"Wow."
That was all he managed.
The sound was coming from the other room.
Cheerful music filtered through the hallway, too loud, too confident. A voice followed it—bright, practiced, reassuring in a way that felt rehearsed.
"—once again, the Symbol of Peace arrived just in time—"
He turned his head slowly toward the open door.
"…So it really is that world," he said.
Abraxas hovered near his shoulder, tail flicking. "You appear displeased."
"I'm not displeased," he replied. "I'm recalibrating."
"That is displeasure with extra steps."
"Everything is displeasure with extra steps."
He hesitated, then padded down the hallway. Each step was quiet, careful, like he expected reality to object if he moved too fast.
The living room opened up in front of him.
The television sat against the far wall, still talking like nothing had happened. Bright colors. Confident music. A smiling blond man frozen mid-pose on the screen, fist raised like he personally held the sky up.
All Might.
He stared for a few seconds too long.
Then he reached up and lowered the volume. Not off. Just quieter.
The room itself was modest. Clean. Lived-in. A low table with neatly stacked magazines. Family photos on the wall. Nothing expensive. Nothing broken.
Average.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Average household. I can work with that."
He glanced to his left.
"Hey," he murmured. "Question."
Abraxas hovered near his shoulder, ears flicking. "Proceed."
"Can anyone else see you?"
Abraxas blinked. "At present? No."
"At present," he repeated. "Meaning?"
"It is subject to my will," Abraxas said. "I may choose who perceives me. Who hears me. Who does not."
"…So you can hide."
"Yes."
"And you won't randomly appear in front of my parents."
"I have no interest in being exorcised by cookware," Abraxas replied.
"Good," he said. "Keep it that way."
From the hallway came footsteps.
Light. Unhurried.
Abraxas vanished without ceremony, folding back into the mark on his hand like it had never been there.
A woman stepped into the doorway, tying her hair back with one hand and holding her ringing phone in the other. She slowed when she saw him standing there.
"Oh," she said. "You're up early."
She studied him for half a second longer than she needed to, her eyes flicking to his face, then his posture.
"…Morning," he replied.
"Hm." She smiled faintly. "You sound groggy. Bad dream?"
"nooo."
"That's what you said yesterday too," she replied easily. "Go wash your face. Breakfast is almost ready."
She turned back toward the kitchen, but not before adding, "And don't let me find you playing with water."
He waited until the sound of cooking resumed before exhaling.
"…Okay," he muttered. "Parents acquired."
He did as he was told.
That alone felt strange.
He washed his face, climbed down from the stool, and followed the routine his body seemed to expect. Shoes lined up near the door. A backpack hung on a hook. Everything had a place. His place.
At the table, he made sure to act his age.
Short answers. No staring. No long pauses. He let his legs swing a little when he sat. Spilled a few grains of rice on purpose and cleaned them up clumsily. When his mother reminded him to eat properly, he nodded and said "okay" without thinking too hard.
Performance mattered.
Across the table, she watched him the way parents did—half attention, half instinct. Looking for signs. Finding none worth worrying about.
Good.
After breakfast, she waved him off with a reminder to stay nearby and not bother the neighbors.
"I won't," he said, meaning I'll try.
Outside, the door slid shut behind him.
He took three steps.
Then stopped.
The street was wide. Clean. Too clean. Trees lined the sidewalk, trimmed with care. Gates stood tall and polished, some iron, some stone. Houses stretched back from the road with manicured lawns and subtle security cameras tucked under eaves.
He turned slowly, taking it in.
"…Abraxas," he muttered.
"Yes?"
"You said average household."
"I did."
He looked down at his left hand. The mark was faint, dormant. "This doesn't look average."
"Statistically," Abraxas replied, voice calm inside his head, "this area falls within acceptable variance."
He snorted. "Your acceptable and my acceptable don't seem to mean the same thing."
Abraxas did not answer.
He started walking, slower now. Every house felt like it was watching him. Not hostile. Just aware. Like a place used to important people passing through.
Then he heard footsteps.
Fast. Light. Getting closer.
"Hey!"
Something small slammed into his side.
He stumbled, caught himself, and looked down.
A girl about his age stood there, grinning like she'd won something. Dark hair tied back with a ribbon. Clothes neat but expensive in a way only adults noticed. Confidence radiated off her like it was genetic.
"You're new," she said. Not a question.
"…I live here," he replied.
She stared at him for a second, then laughed and grabbed his sleeve.
"Come on! Mom says I have to play outside but it's boring alone!"
Before he could object, she started pulling.
"Wait—"
Too late.
She dragged him down the street and stopped in front of a gate that was taller than the rest. Clean stone. Discreet sensors. A house beyond it that didn't pretend to be small.
A mansion.
He looked at the gate. Then at her.
"…Who are you," he asked carefully.
She puffed up, proud. "Yaoyorozu Momo!"
He closed his eyes.
Average household.
Sure.
From behind the gate, a calm voice called out, very gentle. "Momo, don't run off like that."
The girl waved back cheerfully.
He opened his eyes and stared at the house again.
Momo tugged his sleeve. "So? Wanna play?"
He looked down at her. Then back at the gate. Then down the street lined with houses that definitely weren't average.
"…This is going to be a problem," he muttered.
And somehow, he already knew it wouldn't be the last one.