Chapter 39: The Vessel and the Choice
The screen of Aokiji's smartphone went dark, ending the call that had shattered his world. For a moment, he just stared at the black glass, seeing his own reflection—pale, exhausted, but with eyes that burned with a terrifying clarity.
He thumbed the screen on again. The digital clock read 11:15 AM.
He shoved the phone into his pocket. The air around him felt thinner, sharper. He walked toward a nearby vending machine—a bright red beacon in the white landscape. It was mostly empty, the aftermath of the emergency response team buying everything up.
He pressed two buttons. Clunk. Clunk.
A can of hot black coffee. A carton of warm milk.
He picked them up, feeling the heat seep into his frozen palms.
A few meters away, near the sleek black executive car, Sayuri stood. She was shivering, not just from the cold, but from the residual shock. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, lost in a terrifying reverie of flames and destruction.
Aokiji approached silently. He didn't speak. He simply tossed the carton of warm milk into the air.
"Take it, Sayuri."
It arced gracefully.
Sayuri's head snapped up. Her reflexes, honed by snowball fights with her brother, kicked in. She snatched the carton out of the air, fumbling slightly before gripping it tight. She blinked, looking at the milk, then at him.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice trembling. "This is wasteful."
"You looked like you were drifting away," Aokiji said softly, cracking open his coffee can. "I wanted to bring you back to Earth."
"How can I not drift away?" Sayuri hugged the warm carton to her chest. "After everything..."
Aokiji walked past her and leaned against the side of the car. He looked up at the sky. The heavy gray clouds that had choked the sun were beginning to shift, promising more snow. The smell of smoke was fading, replaced by the crisp, clean scent of winter.
He took a sip of his coffee.
"It's quiet now," he murmured.
A single, soft snowflake drifted down. It landed gently on Aokiji's cheek, melting instantly against his skin. A small puff of warm breath escaped his lips, mingling with the falling snow.
Sayuri looked up. She took a sip of the warm milk, her shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours.
"It's snowing," she whispered, a small, fragile smile touching her lips.
Aokiji turned his head. He watched her face. The terror was fading, replaced by the simple joy of a child watching the snow fall. It was a beautiful, precious expression.
I have to protect this, Aokiji thought, a fierce resolve hardening in his chest. No matter the cost. Even if I lose everything... I cannot lose this smile.
"Don't stay out here too long," he said, pushing himself off the car. "Get inside. It's warmer."
"I will in a minute," Sayuri replied, catching a snowflake on her glove. "Snowfall is my favorite."
Aokiji nodded. He finished his coffee in one gulp and tossed the can into a nearby bin.
He turned toward the crowd.
A wall of reporters and cameras surrounded his father. Soichiro Kuzan stood tall, speaking into a dozen microphones, the perfect image of the resilient businessman. The ruins of the ancestral home—a charred skeleton encased in Aokiji's ice—loomed behind him like a macabre backdrop.
"Mr. Kuzan! Do you suspect corporate espionage?"
"Was this an attack on you or just an accident?"
Aokiji walked straight into the fray. He moved with a cold authority that made the reporters part like the Red Sea. Whispers rippled through the press.
"It's him. The son."
"The Sports Festival winner."
"The strongest first-year."
Aokiji ignored them. He stepped up beside his father. Without looking at the cameras, he leaned in close.
"End the conference," Aokiji whispered into Soichiro's ear. "I know the perpetrator."
Soichiro stiffened. He looked at his son, annoyed by the interruption, but he saw something in Aokiji's eyes—a darkness that brooked no argument.
Soichiro closed his eyes for a brief second. He composed himself and turned back to the microphones.
"That is all I have to say for today," Soichiro announced smoothly. "This press conference is concluded."
The reporters erupted in protest. "Mr. Kuzan! You haven't answered about the suspects! Is this a rival company?"
Before the chaos could escalate, Aokiji's mother stepped forward. She placed a hand on the podium, her expression serene and unyielding.
"I will handle the remaining questions," she stated, her voice projecting clearly. "Please direct your inquiries to me. My husband and son need to attend to family matters."
She created a diversion, drawing the sharks away.
Aokiji didn't wait. He grabbed his father's arm—a breach of protocol he had never dared before—and steered him away from the lights.
They walked away from the crowd, past the police tape, crunching through the fresh snow toward the secluded alleyways between the standing warehouses.
Soichiro pulled his arm free, adjusting his tie with irritation. "Is what you have to say so secret that we must hide in an alley? We are public figures, Kuzan. Transparency is key."
Aokiji stopped. They were alone now, surrounded by high walls of weathered wood and silence.
"We aren't going public with this," Aokiji said.
Soichiro frowned. "You pulled me away because you said you knew the perpetrator. Do not play games with me."
"I do know," Aokiji said, his hands sliding into his pockets. "I know who blew up the house. And I know who sent you the message."
"How?" Soichiro demanded.
Snow began to fall heavier around them, dusting Soichiro's expensive suit.
"It's simple," Aokiji said, looking his father in the eye. "Because I am the target."
Soichiro's eyes widened. "Impossible. I am the CEO. I have enemies in the market. This is clearly a move to destabilize the stock price."
"Then explain the warning message," Aokiji countered. "Why would an enemy warn you to get out?"
"Perhaps..." Soichiro hesitated. "Perhaps a hidden ally? Someone who knew of the plot?"
"Do you really believe that?" Aokiji asked dryly.
Soichiro paused. He looked at the snow, his logical mind struggling to fit the pieces together. He sighed.
"Fine. Let me hear your theory."
"An assassin was sent from the Chinese underworld," Aokiji began. "A mercenary named Pyre. I was fighting him while the house blew up. I was winning. But he didn't care. He had already set the trap last night."
"Last night?" Soichiro paled. "Impossible."
"He has a teleportation quirk," Aokiji explained. "He planted explosives under the floorboards while we were sleeping. He didn't need to open a door."
"So..." Soichiro's mind raced. "The person who hired this Pyre wanted to threaten you. And our 'ally' warned us?"
"No," Aokiji said, his voice devoid of emotion. "The person who hired Pyre... is the same person who sent the warning."
Soichiro stared at him, confused. "That... is a contradiction."
"It's chess," Aokiji said. "He wanted me to know that he could have taken my King—my family—at any moment. He spared you to prove a point. To prove that I am helpless."
Soichiro closed his eyes. He stood silent for a long moment, processing the information. When he opened them, they were hard as flint.
"So," Soichiro said quietly. "What was the threat? What does he want?"
"He didn't seem like a liar," Aokiji said, looking at a snowflake melting on his coat. "He said he can steal Quirks. He wants mine. He told me to go with his associates quietly, and he will take my power. In exchange... he will never touch you, Mom, or my friends. And most important for me, Sayuri.."
The reaction was instantaneous.
Soichiro's face twisted in a way Aokiji had never seen. It wasn't fear. It was rage. Pure, unadulterated fury. Frost began to crackle across his hair and forehead, his body temperature dropping dangerously low in his anger.
"He wants... the Quirk?" Soichiro hissed, venom dripping from every word. "I was ready to pay any ransom. Money is replaceable. But that bastard... he wants the most valuable asset of the entire Kuzan Clan? The masterpiece we have cultivated for generations?"
He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking.
"Absolutely not!"
Aokiji watched him. His own expression remained terrifyingly calm.
"I don't really care about the asset," Aokiji said softly. "As long as Sayuri is safe... I don't mind giving up my power. Or even my life."
"NO!" Soichiro roared, losing his composure completely. "That is unacceptable! I will not allow such nonsense!"
Aokiji stepped closer. "Father."
Soichiro stopped, panting, looking at his son.
"What do you see when you look at me right now?" Aokiji asked.
Soichiro blinked. "What kind of question is that?"
"Just answer me."
Soichiro straightened up. He looked at the tall, powerful young man before him.
"You are important to me," Soichiro said with conviction. "You are my hope. My ambition. You are everything I have dedicated my life to building. You are the future of this Clan."
Aokiji closed his eyes. A small, sad smile touched his lips.
"I see..."
He opened his eyes. They were empty.
"Even with your son's life on the line... I am just a vessel to you, aren't I?"
Soichiro's eyes trembled. He opened his mouth to speak, to deny it, but the words died in his throat. Because it was true.
"You don't have to say anything," Aokiji said, walking forward and putting his hands on his pockets. "You can't deny it."
He walked past his father, heading back toward the chaos of the flashing lights.
"I've made up my mind," Aokiji said over his shoulder. "You better prepare yourself mentally. For Sayuri. For Grandma. Even for you and Mom, Grandpa also. And for myself... and those idiot classmates of mine."
He stopped and looked back one last time.
"I am going to give up the Kuzan treasure forever."
Soichiro spun around, staring at Aokiji's retreating back. Panic—real panic—flooded his chest.
"You don't have the right to make that decision alone!" Soichiro screamed, his voice cracking. "I will never allow such a loss after all these years! HEY! DO YOU HEAR ME?! KUZAN?! KUZAN!!!"
His shouts echoed in the empty alley, swallowed by the falling snow.
Aokiji kept walking. The wind picked up, howling through the streets, whipping his hair across his face.
I thought... Aokiji mused, his breath coming in white clouds. I thought maybe, just maybe, this incident would make him worry about his son. About me. But a vessel is just a vessel to the end.
He looked up at the sky, watching the snowflakes spiral down from the gray expanse.
It makes me wonder...
If my parents had their quirks stolen... If the ice was taken from their blood... would the ice around their hearts melt, too? Would they become human again?
He reached the perimeter.
Near the car, Sayuri was waving at him. She was standing next to Grandma Haru, who was just climbing into the back seat.
"Come on, Brother!" Sayuri shouted, cupping her hands. "We're going ahead of Mom and Dad! Grandma is going to stay with us in the city for a while! Isn't that great?!"
Aokiji stopped. He watched her jumping up and down in the snow while waving to him, so full of life, so full of warmth.
A genuine, soft smile broke across his face.
I don't care about the icy hearts of my parents, I'm used to the cold, he thought. I can live in the ice.
But I hope, from the bottom of my heart, that she gets to live in the warmth.
He started walking toward her.
Because... after all...
I'm just a lazy, failure of a big brother.
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