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As they cleared the treeline, the "cabin" finally came into full view, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.
Akira stared. He blinked. He stared again.
"Mom," he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion because his brain was refusing to process the input. "That is not a cabin."
It wasn't.
It was a modern, sprawling structure made of glass, polished dark wood, and smooth concrete. It sat perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, aggressive in its architectural beauty. A massive deck wrapped around the entire building, featuring lounge chairs that probably cost more than his previous life's college tuition. It had floor-to-ceiling windows that reflected the sunset, a solar roof that probably powered a small village, and what looked suspiciously like an infinity pool on the side, steam gently rising from its surface.
"It's a cabin," Honoka insisted, unbuckling her seatbelt with a straight face. "It's made of wood. See the siding? Wood."
"It has a pool, Mom! The ocean is right there! It's literally fifty feet down!"
"The ocean is cold," she countered, opening her door. "The pool is heated. And salt water ruins my hair."
Akira sat in the car for a moment longer, looking at the structure. In his past life, a cabin was a shack with a leaky roof and a spider infestation. This was something a Bond villain would rent for a weekend getaway to plan world domination.
Rich, he thought again, the word feeling strange and heavy on his tongue. We are filthy, stinkin' rich.
He sighed, grabbing his duffel bag, and swinging it over his shoulder. He stepped out onto the paved driveway.
Well, Akira decided, adjusting his grip on the bag. If I'm going to be a hero, I might as well enjoy the perks while I'm alive. Being a martyr is easier with a heated pool.
"Hey, Mom!" he called out. "Does this place have Wi-Fi? Or do we have to use Nezu's satellite?"
Honoka laughed, tossing him a set of heavy, electronic keys. "Both. The satellite is for secure comms, the Wi-Fi is for your games. Now go unlock the door."
The interior was just as ridiculous as the exterior.
The living room was an open-concept space with a vaulted ceiling that made Akira feel like an ant. A fireplace made of river stones dominated one wall, while the other was entirely glass, offering a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. The furniture was white, modern, and looked terrifyingly stainable.
"Don't worry," Honoka said, noticing his hesitation to sit on the couch. "The fabric is stain-resistant, fire-proof, and tear-proof. Custom support gear weave."
"Of course it is," Akira muttered, dropping his bag.
They spent the next two hours settling in. Akira claimed the guest bedroom, which was larger than their entire living room back in Musutafu. It had its own balcony and a bathroom with a tub deep enough to scuba dive in.
He unpacked his things — mostly tracksuits, t-shirts, and his portable gaming setup — feeling a strange sense of dissonance, and took a quick shower.
By the time he wandered back out to the main area, the sun had fully set.
Honoka was in the kitchen, leaning against a marble island that was roughly the size of a small aircraft carrier, okay, not THAT big.
"Hungry?" she asked.
"Starving," Akira admitted, his stomach punctuating the statement with a loud growl. "What's the plan? Do we have a private chef hiding in the pantry? Or are we ordering takeout via drone?"
Honoka rolled her eyes. "Neither. We're cooking. What do you want?"
Akira didn't hesitate. "Pizza."
Honoka smiled, pushing off the counter. "Pizza it is. But we're doing it properly. None of that frozen cardboard."
She opened the fridge and started pulling out ingredients. Fresh mozzarella, basil, prosciutto, blocks of parmesan, and bags of flour.
"Wash your hands," she ordered, tossing him a packet of yeast. "You're on dough duty."
Ten minutes later, the kitchen was a war zone of flour.
Akira stood at the counter, kneading a ball of dough with a level of intensity usually reserved for combat training. He was wearing a black t-shirt that was now dusted white.
"You're overworking it," Honoka critiqued, sipping a glass of wine as she chopped vegetables. "It's dough, Akira, not a villain. You need to be gentle. Coax the gluten, don't interrogate it."
"I am being gentle," Akira grunted, punching the dough. "This is my gentle face."
Honoka laughed, setting her knife down. She walked over to a drawer and pulled out two aprons. One was a standard green one. The other was pink, frilly, and had Kiss the Cook embroidered on it in glittery letters.
She handed him the pink one.
Akira stared at it. "You're joking."
"My house, my rules," she smirked, tying the green one around her waist. "Put it on, or no pepperoni."
Akira sighed, the sound echoing his defeated soul. He took the apron and pulled it over his head. It was too small, barely covering his chest, and the frills looked ridiculous against his lean, athletic build and spiky red hair.
"Happy?" he deadpanned.
Honoka gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes sparkling.
"Don't move!"
She whipped out her phone faster than a gunslinger and snapped a picture before he could react.
Click.
"Delete that," Akira warned, pointing a flour-covered finger at her. "If that ends up on the family group chat, I'm running away. I'll live in the woods. I'll become a cryptid."
"Oh, hush," Honoka cooed, looking at the screen. "Look at you! You look adorable. The number of hearts you're going to break when you get older... it's going to be a massacre."
Akira rolled his eyes, going back to kneading the dough. "Yeah, yeah. I don't look that good. I look like a strawberry that fell into a lace factory."
Honoka lowered the phone, her expression turning serious. She walked over and leaned on the counter, looking at his profile.
"Buddy," she said, poking his cheek. "If you look 'average,' then the whole world is full of ugly people. Just take the compliment and say thanks."
Akira paused. "Thanks?" he said, the word coming out as a question.
He genuinely didn't get it. Sure, he knew he wasn't ugly, but 'heartbreaker'? He spent his free time playing Angry Birds and analyzing quirk mechanics. Romance was a variable he hadn't bothered to calculate.
Honoka sighed, shaking her head. "What am I going to do with him?" she whispered to the ceiling. "Hopefully he finds a girl who can fix him, or at least one with a lot of patience."
"Did you say something?" Akira asked, looking up.
"Nope," she chirped, turning back to the cutting board. "Get the tomatoes from the fridge. The sauce isn't going to make itself."
The rest of the night passed in a blur of warmth and laughter.
They made three pizzas. One classic Margherita, one loaded with enough meat to stop a heart, and one experimental one with figs and honey that Honoka insisted was "gourmet" and Akira insisted was "a crime against humanity." (It was actually delicious, but he would never admit it).
They ate on the deck, listening to the ocean, the cool breeze mixing with the heat of the pizza. For a few hours, there was no talk of training, no villains, no "The Healer is the Target." Just a mother and son, eating until they couldn't move.
"I'm full," Akira groaned, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach. "If a villain attacked right now, I'd just offer them a slice and surrender."
Honoka laughed, swirling the last of her wine. "A valid strategy. Diplomacy through carbohydrates."
She looked at him, her eyes soft in the moonlight. "Get some sleep, Akira. Tomorrow, we explore."
The next morning, the sun was painfully bright.
Akira woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of seagulls screaming. He dragged himself out of the majestic bed, threw on a fresh tracksuit (this one grey), and met his mother in the driveway.
"Get in loser, we're going shopping," Honoka called from the SUV.
"Please never quote Mean Girls again," Akira groaned, sliding into the passenger seat. "It's unnatural."
They drove down the coast to the nearest town, a small fishing village that had been converted into a tourist trap. It was charming in a tacky way. The streets were lined with colorful stalls selling seashells, dried squid, and T-shirts that said I Got Crabby at the Beach.
It was crowded. Families walked around with ice cream cones, couples held hands, and heroes on patrol waved to kids.
Akira felt a bit out of place. He was constantly scanning the crowd.
Exit routes, his brain supplied automatically. That alleyway is a choke point. That rooftop has a clear line of sight. That guy in the hoodie is walking too fast.
"Akira," Honoka's voice cut through his analysis.
He looked down. She was holding a skewer of grilled squid in front of his face.
"Stop profiling the tourists and eat your squid."
Akira blinked, then relaxed his shoulders. "Right. Sorry. Habit."
"I know," she said softly. "But not today. Today, you're just a kid."
She shoved the squid into his hand and dragged him toward a souvenir shop.
They spent the entire day acting like tourists. They bought matching sunglasses (Akira's were aviators, Honoka's were massive red hearts). They ate shaved ice that turned their tongues blue. They played arcade games in a dusty shop where Akira absolutely destroyed the high score on Whac-A-Mole using his enhanced reflexes.
"That was terrifying," Honoka noted as the machine spat out a mountain of tickets. "You looked like you had a personal vendetta against those moles. Did you really have to use overheal?"
"They mocked me," Akira said gravely, redeeming the tickets for a cheap plastic eraser shaped like a fish.
It was... nice. Normal.
For the first time in a long time, Akira felt like he fit into the world. Not as a glitch, not as a future hero, but just as a person living in it.
By the time they drove back to the cabin, the sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of violent orange and bruising purple.
The mood in the car was quiet, but comfortable.
Honoka parked the SUV. They got out, carrying a few bags of local snacks they had bought.
"That was fun," Akira said, stretching his arms over his head. "I haven't eaten that much sugar since... ever, actually."
Honoka didn't answer immediately.
She was standing by the edge of the driveway, looking out at the beach below. The wind whipped her hair around her face. Her smile, which had been bright all day, was gone.
In its place was a quiet, heavy melancholia.
"Mom?" Akira asked, lowering his arms. "You okay?"
Honoka took a deep breath, the air trembling in her lungs. She turned to him, her eyes glistening slightly.
"Come with me, Akira," she said. Her voice was soft, fragile. "I have something to show you."
She didn't wait for an answer. She walked toward the wooden stairs that led down to the sand.
Akira dropped the bags by the car and followed her. A knot of unease began to tie itself in his stomach. The shift was too sudden.
They walked onto the sand. The tide was coming in, the white foam hissing as it crept up the beach. The air was cooling rapidly.
Honoka didn't stop. She walked down the shoreline, past the cabin, toward the far end of the property.
Akira followed a step behind, watching her back. She looked smaller than usual. The confident, powerful hero doctor seemed to shrink against the vastness of the ocean.
Finally, she stopped.
Ahead of them, standing alone near the dunes, was a pair of palm trees. They were grown close together, their trunks leaning into each other as if seeking support against the wind. Between them, a small, weathered wooden bench sat facing the sea.
Honoka stopped a few feet away. She stared at the trees.
Akira walked up beside her. He looked at the trees, then at her.
"Mom?"
She didn't look at him. She walked up to the tree on the left. She reached out, her hand trembling, and placed her palm against the rough bark. She rubbed a specific spot, worn smooth by years of touch.
And for the first time in his life, Akira saw it.
A single, crystalline tear rolled down Honoka Shuzenji's cheek.
"What?" That was all Akira could muster.
--<<>>--
And done. Finally done with the 15,000 word mark. How did you like it? Enjoyed the cliffhanger? MUHAHAHAHA.
Ahem, on a serious note, now that I am done with the mass relese, I will be updating a single chapter on everyday.
Plus if you want, you can read up to +10 chapters (It's 9 right now, the final advanced chapter will be up soon) and support me you can alway join my P@treaon. (Just search up Joe_Mama p@treon on google.)