The transition from unconsciousness to wakefulness was always annoying.
One moment, there was nothing — just the stillness of the void that Akira remembered from his time with Golden, the Golden Retriever god. The next moment, sensory inputs slammed into him like a brick.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The rhythmic, high-pitched chirping was the first thing he heard.
Hospitals, Akira thought, his mind still not fully working. I hate hospitals. They smell like those cheap lemon-scented cleaners.
After a while, he tries to remember what happened.
What happened?
Morning. Breakfast. The smell of grilled fish. Mom yelling. The stairs.
Right. The stairs.
The memory hit him. The slip. The fall. His knee. And then... the heat.
Akira's eyes snapped open, and he quickly looked down at his knee.
There was no blood. No bruise. No scrape.
It worked, he realized, his breath hitching. The blue fire. It wasn't a hallucination.
He went silent for a second. He had spent five years worrying he'd be quirkless, or worse, have a quirk that just made his fingers glow in the dark. Even if Golden said he was on the top-tier package, he always had his concerns.
The realization bubbled up from his stomach.
He jumped out of the bed, standing on the mattress with his small fists clenched in victory.
"HOLY FUCK! I JUST AWAKENED MY QUIRK!"
"That would be correct."
A familiar voice came from his side.
Akira froze. He flinched so hard he almost fell off the mattress again.
He slowly, mechanically turned his head to the side.
Sitting there, reading a medical chart, was an elderly woman. She wore a lab coat over her hero costume, a visor perched on her head, and held a syringe-shaped cane.
Chiyo Shuzenji. Recovery Girl.
His grandmother.
Akira's face went blank. The color drained from his cheeks faster than it had during the fall.
She heard me.
She definitely heard me.
Recovery Girl lowered the chart, peering over the rim of her glasses.
"Language, Akira," she scolded, though there was no real heat in it.
"You're five. You shouldn't even know words like that, let alone shout them at the top of your lungs in a ward."
Akira scrambled off the bed. He hit the floor with a thud and immediately dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cold linoleum in a perfect dogeza.
"Oh, Holy One," he pleaded.
"Please, I beg of you. Do not tell Mother that I cursed. The last time she heard me say 'crap' when I dropped a spoon, she gave me the 'Disappointed Stare' for a solid week. I cannot survive the 'Holy Fuck' stare. I am too young to die."
Recovery Girl stared at the small boy groveling on the floor. Her lips twitched. Then, she let out a short, rasping laugh.
"Get up, you brat," she said, tapping his shoulder lightly with her cane. "There's no need to be so dramatic. Who do you think you learned it from? Your mother has the mouth of a sailor when a rescue operation goes south."
Akira lifted his head, eyes wide and glistening with forced puppy-dog tears. "You... you won't tell?"
Recovery Girl sighed, shaking her head. "I won't tell. Just stop looking at me like that. It's unsettling how good you are at manipulation already."
Akira beamed. He bowed again, forehead hitting the floor. "Thou art the greatest, Oh Grandmother. A saint among heroes."
"Shut up and get over here," she grumbled, spinning her chair toward the monitors.
Akira scrambled up and hopped back onto the bed.
She began to check him over. She placed a stethoscope against his chest and listened to the rhythm of his heart. She checked his pupils with a small penlight, humming thoughtfully.
"Heart rate is normal," she muttered, making a note on the chart.
"Temperature has stabilized. The fever from the backlash broke about an hour ago. You're lucky, kid. Most awakening fevers last a day."
Akira sat still, letting her work. As she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his small arm, Akira looked around the empty room.
"Where's Mom?" he asked, his voice quiet.
Recovery Girl paused. She glanced at the door, her expression softening.
"She went to the cafeteria to get something to eat," Chiyo said, unstrapping the velcro. "That girl didn't move from this chair all night. Not for a second. She held your hand the entire time you were burning up."
Chiyo shook her head, a mix of pride and annoyance in her tone. "Jeez. She needs to take care of herself. Doctors make the worst patients, and mothers make the worst worriers."
Hearing this, Akira felt a lump form in his throat.
He looked at the indent on the chair where his mother had been sitting. He could imagine her there — still in her apron, refusing to leave his side while he was unconscious.
I really lucked out, he thought.
He smiled, a genuine, soft expression. "I'm glad she's my mom."
Recovery Girl looked at him, surprised by the sudden maturity in his voice. She reached out, ruffling his messy red hair. "Yeah. You're a lucky brat. Now, once she gets back, we'll head down to the lab. We need to get your Quirk Evaluation done properly."
As if that was the cue, the heavy door clicked open.
"Why does the food at hospitals always have to be this bad?"
Honoka Shuzenji walked in, holding a plastic tray with a sad-looking sandwich and a carton of juice. She looked exhausted.
"I mean, seriously," she continued, not looking up from the sandwich she was inspecting with suspicion. "We save lives here. Would it kill them to have something that isn't eighty percent cardboard and twenty percent sadness? Just one decent — "
She looked up.
Her eyes locked onto Akira sitting on the bed.
The sandwich tray hit the floor.
"AKIRA!"
She crossed the room in a blur. Before Akira could even wave, he was engulfed. She buried her face in his neck, squeezing him so tight he squeaked.
"You're awake! Oh my god, you're awake!" She pulled back, grabbing his face in her hands, squishing his cheeks. "Are you okay? Is there pain? Do you feel hot? Dizzy? Nauseous? Do your fingers feel tingly? How many fingers am I holding up?"
She was holding up three fingers, but shaking her hand so fast it looked like six.
Akira sighed, leaning into her touch. He wrapped his small arms around her.
"I'm fine, Mom," he mumbled against her apron. "Really. I'm okay."
Honoka froze. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and finally, her shoulders slumped.
"Thank god," she whispered, kissing his forehead right on the feather mark. "That's all that matters."
Recovery Girl cleared her throat loudly from the corner. "As touching as this is, there is a sandwich on the floor. And we have an appointment with Dr. Sato in ten minutes."
***
The Quirk Evaluation Wing of Musutafu General was less like a hospital and more like a high-tech gym.
The walls were reinforced concrete. There were targets, sensors, and observation windows made of blast-proof glass. It was designed to handle everything from kids who could spit acid to kids who could accidentally turn gravity off.
Akira sat on a metal examination table, swinging his legs. Honoka stood next to him, holding his hand, while Recovery Girl leaned against the wall, supervising.
The doctor, a woman named Dr. Sato, typed away at a computer terminal. She was young, with kind eyes and a quirk that gave her hair a look of floating sea kelp.
"Alright, Akira-kun," Dr. Sato said, spinning her chair around. "We've finished the blood work and the X-rays."
She pulled up a holographic display. It showed a skeletal render of Akira's foot.
"First things first," she said, pointing to the pinky toe. "The classic indicator. You only have one joint in your pinky toe. The extra joint is missing, which confirms what we already know — you have definitely evolved a quirk."
She tapped a few keys, bringing up the blood analysis.
"Your Quirk Factor levels in your blood are incredibly high for a first awakening," she noted, looking impressed. "Usually, emitter types start low and grow as the body adapts. Your levels are already comparable to a teenager's. That explains the fever; your body was essentially installing a massive software update overnight."
Dr. Sato smiled, leaning forward. "You're a very strong little boy, aren't you? And you look so cute with that red hair!"
Akira felt his soul die a little. He hated being called cute. He was a fifteen-year-old trapped in a five-year-old's body (mentally). But he knew the drill.
He looked down, kicking his feet shyly. "Th... thank you, Doctor."
Nailed it, he thought. Oscar-worthy performance.
"Now," Dr. Sato said, her voice turning professional. "Can you try to use your quirk for me? We need to measure its output, temperature, and nature."
Akira looked at his mother. Honoka gave him an encouraging nod. "It's okay, baby. Just like yesterday. Focus on the warmth."
Akira closed his eyes.
He didn't need to search for it. Yesterday, it had been a reaction to pain. Today, it was a presence.
It felt like a pool of water sitting in the center of his chest. It was calm. Deep. Silent. It wasn't the raging inferno of Endeavor that he had seen on TV. It was the quiet blue flame of a gas stove, controlled and efficient.
He willed the energy to move. It flowed sluggishly, like thick syrup, traveling down his shoulder, through his elbow, and into his right hand.
He opened his eyes.
Whoosh.
His hand was engulfed.
Blue flames danced across his skin. They were mesmerizing. The core was a deep, oceanic azure, fading to a lighter cyan, and the very tips of the flames were licked with gold. They didn't flicker erratically; they swayed in a rhythmic, hypnotic motion.
"That's beautiful," Dr. Sato breathed, adjusting her glasses.
She picked up a thermal imaging gun and pointed it at his hand. She frowned, tapping the device.
"That... can't be right."
"What is it?" Honoka asked, stepping forward.
"The temperature," Dr. Sato said, showing them the display. "It reads 37 degrees Celsius. Body temperature. The flames... they aren't hot. At least, not externally."
She looked at Akira. "Does it burn you?"
"No," Akira said, staring at his hand. "It feels... warm. Like a blanket. But not hot."
"Interesting," Dr. Sato mused. "From what your mother told me, these flames healed your knee instantly. That suggests a biological manipulation quirk masquerading as an elemental one."
She stood up and walked over to a supply cabinet. She pulled off her latex glove, revealing her hand. There was a small, red paper cut on her index finger.
"I got this while reading reports this morning," she said, kneeling to Akira's eye level. "It stings a bit. Do you think you can heal this, Akira-kun?"
Akira hesitated. Healing himself was instinct. Healing someone else?
He looked at his mother.
"Go ahead," Honoka whispered. "Just imagine the warmth wrapping around her finger."
"Are you sure?" Akira asked the doctor, his voice serious. "I don't know how to turn it off yet."
Dr. Sato nodded. "I trust you. And if anything goes wrong, your mother and your grandmother are right here."
Akira nodded and took a deep breath.
He reached out. He didn't touch her skin. He willed the blue flame to detach.
The fire obeyed. A small sphere of blue flame separated from his palm, floating through the air like a wisp. It gently wrapped around Dr. Sato's index finger.
Akira felt a sensation of drain. It wasn't painful, but it felt like pouring water out of a cup. He was giving something of himself to her. Or maybe that was his stamina.
The doctor gasped softly. "It feels... tingly. Like carbonated water."
The blue flame pulsed once, twice, and then faded into mist.
Dr. Sato wiped the mist away. The finger was spotless. The cut was gone.
"Incredible," she whispered. She stood up, checking the monitors. "Cellular regeneration speed was increased by a lot. And the energy source..."
She turned to them, her eyes wide. "Akira-kun, when you moved the flame, did you feel resistance?"
"A little," Akira admitted. "It felt heavy. Like... like moving water."
"Exactly!" Dr. Sato exclaimed, pointing at the data on the screen. "That's the unique part! Usually, fire or light quirks are pure energy. They have no mass. But your flames triggered the pressure sensors."
She looked at Recovery Girl. "These flames have mass. They have a physical presence. It's like... semi-solid plasma. If he improves his control, he might not just be able to heal."
She looked back at Akira. "He might be able to create constructs. Shields. Platforms. Bandages made of fire that actually hold things together, while healing."
Hearing this, Akira's eyes went wide.
Constructs?
His mind raced. Green Lantern, but with healing fire? Like that Marco dude from One Piece?
"That is so cool!" he yelled.
"Sure is," Honoka said, beaming with pride. She ruffled his hair again. "My little hero. You're going to save so many people."
She picked him up, setting him on her hip. "We need to register it. What should we name it?"
Akira paused.
He looked at his hand, where the blue wisp had just been. Fire that heals. It was a contradiction. Fire usually destroys, but this gave life.
He remembered a certain legendary bird he had read about in his past life. A creature of fire and rebirth.
He smiled, looking at his mother and grandmother.
"Phoenix," he said.
"Phoenix?" Honoka tested the word. "Like the bird that rises from the ashes? It fits the healing... and the fire."
"Phoenix," the doctor typed into the computer. "Quirk Registration complete: Akira Shuzenji. Quirk: Phoenix."
Akira looked at the screen.
Phoenix, he thought. Step one complete. Now... I just have to survive puberty again.
--<<>>--
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