The silence stretched.
Every eye remained fixed on me. On the crater beneath my feet. On the Nomu's destroyed body in the fountain, green blood pooling around the broken concrete.
My breathing was steady despite what I'd just done.
"Yamamoto..." All Might's voice broke the silence. He looked at me, then at the Nomu, then back. His heroic form was flickering. Steam rose from his body in waves. "You... how did you..."
I needed to explain. Fast. Before questions became suspicions.
"All Might," I said, keeping my voice level. "You weakened it. All those punches. The continuous damage to the same spot."
I gestured at the ruined creature. "You broke through its shock absorption limit. I just... finished what you started."
It was a reasonable explanation. Logical.
Shigaraki's scratching had stopped. He stared at me with those red eyes, visible between the fingers of the hands covering his face. "That's... impossible. The Nomu was designed to—"
"To fight All Might at 100%," I interrupted, looking at him directly. "Not a weakened All Might plus additional attacks. You didn't account for teamwork."
Kurogiri shifted nervously, his mist body rippling. Bakugo still had him in a grip, but the villain's attention was entirely on me now.
"Who are you?" Shigaraki asked quietly. Too quietly.
"Yamamoto Kaito. Class 1-A. Student." I lowered my fist slowly. "Nothing more."
"Liar." Shigaraki started scratching again, harder. Skin flaking. "That speed. That power. You're not just a student—"
"EVERYONE DOWN!"
The entrance doors burst open for the second time.
Pro heroes flooded in. Dozens of them. Led by a panting, exhausted Iida.
"THE STUDENTS! WHERE ARE—" The lead hero stopped, taking in the scene.
All Might, bloodied and steaming. Students clustered together, unharmed. Villains scattered and defeated. And the Nomu, half-destroyed, in the fountain.
"It's... over?" Another hero asked, confused.
"Kurogiri!" Shigaraki hissed. "Get us out! NOW!"
Bakugo's grip tightened. "I SAID DON'T MOVE!"
But Kurogiri's mist expanded violently, forcing Bakugo back. A portal opened beneath Shigaraki.
"This isn't over," Shigaraki said, pointing at me as he sank into the warp. "We'll meet again. And next time, I'll figure out what you really are."
They vanished.
The pro heroes rushed forward, but too late. The villains were gone.
"Yamamoto-kun." All Might's voice was strained. He was still in hero form but visibly flickering, steam pouring off him. "Quick word. Now."
We stepped behind the fountain wreckage. The moment we were out of sight, his form gave out. He deflated into his true, skeletal appearance. Blood dripped from his mouth.
"All Might—"
"No time." He wiped the blood. "That punch. That speed. I need you to understand something."
"You weakened it. I just—"
"Publicly, yes. That's the story." His sunken eyes were intense. "But power like that draws attention. Dangerous attention. Be careful who you trust. And..." He coughed again. "Protect those close to you. People who want to use power will target what you care about."
The pro heroes approached the fountain.
"Get back in form!" I hissed.
"Can't. Out of time." He straightened despite his frail appearance. "Stay close to the other students. We'll talk later."
He pulled up his hood, hiding his face as heroes swarmed the area.
"All students, sound off!" One hero commanded. "Is anyone injured?"
Thirteen was being treated by medical heroes. Aizawa was unconscious, covered in blood, but breathing. The students began reporting in. Minor injuries. Shock. Fear. But alive.
I looked at my hand. The green blood was drying, flaking off like paint.
Was it the right decision? I... I completely changed the plot.
Thirty Minutes Later
Ambulances lined the USJ entrance. Police cordoned off the area. Pro heroes swept through each zone, collecting unconscious villains.
We sat in groups, wrapped in shock blankets despite the mild weather. Standard procedure for trauma.
Midoriya kept glancing at me. His analytical mind working. Trying to understand.
Todoroki's expression was unreadable as always, but his eyes tracked my movements.
Tokoyami spoke quietly to Shouji, both occasionally looking my way.
Even Bakugo was strangely silent, arms crossed, glaring at nothing.
UA Campus – 4:37 PM
Buses took us back to campus. Parents were called. Statements were given. The police wanted interviews with everyone who'd fought villains directly.
My interview was... intense.
"Describe your Quirk in detail."
"Kinetic Boost. I absorb kinetic energy from movements and impacts. Store it. Release it when needed."
"And you stored enough energy to destroy that creature?"
"All Might had already damaged it extensively. I just provided the final blow."
"Witnesses say you moved faster than human eyes could track."
"Released energy equals speed. Basic physics."
"Your records show you placed sixteenth in the Quirk assessment test. Why hide such power?"
"I wasn't hiding it. I'm still learning control. Today was life or death. I used everything I had."
The detective made notes. Frowned. Made more notes.
"We'll be in touch if we have additional questions."
"Of course."
Train Station – 6:45 PM
I finally escaped the school as the pro heroes were busy with clarifications. The train ride home felt endless.
A lot of stuff happened today, tho I didn't sense anything different from the usual events that unfolded in cannon.
What were those messages threatening me about? Oof.
I pulled out my phone, checking messages.
Nothing from Hana.
She always texted by now. Usually something like "Made gyoza! Better than last time I swear!" or "Math test kicked my butt 😭" or "There's a cute cat outside the convenience store!"
Small things. Daily things. The rhythm of our shared life.
But today? Nothing.
I typed: "I'm okay. Coming home now."
Sent. The read receipt didn't appear.
Is she asleep? Or wait... did those bastards...
I gripped the train's overhead rail. The metal groaned under my fingers.
An elderly man sitting nearby glanced up nervously.
I loosened my hold, forcing my breathing to steady.
No, don't think negative. She must be okay.
However, every station felt wrong. The train felt too slow. Too many stops between me and home.
I'd been getting threats for three months. And today, the day I finally showed my power, broke cover, destroyed the Nomu—they'd been completely silent.
That silence terrified me more than any threat.
Street – 7:03 PM
The walk home should've taken thirty minutes.
I made it in eight.
My phone showed the same empty screen. Message delivered but unread.
She always read my messages immediately. Always replied with at least an emoji, even if she was busy.
The apartment building came into view. Most windows glowed with warm light—families settling in for dinner, the comfortable sounds of evening routines.
Our window was dark.
My walk became a jog, then a run.
Up the stairs. Three at a time. My hero costume case banged against my leg with each step.
I fumbled with my keys at our door. My hands were shaking.
"Hana! I'm home!"
The words came out too loud. Too desperate.
Silence answered back.
I flipped on the light.
The apartment looked frozen in time. Her breakfast bowl still sat in the sink, water dried in crusty rings around the edges.
The textbook lay open on the low table—mathematics, page 47, the same problems she'd been working through yesterday evening while complaining about factoring.
The futon was rolled up neatly against the wall, exactly as she always left it after waking up.
Her school bag wasn't by the door. Her indoor slippers sat empty where she'd stepped out of them this morning.
"Hana?"
My voice cracked.
I checked the tiny bathroom. Dark. Empty. Her toothbrush was dry. The towel she'd used that morning still hung crooked on the rack.
I moved to the kitchenette corner, opened the small closet where we kept our clothes. Her school uniform was gone—she'd worn it this morning. Her outdoor shoes were missing too.
She went to school. That's normal. That's what she does every day.
But she should be home by now.
The apartment felt impossibly empty. In a space this small, barely thirty square meters, her absence was a physical thing. A void that pressed against my chest.
I pulled up my phone with trembling hands. Checked the time she usually got home—around 5:30 PM on normal days, maybe 6:00 if she had cleaning duty at school.
It was 7:14 PM.
Nearly two hours late.
Club activity, I told myself.
That's all. Or maybe studying with friends. She mentioned something about a group project last week, didn't she?
But she would've texted. She always texted when her plans changed.
I hit dial on her contact.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Four—
"Hi! This is Hana! Leave a message!"
Her cheerful voicemail greeting felt like a knife sliding between my ribs.
I could picture her recording it—probably making silly faces at her phone, trying not to laugh.
The beep.
"Hana." My voice broke. I cleared my throat, tried again. "It's me. There was an incident at school today. I'm fine. Everything's fine. But call me back as soon as you get this. Please."
I hung up. Stared at the screen.
Tried again. Same result. Straight to voicemail.
My hands were shaking harder now. The phone felt slippery in my grip.
What clubs is she in? Does she have cleaning duty on Mondays?
I realized with sinking horror that I didn't know. Didn't know her exact schedule.
Didn't know if she was in art club or cooking club or if she'd joined that gardening group she'd mentioned once in passing.
I didn't know her friend's names. Couldn't call them to check if she was there.
I'd been so focused on hiding. On training in secret. On maintaining perfect control of this borrowed life, this body that wasn't originally mine.
I hadn't been living it.
What kind of brother am I?
I called her school. It rang. And rang. Fifteen times before I gave up.
The office would be closed by now. Locked up. Everyone gone home to their families.
Everyone except Hana.
Mr. Tanaka's shop. She stopped by sometimes after school to show him her test scores or help out with work.
"Tanaka's Repair."
"It's Yamamoto." My voice sounded strange. Tight. "Has Hana been by today?"
A pause. "No, haven't seen her. Why? Something wrong?"
"I... she's not home yet. Just checking if—"
"It's past seven. She's not usually out this late, is she?" Concern crept into his voice.
My stomach dropped. Even Mr. Tanaka, who only saw her occasionally, knew her schedule better than I did.
"She'll turn up," he said, but he sounded uncertain now. "Probably just lost track of time with friends."
"Right. Thanks."
I hung up.
7:16 PM.
I checked my messages one more time. The one I'd sent from the train still showed delivered but unread.
I went to the window. Looked down at the street below. A few people walking home from work. A couple with a small dog. An old man shuffling toward the convenience store.
None of them were Hana.
The landlord. He's always in the entrance hall. He sees everyone coming and going.
I was out the door before I finished the thought.
Took the stairs down so fast I nearly lost my footing on the third-floor landing. Caught myself on the railing. Kept going.
The landlord was in the entrance hall, methodically checking mailboxes with movements that seemed impossibly slow.
"Have you seen my sister?"
He looked up, startled by my tone. "Yamamoto-kun? Your sister?"
"Hana. Have you seen her today? Coming home?"
He thought about it. Too long. "I saw her leave for school this morning. Around seven-thirty, same as always. Cheerful as usual, she waved to me. Haven't seen her come back. Why? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just—nothing. Thanks."
But everything was wrong. I could feel it.
I was already turning away. Moving toward the exit. My body making decisions before my mind could catch up.
Her school. Start there.
The building was fifteen minutes away on foot.
I could make it in five if I ran.
But as I burst out onto the street, All Might's warning wouldn't stop echoing through my skull:
"People who want to use power will target what you care about."
For the first time since waking up in this world, since opening my eyes in Kaito's body, since swearing to protect his sister—
I prayed.
Prayed that I was wrong and it was just a dead phone battery.
Prayed that she was laughing with friends.
Prayed my heroism at the USJ hadn't cost me everything.
But my prayers felt hollow.
Because Hana always texted.
And today—the day everything changed—she hadn't sent a single word.
TO BE CONTINUED...