Chapter 67: The Scars We Carry
[Central Hospital - Room 304 - Late Afternoon]
The late afternoon sun sliced through the Venetian blinds, casting long, zebra-striped shadows across the sterile white room. Dust motes danced in the beams of light, swirling in the silence.
Aokiji sat propped up against a mountain of pillows, his posture radiating his trademark lethargy even in recovery. On the rolling bedside table sat a ceramic cup of green tea. It had gone lukewarm twenty minutes ago.
He raised his right hand—the one free from the heavy sling. His fingers were pale, almost translucent against the sunlight. He extended his index finger toward the tea, not to touch it, but to hover just above the rim.
He didn't call upon the glacier. He didn't summon the storm. He simply asked for a whisper of cold.
Ting.
A single, geometric snowflake materialized on the surface of the tea. It spun slowly, a perfect fractal of ice.
But as it formed, a sharp, electric jolt of resistance shot up Aokiji's forearm. His fingers trembled—a microscopic tremor that no one else would notice, but to him, it felt like an earthquake.
He dropped his hand, exhaling a sigh that ruffled his bangs. The "Awakening" at Kamino had been a sledgehammer to his physiology. His quirk channels felt bruised, stiff, like muscles that had been torn and hastily stitched back together.
"Boring," he muttered to the empty air, picking up the remote to silence the news anchor discussing the 'Post-All Might Era' for the thousandth time.
From the hallway outside, a vibration began.
It wasn't the rhythmic squeak of nurse shoes. It was a chaotic, multi-frequency rumble.
"Please! Keep your volume to a minimum! This is a place of healing, not a gymnasium!"
Aokiji's lips quirked upward. He would recognize that robotic, chopping cadence anywhere. Tenya Iida.
"Relax, Class Rep! We're just visiting, not raiding the place!" That was Kirishima's jagged, energetic voice.
"I hope he likes melons! I bought the expensive ones!" That was Ashido.
The door handle turned. Aokiji barely had time to adjust his pillow before the barrier was breached.
"WE'RE COMING IN!"
Class 1-A didn't just enter; they spilled into the room like a flood of vibrant color.
Midoriya, Uraraka, Iida, Tsuyu, Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero... even Jiro and Hagakure were there, looking fully recovered and energetic. The sterile, cold atmosphere of the hospital room was instantly displaced by the warmth of twenty teenagers.
"Kuzan!" Kirishima was the spearhead of the invasion, rushing to the bedside with a grin that showed all his sharp teeth. "Man! We were seriously worried! We thought you melted out there!"
"I don't melt, Red," Aokiji drawled, his voice raspy but amused. "I just... sublime."
The class erupted into laughter, a wave of relief washing over them. They crowded around the bed, placing baskets of fruit, flowers, and get-well cards on the table, creating a chaotic shrine of goodwill.
But as the initial burst of noise settled, the laughter began to fade.
One by one, their eyes drifted. They couldn't help it.
They looked at the heavy medical sling immobilizing his left arm.
But mostly, they looked at his neck.
The hospital gown was loose, and the bandages had shifted slightly. Exposed there was the edge of the burn—the angry, discolored mark left by Dabi's blue flame.
For months, Aokiji Kuzan had been the "Ice Prince." The Logia user. The untouchable elemental who breezed through the Sports Festival without a spec of dirt on his jacket. To see him marred, to see the physical proof that he could bleed, burn, and break... it was a sobering shock that silenced the room.
Izuku Midoriya stood at the foot of the bed. His green eyes locked onto the burn, and his mind flashed back to the forest camp. He remembered the blue flames. He remembered the look in Aokiji's eyes when he surrendered.
He wasn't protecting us, Midoriya realized, a heavy stone of respect settling in his gut. He was protecting his bloodline. He threw himself into the fire to save his family from execution.
Midoriya looked at Aokiji's tired face.
He isn't just strong... he is a true hero.
"Kuzan-san..."
The crowd parted slightly. Momo Yaoyorozu stepped forward. She looked impeccable as always, but her expression was fraught with internal conflict. She clasped her hands together in front of her, bowing her head.
"I... I have to apologize," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "The tracking device I created... I placed it on the Nomu hoping the pros would find it. But because of my creation, the class... we ended up going there. If I hadn't made that device, maybe you wouldn't have been put in such a dangerous position with us watching from the shadows."
Aokiji looked at her. He saw the guilt eating at her composure.
"Yaoyorozu," he cut her off, his tone firm.
She looked up, startled.
"If you hadn't made that tracker," Aokiji said, leaning his head back against the pillow, "the heroes wouldn't have found the hideout in time. All Might wouldn't have arrived when he did."
He looked out the window at the drifting clouds, his eyes narrowing slightly as he recalled the darkness of the warehouse.
"If not for that device... my fate would have been dark and unknown. You didn't endanger me, Vice Rep. You gave me a lifeline."
Yaoyorozu's eyes watered. She took a deep breath, the tension finally leaving her shoulders, and nodded gratefully.
"But still..." Shoto Todoroki stepped forward from the back.
The atmosphere shifted again. The "Kamino Rescue Squad"—Midoriya, Kirishima, Iida, Yaoyorozu, and Todoroki—shared a look. It was a look of shared trauma, a silent acknowledgement of the horror they had witnessed behind that wall.
"We were there," Todoroki said quietly. "We were behind the wall. When All For One appeared... when that pressure crushed the air..."
Kirishima rubbed his arms unconsciously, looking down at the floor. "I couldn't move. My legs... they turned to jelly. I've never felt fear like that in my life. Just breathing felt like drowning."
"And you stood in front of him," Todoroki continued, looking at Aokiji with a newfound, intense respect in his heterochromatic eyes. "You fought him. You and All Might. While we were paralyzed with terror, you were trading blows with the Monster himself."
Todoroki bowed his head slightly.
"You have matured far beyond us, Kuzan. You've surpassed us by miles. Your way of being a hero... your resolve... it was undoubtedly correct. I apologize for ever doubting your methods."
The room was heavy. It was a sincere, emotional confession from the usually stoic Todoroki.
Aokiji stared at him for a second. The weight of the praise made him itch. He waved his good hand dismissively, breaking the tension like a pane of glass.
"Spare me the melodrama, Todoroki," Aokiji sighed, rolling his eyes theatrically. "You're making my head hurt. You didn't do anything worth apologizing for. You guys saved Bakugo while I was busy getting roasted. That's enough."
Todoroki blinked, then let out a small, rare breath of a laugh. "Right. As you say."
"Alright, alright!" Iida chopped his hands through the air, sensing the fatigue creeping onto Aokiji's face. "Kuzan needs his rest! The doctor was very specific about stress levels! Everyone, let's move out! Single file! Leave the gifts and go!"
"Get well soon, Ice Guy!" Kaminari waved, sparking a little electricity.
"See you in class, ribbit!" Tsuyu added.
The students filed out, noisy and vibrant, their voices fading down the corridor like a receding tide.
The room grew quiet again.
But the door didn't click shut.
One person hadn't left.
Katsuki Bakugo stood by the doorframe. He had his hands jammed deep in his pockets, his posture slouched, his eyes staring intently at the linoleum floor. He waited until the footsteps of the others were gone.
Then, he walked in.
He didn't look at Aokiji. He looked at the wall, then at the window, then at the flowers. The tension radiating off him was palpable—a volatile mixture of pride, anger, and begrudging gratitude.
He walked up to the bed.
Thump.
He tossed a plastic convenience store bag onto Aokiji's lap. Inside, Aokiji could see a bottle of premium extra-spicy sauce and a bag of high-end chili chips.
"Hospital food tastes like wet cardboard," Bakugo grunted, looking away scowling. "Eat something with actual flavor."
Aokiji looked at the bag, then up at Bakugo. He picked up the hot sauce. "You trying to burn my insides too, Blasty?"
"Shut up."
Bakugo finally turned his head. His crimson eyes locked onto Aokiji's. There was no screaming today. No explosions. No "Die!" Just a raw, uncomfortable honesty.
"You..." Bakugo started, his voice gritty like gravel. "You didn't save me because you're better than me. Don't get it twisted."
Aokiji raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"You saved me because you're a stubborn idiot who doesn't know when to quit," Bakugo spat out, though the bite was gone from his tone. "Freezing yourself? Fighting the boss villain? You're insane."
Bakugo clenched his fists in his pockets. He hated owing debts. He hated being the damsel. But he knew what he had seen that night. He had seen Aokiji Kuzan standing between him and death.
Bakugo turned around sharply, walking toward the door. He paused with his hand on the frame, his back to Aokiji.
"Next time..." Bakugo's voice was low, a promise forged in fire.
He glanced back over his shoulder, his expression fierce and determined.
"...Next time, I will be a fortress for you."
He didn't wait for a response. He slammed the door shut and stomped down the hallway.
Aokiji sat in the silence of the room.
He looked at the bag of spicy chips. He looked at the closed door.
A small, genuine smile crossed his face—not the lazy smirk of Aokiji, but the relieved smile of a teenager who had found his tribe.
"I'll be waiting for that," he whispered to the empty room.
He opened the bag of chips.
The scars on his body throbbed, a dull reminder of the battle. But for the first time since the summer began, the cold in his chest felt... manageable.
.
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