Inside the sleek black SUV, the air conditioning was fighting a battle against the summer heat radiating off the asphalt. The interior smelled of expensive leather and the faint, lingering scent of antiseptic that always seemed to cling to Honoka, no matter how many showers she took.
Akira sat in the passenger seat, his chin propped up on his hand, staring blankly at the blur of green rushing past the window.
He was bored.
Not the "I have nothing to do" boredom of a rainy Sunday, but the "I am stuck in a metal box with my mother who is definitely plotting something" boredom.
He glanced at Honoka. She was driving with one hand on the wheel, her other arm resting casually on the door frame. She wore oversized sunglasses that hid her eyes, but the slight upturn of her lips suggested she was enjoying the silence a little too much.
Akira shifted in his seat and turned to her.
"So," he started, breaking the silence. "Are you going to tell me where we're actually going? Or is this a kidnapping? Because if it is, I have rights. I think. Do the laws apply to mothers taking their sons to undisclosed locations?"
Honoka didn't look away from the road. "It's a vacation, Akira. Relax. Stop analyzing the route."
"I know it's a vacation," Akira countered, gesturing vaguely at the duffel bags in the back. "But 'vacation' is a broad term. It could mean Disney Land, or it could mean you dropping me in a forest with a knife and telling me to survive for a week. Given your track record with 'training,' I'm leaning toward the latter."
Honoka chuckled, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. "You have so little faith in me. We aren't going to a forest. We're going to the beach."
"The beach?" Akira sat up straighter. "Like... a public beach? With people? And sand? And overpriced yakisoba?"
"Not exactly," Honoka said. She signaled, merging smoothly into the passing lane to overtake a slow-moving truck. "We're going to the family cabin."
Akira paused. "The family cabin."
"Yes."
"I didn't know we had a cabin."
"We don't go often," Honoka admitted. "My work keeps me in the city. And Mom... well, she practically lives at U.A. But it's been in the family for a while. It's a nice spot. Private. Quiet."
"Private," Akira repeated, eyes narrowing. "Define private."
"It's on a private stretch of coastline," she said casually. "About three miles of beachfront property. No tourists. No noise. Just us."
Akira's brain buffered.
He replayed the sentence. Three miles of beachfront property.
"Wait," he said, turning fully in his seat to face her. "We have a private beach? Like... we own the sand? And the water?"
"Well, you can't really own the water, Akira. Maritime law is complicated. But we own the land up to the high-tide line."
"WE HAVE A FAMILY-OWNED BEACH?!" Akira yelled, his voice cracking slightly. "HOW LOADED ARE WE?!"
Honoka flinched slightly at the volume, finally glancing over at him with an amused expression. "Relax, Akira. And... well, we do alright."
"Alright?" Akira sputtered. "Mom, normal people don't have 'private beaches.' Normal people fight for a spot to put their towel down on a patch of sand that smells like sunscreen and regret! Owning a beach is... that's villain-lair levels of wealth!"
He stared at her, trying to reconcile the woman in the driver's seat with this new information. Honoka Shuzenji drove a nice car, sure. They lived in a nice house in a safe neighborhood near U.A. But their life wasn't flashy. They ate leftovers. She complained about the price of eggs. He wore the tracksuits he bought on sale.
"How?" Akira asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Did we rob a bank? Is Grandma running a black market organ trade? Is that why she has so many lollipops? Are they distractors?"
Honoka laughed out loud. "No, you idiot. No black markets."
She adjusted her grip on the wheel, her expression turning thoughtful.
"Think about it, Akira," she said. "What is my quirk?"
"Healing," he answered immediately. "Verdant Flame."
"And your grandmother's?"
"Healing. But by kissing people."
"Exactly," Honoka said. "People with healing quirks are rare. Incredibly rare. Most quirks are destructive or transformative. Emitter types that can manipulate biological structures to repair them? You can count the registered Pro Heroes with that ability on two hands."
Akira nodded slowly. He knew this. It was why she had punched him in the backyard eight years ago. Supply and demand.
"Now," Honoka continued, "combine that rarity with the medical profession. Doctors are paid well, right? Even the ones without quirks."
"Yeah. They drive Porsches and play golf."
"Right. Now imagine a doctor who can perform a twelve-hour surgery in twenty minutes because she can fuse the tissue back together with her hands. Imagine a doctor who can save a patient that modern medicine has given up on. What is that worth?"
Akira went silent.
Everything, he thought. If you're dying, you'd pay everything.
"We are paid for our time, our expertise, and our rarity," Honoka said. "The Hero Commission pays a premium for healers to be on standby for high-risk operations. The hospitals pay retainers. Private clients pay donations."
She glanced at him again. "Then, just imagine how much someone who is both a top-tier Hero and a specialist surgeon makes."
Akira stared at the roof of the car. He tried to do the math in his head, but the numbers got too big and abstract.
Holy shit, he thought. We're rich. We aren't just 'comfortable.' We are 'buy a beach' rich.
It was a shock to his system. In his past life as Wade, money was a constant stressor. He had calculated every meal, every bus fare. He had chosen a state college because it was cheaper. He had died worrying about a scholarship.
And now? He was sitting on a gold mine he didn't even know existed.
"But that's not all," Honoka added, interrupting his existential crisis.
Akira snapped his head back toward her. "There's more?" he asked, his voice rising in disbelief. "What else? Do we own a moon? A small island nation?"
Honoka smiled, checking the GPS on the dashboard. "No moons. But you have to remember the history. It's not just your grandmother and me."
"What do you mean?"
"The Shuzenji family," she explained, her tone shifting to one of quiet pride. "We have been doctors for generations. Long before Quirks appeared, the Shuzenji clan were renowned herbalists and physicians. When Quirks emerged, our bloodline was lucky. The healing factor ran strong. We adapted."
She tapped the steering wheel rhythmically.
"Generation after generation, we worked. We saved lives. And we saved money. Old money, Akira. The kind of money that sits in accounts and grows quietly in the dark. We don't spend it on yachts or gold statues. We invest it."
Akira stared at her. "So... we're like the medical mafia? But benevolent?"
"Something like that," she smirked.
"But what do you even do with all that money?" Akira asked, genuinely baffled. "I mean, look at us. We eat instant ramen when you're tired. I have a phone that's two generations old. You complained for twenty minutes last week because the grocery store raised the price of milk by ten yen."
"That was the principle of the thing," Honoka defended. "Price gouging is unethical."
"Okay, but seriously. Where is it? If we have millions — or billions — where is it going?"
"We have someone to manage that," Honoka said, waving a hand dismissively. "I don't have time to watch the stock market. I'm busy saving lives. So we hired the smartest guy around."
Akira frowned. "Who? Does Grandma know a guy?"
"Oh, she knows him very well, and so do you, " Honoka grinned. "Nezu handles it."
The car went silent.
The only sound was the hum of the tires on the asphalt and the distant cry of a seagull.
Akira blinked. Once. Twice.
"Nezu," he repeated. "Principal Nezu? The rat? The guy who lives in the ventilation shafts of U.A. and drinks tea?"
"The very same."
"YOU HAVE THAT RAT AS YOUR PERSONAL ACCOUNTANT?!"
Akira unbuckled his seatbelt just to lean forward and stare at his mother, ignoring the seatbelt alarm that started pinging.
"Mom! I mean, I know he's smart — High Specs and all that — but you trust a rodent with the family fortune?"
"First of all," Honoka said, reaching over to shove him back into his seat, "buckle up. Safety first. And second, show some respect. Why do you think he accepted teaching a brat like you so easily? It wasn't just my charm."
Akira clicked the belt back in, his mind racing. "I thought he just liked torturing me."
"He does enjoy that," Honoka admitted. "But he also owes us. Or rather, we have a mutually beneficial partnership."
"But why?" Akira pressed. "Why him?"
"Because he's the smartest being in Japan, and maybe in the world, Akira," Honoka said simply. "He predicts villain attacks before they happen. Do you think he can't predict the stock market? He treats the global economy like a puzzle game. He manages our portfolio as a hobby. To him, it's just moving numbers around to see if he can make them bigger."
She shrugged. "Thanks to him, our money is invested in the right places. Ethical companies. Support gear startups. Hero agencies with high potential. And it's always growing. Thanks to his 'hobby,' the Shuzenji family is currently the second wealthiest family in Japan."
Akira felt like he had been slapped.
"Second..." he whispered.
"Yep."
"In Japan."
"Mhmm."
"That's insane," Akira breathed. "I mean... I always lived so normally. It never hit me. I just thought we were... I don't know. Middle class? Upper-middle class?"
"We are minimalistic," Honoka said. "Just because you have money doesn't mean you have to scream about it. That attracts villains. It attracts kidnappers. We live quietly. We spend on what matters — education, health, security. And occasionally, a private beach."
Akira slumped back in his seat. He felt like his entire worldview was being rewritten.
He started connecting the dots.
The computer I use for gaming, he thought. It's top of the line. I asked for it, and she just bought it the next day. No questions asked.
My gym equipment. The supplements.
When I broke the TV while playing games, she didn't even yell. She just replaced it with a bigger one.
Damn, he realized. The signs were there. I just never saw them because I was too busy looking for anime tropes.
"Wait," Akira said, a sudden thought occurring to him. "If we're second... who is the richest?"
Honoka didn't hesitate. "Oh, that would be the Yaoyorozu family."
"Dayam," was all Akira could say.
That tracked. The name 'Yaoyorozu' was slapped on half the products in Japan. Electronics, construction materials, shipping containers — their logo was inescapable. It wasn't about heroes or villains; it was about sheer, overwhelming corporate dominance.
He looked out the window again. The landscape had changed. The green hills had flattened out, giving way to sandy dunes and tall, swaying grass. The smell of the air had shifted, heavy with salt and brine.
Through the gaps in the trees, he saw it.
A vast, endless expanse of sparkling blue. The ocean.
It stretched out to the horizon, glittering like a field of diamonds.
"We're almost there," Honoka announced, the GPS chiming in agreement.
She turned the SUV off the main highway onto a gravel road. A signpost, weathered by the salt air, read Private Property: Shuzenji Estate. Trespassers will be healed and then prosecuted.
Akira snorted at the sign. "Did Grandma write that?"
"Nezu did," Honoka corrected. "Grandma wanted to write 'Trespassers will be beaten with a cane.'"
That sounds like her lol.
Akira laughed as they made their way towards the cabin.
--<<>>--
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