The apartment felt wrong.
Not empty. Megumi had lived in empty before but wrong, like every corner of the room expected a voice that never came. One month wasn't enough time to adjust. Maybe no amount of time would be.
He closed the door gently behind him.
Megumi set his bag by the couch and stared at the kitchen. A dish towel hung from the oven handle, Tsumiki's last neat fold before the day everything changed. He reached for it, then stopped his hand halfway, pulling back sharply like he'd touched something hot.
He cooked dinner. Ate without tasting it. Cleaned until the counters gleamed. The more he worked, the worse the emptiness felt, but he worked anyway. It made the room look like she could walk back into it.
When he finished, he grabbed his bag and headed out.
The hospital lights were too bright. The hallways too quiet. The air too clean. It was all wrong.
Megumi slipped into Tsumiki's room and took his seat beside her bed. Machines hummed and beeped in steady rhythm. She lay still, her breathing soft and even.
Warm.
Alive.
But not with him.
He took her hand in both of his and stared at the faint color of her fingernails.
"I stopped another fight today," he said quietly.
No response. There never was.
"A kid without a quirk. They cornered him near the stairwell."
Still nothing.
"You'd tell me I go too far." He stared at their hands. "You always say there's a better way."
He shook his head.
"You're wrong. Or maybe you're right, but the world doesn't care."
Her chest rose and fell. Slow. Peaceful. Fragile.
He tightened his grip for just a moment before letting go.
"I'll come back tonight."
He stood and left before the ache in his throat could turn into anything visible.
Whispers followed him through school.
"That's him-"
"Don't make eye contact-"
"Did you hear what he did?"
Megumi didn't care.
He just walked until something made him stop: a thud, a muffled cry.
Typical.
He turned the corner to find three boys pinning a smaller kid against the lockers, laughing like they were doing the world a favor.
Megumi stepped closer.
"Let him go."
The bullies turned. One sneered. "Since when are you a hero?"
"I'm not."
The leader shoved the smaller kid aside and swung.
Megumi caught the punch, twisted, and drove a fist into his gut. The boy collapsed instantly.
The second lunged and was slammed into the wall with the back of Megumi's forearm.
The third tried to run.
Megumi swept his legs effortlessly.
Ten seconds. Maybe less.
He crouched beside the leader.
"If you touch him again," he said quietly, "you'll regret it."
The boy nodded frantically.
Megumi didn't spare the others a glance. He turned to the victim.
"You're fine. Go."
The kid ran without thanking him. Megumi walked to class without expecting it.
He didn't do it for recognition.
He didn't do it because it made him feel good.
He did it because weak people didn't deserve suffering.
Good people didn't deserve pain.
And the bad ones had to be punished.
By sunset, Megumi stood at the riverbank, where the water reflected the dying light.
The air felt sharp in his lungs. Training helped. Not with the grief, but with the part of him that refused to bend under it.
"Let's work," he said.
He formed a seal. The dogs sprinted forward, bodies of shadow. Megumi followed, pushing himself.
Move. Dodge. Attack. Guard.
Again.
Again.
Again.
He pushed until his muscles screamed. Until his breath scraped against his throat. Until sweat dripped into his eyes.
Stopping didn't feel like an option, not when thinking hurt worse.
He finished another sequence and dropped to one knee, panting. The dogs paced nervously. His vision blurred at the edges.
Then
An Instinct.
Clear.
Simple.
Like he'd always known it.
A name.
A motion.
"Rabbit Escape."
His fingers shaped a new hand seal, effortless, natural, instinctive.
Shadows surged.
They swirled at his feet, rose, compressed, and sprang forward as a rabbit-shaped burst of darkness.
Megumi blinked.
He hadn't trained this.
He hadn't imagined this.
He hadn't even tried to learn something new.
It just appeared in his mind as if it had always been waiting.
The rabbit hopped toward him and pressed its head against his hand. The Divine Dogs sniffed it curiously.
Megumi studied it without surprise.
He didn't question why.
He only saw what mattered.
Something new he could use.
Another way to protect someone.
Someone who didn't deserve to be hurt.
He stood slowly.
The new shikigami dissolved into his shadow.
He looked out over the river.
"Heroes save everyone," he murmured. "Even people who ruin things. Even people who don't care who they hurt."
He lowered his eyes to the dirt beneath him.
"I'm not a hero."
The Divine Dogs sat beside him, waiting.
"I save good people," he whispered. "Unfairly, if I have to."
His fingers curled into fists.
"I don't care if it's selfish. I don't care if it makes me a bad person."
The wind tugged at his hair.
"I'd rather be unfair than watch the world break someone like Tsumiki again."
He stepped back into stance.
"If someone has to pay back the world… I'll do it."
He exhaled.
"And if it kills me-"
His voice softened, almost peaceful.
"-that's fair."
...
"Again."
The shadows obeyed.