Today's chapter
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The dam finally broke.
It wasn't a pretty cry. It was the ugly, wrenching release of a soul that had been holding its breath for thirteen years. Honoka Shuzenji cried into her son's shoulder until her voice was gone.
She cried for the husband she lost. She cried for the son she had cursed in her grief. She cried for the sheer, exhausting weight of being strong for so long.
And through it all, Akira didn't move. He sat there on the sand, his blue flames casting long, dancing shadows against the palm trees. He held her. He kept the cold away. He let his shirt get ruined by snot and tears because, in the grand calculus of life, a ruined tracksuit was a small price to pay for his mother's sanity.
Eventually, the sobbing turned to hiccups. The hiccups turned to slow, rhythmic breathing.
Honoka fell asleep.
Akira sighed, looking down at the top of her head. Her chestnut hair was a mess, tangled by the wind. She looked younger like this. Less like the "Hero Doctor" and more like the medical student she used to be.
"Alright," he whispered to the night. "Phase two: Logistics."
He carefully shifted his weight, trying not to wake her. He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back.
One. Two. Lift.
He grunted.
Holy shit, Akira complained in his mind, his knees buckling slightly under the weight. Mom, you are hella heavy! Is this muscle density? Are your bones made of adamantium? Or is grief just physically heavy?
He activated Phoenix Drive — just a trickle. A low-level hum of blue energy flooded his biceps and back. His strength surged just enough to stabilize the load.
"Thank you, broken physics," he muttered, adjusting his grip.
He began the slow trek back up the beach. The sand shifted treacherously under his feet, but he kept his balance. The walk to the cabin felt miles longer than it had on the way down. The ocean roared behind him, but he didn't look back at the palm trees. He left the ghosts there for the night.
When he finally reached the cabin, he nudged the door open with his foot (thankfully, he hadn't locked it) and navigated the dark living room. He carried her to the master bedroom.
He lowered her onto the massive bed, wincing as the mattress dipped. He pulled off her shoes and covered her with the quilt.
She mumbled something in her sleep, turning onto her side and curling into a ball.
Akira stood there for a moment, watching her. The moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, illuminating the tear tracks still drying on her face.
He leaned down and softly kissed her forehead.
"I will always be with you, Mom," he whispered.
He quietly backed out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.
***
The next morning, the sun was polite enough to filter through the curtains gradually rather than blinding everyone instantly.
Honoka woke slowly. She stretched, her joints popping in a satisfying cascade. She felt... rested. Better than she had in years. The heavy stone that usually sat in the center of her chest felt lighter, eroded by the tide of the previous night.
She sat up, yawning, and shuffled into the bathroom. She grabbed her toothbrush, staring blearily at her reflection. Her eyes were puffy, and her hair looked like she had fought a wind turbine and lost.
I look like a wreck, she thought, squeezing toothpaste onto the bristles.
She started brushing. Scrub. Scrub. Scru—
She froze. The toothbrush hung out of her mouth.
The memories of last night came crashing back like a tsunami. The beach. The palm trees. The story about her husband. The breakdown. The sobbing on her thirteen-year-old son's shoulder like a toddler.
"Oh god," she mumbled around the foam.
She quickly rinsed her mouth, splashing cold water on her face to shock the embarrassment out of her system.
How did I even get here? she wondered, grabbing a towel. The last thing I remember is Akira holding me. Did I walk back? Did I sleepwalk?
She rushed out of the bedroom, her mind racing. She needed coffee. She needed to apologize. She needed to regain some semblance of maternal authority.
When she reached the living room, she stopped dead.
The smell of bacon and toasted bread wafted through the air.
There, in the kitchen, Akira was standing by the stove. He was wearing the ridiculous pink Kiss the Cook apron again, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like the Mario Kart victory theme. He flipped an egg with a practiced flick of his wrist.
"Akira?" she called out.
He looked up. His red hair was still damp from a shower, and his eyes were bright. He smiled at her — not a cynical smirk, but a genuine, sunny smile that looked terrifyingly like his father's.
"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," he chirped. "Wow. You slept for longer than I thought. It's almost eleven."
He gestured to the dining table with the spatula. "If you're done freshening up, go sit down. Let me take care of you today."
Honoka stared at him. He had set the table. There was fresh orange juice. There was a vase with a single wildflower in it.
She felt a warmth bloom in her chest.
Our son, she thought, a fresh wave of emotion threatening to surface (she pushed it down; no more crying today). He will grow up to be a fine man. Akira... you would be so proud.
She walked over and sat at the table, watching him plate the food. "What is this? A bribe?"
"It's a breakfast sandwich," Akira explained, sliding a plate in front of her. "Toasted brioche, sharp cheddar, bacon, fluffy egg, and a dash of hot sauce. It cures hangovers, emotional trauma, and existential dread. Guaranteed or your money back."
Honoka picked up the sandwich. It looked perfect. She took a bite. It tasted perfect.
"This is delicious," she mumbled.
"Of course it is," Akira said, sitting opposite her with his own plate. "I made it. My quirk might be Phoenix, but my secondary quirk is clearly Culinary Mastery."
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The tension from the previous night had evaporated, replaced by a new, stronger bond.
As they finished, Akira wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Oh, by the way. I ain't doing the dishes."
Honoka paused, her sandwich halfway to her mouth.
This brat, she thought affectionately.
"You do know we have a dishwasher here, right?" she deadpanned.
Akira froze. He slowly turned his head to look at the sleek stainless steel panel next to the sink. He looked back at her.
"Forget I said that," he said quickly. "Pretend I made a cool, rebellious statement about household chores."
Honoka laughed, reaching across the table to ruffle his hair. "Thank you, dear. For everything. Last night... I needed that."
Akira leaned into her hand. "You're welcome, Mother. You can always count on me."
Honoka nodded, her eyes misty but smiling. "I know, dear. Trust me, I really do."
After breakfast, Akira cleared the table. He shoved the plates into the dishwasher, adding the detergent pod with a sense of reverence.
God, I love technology, he thought as the machine hummed to life. In my old life, I was the dishwasher. Never again.
He was wiping down the counter when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Akira?"
He turned around. Honoka was standing there, dressed in a simple white sundress and sandals.
"Would you like to visit your father's grave with me?" she asked.
It wasn't a demand. It was an invitation.
Akira smiled gently. "I would love to, Mom."
They walked down the beach, past the cabin, and up a small, winding path that led to a grassy knoll overlooking the sea. It was a private spot, fenced off by a low white picket fence covered in blooming jasmine vines.
Inside, there was a single, modest headstone made of polished gray granite. It faced the ocean, so he could always watch the sunrise.
Akira walked up to the fence, reading the inscription.
Here lies Akira Shuzenji.Hero. Husband. Father.The Red Winged Angel.
Akira stared at the words. Red Winged Angel. It sounded like a Yu-Gi-Oh card, but knowing his father's personality, he probably would have loved it.
"Was Dad an..." Akira started, then hesitated.
"An orphan?" Honoka finished for him. She opened the gate. "Yeah. He was. He never knew his parents. He grew up in the system, just like you... well, not like you, but you know."
She smiled sadly. "He made it this far on his very own. He built a life from scratch. He was so proud of the name Shuzenji because it meant he finally belonged somewhere."
She gestured for him to enter. "Let's go in."
They stepped into the small enclosure. The grass was neatly trimmed — likely by Nezu's drones.
Honoka knelt immediately, pulling a cloth from her pocket. She began to clean the grave with tender, practiced movements.
"Hello, dear," she said to the stone, her voice conversational. "Sorry, it's been a while. Work has been crazy. And Nezu keeps trying to get me to invest in cryptocurrency. Can you believe that rat?"
She scrubbed a spot of moss away.
"Look who is here to meet you. Finally."
She looked back at Akira.
Akira stepped forward. He felt strange. He was talking to a stone. He was talking to a man he had never met, whose name he shared, whose face he wore.
He cleared his throat.
"Hello there," Akira said, feeling a bit awkward. "I... uh... I heard about you from Mom."
He looked at the inscription again.
"I gotta say," he grinned, a lopsided, arrogant grin that hid his nervousness. "You were so stupid that it was kind of badass. Trying to heal the villain who was killing you? That's some main character energy right there. I don't think I can top that."
Honoka swatted his leg lightly. "Don't encourage him."
"I'm just saying!" Akira laughed. "It takes guts. Stupid guts, but guts."
He knelt beside his mother. They stayed there for a long time. Honoka talked about her work, about Akira's training, about how much he looked like him. Akira mostly listened, occasionally adding a snarky comment that made his mother laugh.
It felt right. It felt like a family reunion, even if one member was silent.
After an hour, the sun was high in the sky.
Honoka stood up, dusting off her dress. She placed a hand on the cold stone one last time.
"We have to go, dear. We have a mountain to climb tomorrow. And if Akira complains, I'm telling him it was your idea."
She turned to her son. "I'll wait for you by the path. Take a minute."
She walked out of the gate, giving him privacy.
Akira was alone with the stone.
The humor faded from his face. He looked at the name Akira.
"Hey," he whispered. "I know I'm not the Akira you expected. I'm a weird reincarnation case and a cynical worldview."
He traced the feather mark on his own forehead.
"But... Mom loves you. A lot. And she loves me. So I guess we're in this together."
He bent down closer to the grave, his voice dropping to a solemn vow.
"Don't worry, Dad. I'm not a pacifist like you. I'll fight dirty. I'll run away if I have to. But I will take care of her. I will make sure she never has to cry like that again."
He patted the stone.
"Rest easy. I've got it from here."
He stood up and walked out of the gate, closing it gently behind him.
He jogged to catch up with his mother, who was waiting by the treeline. She smiled as he approached, draping an arm around his shoulders.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Ready," he nodded. "Let's go conquer that mountain."
As both of them walked away, their laughter fading into the sound of the ocean, a movement fluttered in the air above the grave.
A single red bird, bright as a flame, descended from the sky. It landed on top of the headstone, tilting its head to watch the retreating figures.
It chirped once — a happy, sunny sound — and picked up one of the white flowers they had left on the grave. With a beat of its wings, it took flight, soaring up into the blue sky, watching over them until they disappeared from sight.
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And done with the back story. How was it? Let me know.
And I see the powerstones nearing 200 powerstones. The bonus chapter is near.
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