The apartment building leaned like a drunk against the sky.
It stood in the Nakagawa ward, tucked between a shuttered laundromat and a scrapyard that had been "temporarily closed" for eleven years. The paint had peeled off the walls in continents. The stairwell smelled like old cooking oil and rain. The elevator had been broken since before Mika was born.
It was home.
---
Mika Mizushi was doing sit-ups.
Her room was barely wide enough to lie down in. A single bed, a ceiling fan that clicked with every rotation, a light bulb that flickered like it was thinking about dying but hadn't committed yet. The walls were thin enough to hear the neighbors argue, the pipes groan, the world outside grind on without them.
But Mika didn't care.
Her body moved with machine-like precision. Up. Down. Up. Down. Sweat ran in thin rivers down her temples, soaking into her dark hair—the color of wet slate—which she'd tied back in a messy bun that had surrendered hours ago.
She wore only shorts and a half-cut shirt, her midriff exposed. Her abs were chiseled—not from a gym, but from years of push-ups on cracked floors and pull-ups on rusted pipes. A slim waist. Strong hips. The body of someone who had trained in secret for far too long.
Her mind drifted.
Three days.
Three days until the Female's Strongest Student Tournament.
She pushed through another rep.
I'll win. I have to.
"Mika, dinner's ready! Come on out and eat!"
Her mother's voice—warm, tired, familiar.
Mika exhaled, stood, and grabbed a towel. She wiped her face, threw on an oversized shirt, and walked out.
---
The dining area was a corner of the kitchen. There was no dining "room." Just a small round table with a wobbly leg, three mismatched chairs, and a single overhead light that cast everything in a soft, yellow haze.
Dinner was a roasted fish and three bowls of rice.
That was it.
Her father sat with his hands folded on the table, staring at the fish like it had personally insulted him. Her mother was pouring water into three chipped cups.
Mika sat.
"Sorry, Mika," her father said quietly. His voice carried the weight of a man who'd been apologizing for years. "This is all we have tonight. I'll take more side jobs tomorrow, so you'll have something better to eat."
His name was Haruto Mizushi, and he had once been a proud man. A construction foreman who could lift beams with his bare hands. But the economy had crushed him slowly—like a python that didn't need to squeeze all at once, just a little every day until you couldn't breathe.
Now he worked three jobs. His back was bent. His hands were calloused. And every night, he sat at this table and apologized.
Mika immediately hushed him.
"What are you talking about?" She picked up her chopsticks. "This is great. It's practically a feast."
She wasn't lying. Not to her.
Her mother, Yuki Mizushi—no relation, just a coincidence that still made her smile—giggled softly. She was a small woman with kind eyes and hands that had mended the same clothes a hundred times. She had named Mika after her grandmother. She also coincidentally had the name of a boy she'd never met.
Fate had a sense of humor.
Haruto shook his head. He knew his daughter was only trying to make him feel better. He couldn't even put meat on the table for his own family.
Failure.
The word echoed in his skull every night.
Mika saw the look. She hated that look.
"The Female's Strongest Student Tournament is in three days."
Her parents looked up.
"I'm entering."
Haruto's chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth.
"I'll win it," Mika continued, her voice calm and certain. "I'll use the prize money to set up a shop for us."
She winked at her mother.
"Then I'll buy lots of beautiful dresses for Mom."
Her mother covered her mouth and laughed—a real laugh, bright and surprised. Haruto stared at his daughter.
"Mika... are you sure you can win? You're the only kizo user in this family." He set down his chopsticks. "I know seeing your childhood friend Derek win inspired you, but I don't want you getting hurt for nothing."
Mika smiled.
Not the nervous smile she wore at school. Not the half-hidden grimace she gave when she was scared.
A real smile.
Warm. Determined.
"Dad, I wasn't inspired by Derek."
She set down her chopsticks.
"The person who inspired me was looked down on by everyone. Considered weak. A Zero." She paused. "I watched him fight his way through the tournament, and the crowd cheered for him louder than anyone. He shined so brightly I couldn't look away."
Her parents were silent.
"He has a Kizo identical to mine. Ice. And he came in second in the entire tournament." She looked at her father. "Yuki Kinatarou is the one who inspired me. And if I don't enter this tournament, he'll call me a coward forever."
She straightened her back.
"I have to try. For us. Don't worry, Dad—your daughter's not a coward anymore. I'll make you proud. And the crowd will cheer for me just like they did for Yuki."
Her mother's eyes glistened.
Haruto stared at her—at the fire in her eyes, the resolve in her jaw—and something in his chest loosened. Just a little.
Then he smirked.
"So... the way you talk about this Yuki." He leaned forward. "Seems like you have a crush on him."
Mika choked violently on her rice.
"NO WAY!" she yelled, face burning. "I don't have a crush on Yuki!"
Her mother burst out laughing.
Her father grinned.
And for one night, in a tiny rundown apartment in Nakagawa ward, they were happy.
---
Five thousand miles away, in a place where the air was thick enough to drink and the canopy swallowed the stars, Yuki Kinatarou sneezed violently.
The force of it knocked him off the branch he'd been sleeping on.
He crashed to the ground with a heavy thud, groaning as he rolled onto his back and stared up at the moon.
"Ow."
The small hut Genji and Tetsu shared stood a few meters away, solid and untouched, moonlight gleaming off its stone walls. Yuki had figured out weeks ago that the beasts of the forest avoided this area entirely—probably because they could sense Genji and Tetsu's strength. Predators didn't hunt near bigger predators.
So Yuki slept close to the hut. Just far enough to keep his pride. Just close enough to stay alive.
He sat up slowly.
He couldn't sleep.
Not tonight. Not most nights.
Genji had taught him a few things over the past three weeks. How to move more quietly. How to read the forest. How to survive. But none of it mattered when it came to sparring.
He still couldn't land a single hit.
Not one.
He was beginning to wonder if Genji was even human.
Maybe he's a tree that learned to walk.
A rustle in the bushes behind him snapped him out of his thoughts.
He turned, sniffing the air.
A familiar scent.
Wildflowers. Rain. Something sweet.
"Nia?"
A head poked out of the bush.
Nia.
She stepped out slowly, her brown eyes fixed on him with that same quiet curiosity she'd had when they first met. Animal-skin clothes. Tattoos spiraling up her arms. Dark hair as messy as ever.
Yuki stood. "Hey. It's been a while."
Three weeks, actually. He hadn't seen her since the lake.
Nia didn't respond—she just stared at his face. Then she stepped closer, circling him slowly, observing every detail like a scientist studying a strange specimen.
His clothes were worn. Faded. Washed a hundred times with nothing but water. His hair had grown longer—much longer—falling past his eyes and hiding his face. His bare feet were cut and calloused. New scars layered over old ones.
She stopped in front of him.
Reached out.
Touched his hair.
And spoke.
Her voice was soft, melodic—words he couldn't understand. She seemed to be commenting on something, her tone light. Almost teasing.
Yuki stared at her, confused.
She sighed—of course he doesn't understand—and reached up. She pulled a bracelet off her wrist and gently pushed his hair back from his face. She studied him for a moment—his sharp jaw, his blue eyes, the faint scars on his cheeks—and smiled.
She said something else. It sounded like praise.
Yuki stood there like an idiot.
Is she... complimenting me? Or insulting me? I can't tell.
She wanted to tie his hair back—but he was standing upright, too tall for her to reach comfortably. So she kicked the back of his knees.
His legs buckled. He dropped to a kneeling position.
"Hey—what are you doing?"
She held his head still, ignoring his protests, and tied his hair back into a loose bun. A few strands fell free, framing his face.
Then she grabbed him by the waist.
And lifted him.
Like he weighed nothing.
Yuki flailed. "WHAT THE—YOU'RE STRONG!"
She held him up high, smiling like she'd just picked up a kitten. Her arms didn't even tremble.
He tapped her arms frantically. She set him down gently, still smiling.
"Yuki," she said, pointing at him.
Yuki exhaled. "Nia. Thanks for the makeover."
She smiled, turned, and dashed into the forest.
She moved faster than a car.
Yuki stared after her, eyes wide.
"Okay," he muttered. "She's basically Wonder Woman. Picked me up like I was nothing. Runs faster than a car."
He sat down on a dead log and shook his head.
"Amazons are amazing. Wouldn't be a bad idea to marry one."
He laughed at his own joke.
Then he looked up at the sky.
The moon was bright. The stars were scattered like salt across black silk. The forest hummed with life—insects, distant calls, the rustle of leaves.
He was alone again.
And he couldn't sleep.
"I'm bored," he said to no one.
The night stretched on.