spilled from her lips like a prayer, soft and shattered.
"Kobe."
***
Tears.
That was the first thing I noticed. Not the way her hands trembled at her sides, not the sharp inhale Yuki took as if bracing for impact, but the tears. They gathered in the corners of my mother's eyes, clinging to her lashes like morning dew on spider silk, fragile and trembling.
Then, in perfect, painful unison, they bowed.
Not a shallow dip of the head, not the polite tilt of strangers, but deep and formal, the kind of bow you'd give at a funeral.
"We're sorry."
Yuki's voice was steel wrapped in velvet. My mother's was barely a whisper.
I stared.
Annoyance flickered in my chest, cold and familiar. This is exactly what I hadn't wanted. The tears, the guilt, the way they would orbit me now like shattered satellites, careful not to bump the edges of my space.
Every word would be soft, every glance would be tinged with pity. I could already see it, the way my mother's hands would hover when she passed me a cup of tea, the way Yuki would watch me from the corner of her eye, waiting for cracks in my composure.
Sympathy.
I could see it all before it followed. And it disgusted me.
"It doesn't matter." I said.
My mother's head snapped up. The tears fell, carving glistening tracks down her cheeks. "W-what do you mean?"
"I mean it doesn't matter." My voice was flat, the words blunt as a hammer.
Yuki stepped forward, her purple eyes burning. "They treated you like some lab rat or some experiment done in secret during a war..."
"I know."
The heart monitor beeped. Steady, unbothered.
"And if you take that away," I continued, "Eden would've almost been a perfect learning institution." I flexed my fingers, the IV line tugging at my skin. "I can speak multiple different languages fluently. My academic level is on par or even mostly greater than a university graduate. Navigate by starlight, disassemble a firearm blindfolded, still act aware in my sleep, manipulate my quirk in ways that even pros couldn't consider." I met Yuki's gaze. "If I hadn't been there and went through all these recent situation, I'd be dead now."
Yuki's jaw tightened. "That doesn't make it right."
"I never said it was."
My mother made a sound like a small wounded animal.
The air between us felt thick, charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. I realized, distantly, that I wasn't as angry as I'd expected to be. The fury I'd nursed for years, the white-hot rage at her naivety, her weakness, was just... gone. Not forgiven. Not forgotten. Just irrelevant.
Crying over Eden was like mourning a house that had just burned down to the ground. Pointless. Exhausting.
"You're crying over something that's already dead," I said. "There's no value in it. Not now. Not when the world is falling apart outside these walls." I shifted, ignoring the ache in my ribs. "It happened. I am who I am. And a major part of that is because of where you let me be taken."
My mother flinched as if struck.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, haltingly, she spoke. "I... I don't know how to apologize for that."
Her voice was so small. So broken.
I exhaled. "It's far too late for apologies."
Something flickered in her eyes, hurt, confusion, fear.
"But," I continued, "I don't hate you."
The words surprised even me.
She stared, her lips parting slightly.
"You expected me to be sent somewhere to get better," I said. "In some ways, I did. In more ways, I didn't." I tilted my head, studying her. "I don't blame you anymore. I just... don't have the emotional capacity to feel the way a son should about his mother."
The admission hung in the air, heavy and final.
I knew what she wanted to hear. The script was so obvious, I forgive you, lets move on. But the words weren't coming out. They weren't true. And I don't feel like lying here.
So I offered the next best thing.
"I can't forgive you," I said. "But I won't deny you either."
Yuki's breath caught.
My mother's hands twisted in the fabric of her skirt.
"Let's just start over from here," I said. "No walking on eggshells. No forced sympathy. Just exist as you always have."
Then things will mend. Or they wouldn't. Either way, its better than this suffocating dance of guilt and regret.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
And then, my mother collapsed.
Not literally, but close. She sank to her knees beside the bed, her fingers clutching the sheets like a lifeline. The tears came freely now, silent and relentless, dripping onto the sterile white fabric.
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I... I want that. Another chance."
Yuki watched me, something unreadable in her gaze, shock. Admiration. Like she'd just realized I wasn't the broken little brother she'd imagined.
I didn't smile. Didn't reach for my mother's hand either.
But I didn't pull away from them.
The hear monitor beeped on... oblivious.