Kuro didn't walk home with Midoriya Izuku.
For one, they lived in completely different directions. More importantly, they were still strangers. They didn't even know each other's names until moments ago. Even though they attended the same middle school, both of them had reputations.
The quirkless kid chasing a Hero dream.
The scarred outcast with a strange, unknown quirk.
"I don't have a quirk, and I'm applying to U.A.? The outcome's obvious," Kuro had said bluntly earlier. "People like us have our own way to live. Besides… what's so great about being a Hero?"
Midoriya had tried to respond.
"Saving people with a smile… doesn't that feel—"
"It's stupid," Kuro cut in.
That had ended the conversation.
There was no way the two of them would walk home together after that.
Kuro returned to Nekohoshi Orphanage.
The building's design was filled with cat motifs. Even the entryway floor was patterned like paw pads. Inside, Fujita Emi sat near the door, brushing a cat that purred contentedly in her lap.
"Kuro, you're back," she said with a smile. "Granny Neko's in the tea room with guests. You can head over if you want. I'll start dinner soon. The kids have all been well today."
"The kids" included both the children and the cats.
Kuro slipped off his shoes. "Two guests?"
"One of Granny Neko's old friends," Emi explained. "He brought his grandson. Apparently, the boy wants to apply to U.A., so they came to take a look at the area."
Kuro didn't respond.
U.A. again.
It felt like the entire day had been filled with nothing but talk of Heroes and that school.
He couldn't see the appeal.
The orphanage had once been Granny Neko's private residence. It still retained the layout of a traditional estate, with the tea room set in the back garden.
Kuro stepped inside.
Sliding doors opened to a quiet view of a clear spring, small fish drifting beneath the surface. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, calm and still.
"Granny Neko," Kuro greeted, still in his school uniform.
There were three people in the room.
Two older figures sat across from each other, tea in hand. Beside one of them was a boy with messy purple hair and sharp, tired-looking eyes. He absentmindedly stroked a small kitten, his expression unusually gentle.
"This is the child you took in ten years ago?" the old man said, setting down his teacup. "You've raised him well."
Granny Neko didn't reply. Instead, she looked toward the boy beside him.
Kuro followed her gaze.
"Shinso Hitoshi."
"Kurose Kuro."
That was the extent of their introduction.
The two older adults quickly fell into conversation, reminiscing about their school days. The younger pair were left to themselves.
Kuro stood there for a moment, unsure why he'd been called over in the first place.
Watching the kitten relax in Shinso's hands, he felt unnecessary.
"If there's nothing else, I'll head out," Kuro said.
"Wait," Shinso said.
He gestured toward a small stone arrangement near the spring. "Can we talk over there?"
Kuro paused, then followed.
"What do you want?"
"I heard the Kurose family produced Heroes for generations," Shinso said, exhaling slowly. "People said you'd be different. Special. I was curious."
He glanced at Kuro.
"Turns out, not really."
Kuro's expression didn't change.
"A dead family doesn't have much to show," he said flatly. "The last Hero from the Kurose line died ten years ago."
Shinso studied him for a moment.
"The Kita Bay City case. Ten years ago."
"Yeah."
"Take off your mask."
"No."
The refusal came immediately.
Shinso clicked his tongue. "What, are you hiding something? You look that bad?"
Kuro didn't bother answering.
He already knew the truth.
"I've heard about your family's quirk," Shinso continued. "Damage replacement, right? People say the Kurose family could pull others back from the brink of death. Like stealing someone from the Reaper."
He tilted his head slightly.
"But there's always a price."
Kuro's throat felt dry.
"What are you trying to say?"
"Why did you survive," Shinso said, his tone steady, "instead of a fully trained Hero in their prime?"
Kuro didn't answer.
Shinso's gaze sharpened.
"Your father traded his life for yours, didn't he?"
Silence.
The story had existed in fragments for generations. Rumors about the original form of the quirk—extreme, almost impossible abilities involving exchanging damage, matter, even life itself.
No one believed it literally.
At least, not completely.
"I just want to confirm something," Shinso said.
His voice shifted.
"Take off your mask."
"No," Kuro said again.
But the moment the word left his mouth, something changed.
His body stopped responding.
It was like being pushed out of himself. He could see, hear, think—but he couldn't move.
His hand lifted on its own.
The mask slipped from his face and fell to the ground.
Shinso watched him closely.
Kuro felt a surge of anger.
What kind of quirk was this?
Shinso Hitoshi's quirk: Brainwashing.
Anyone who responded to him verbally could be controlled. Once triggered, the target would follow his commands unless they could break free through external stimulation.
"Sorry," Shinso said, though there was no real remorse in his voice. "I was curious."
He studied Kuro's scars without flinching.
"Did it hurt?" he asked.
Back in the tea room, Granny Neko set her cup down and glanced toward the garden.
"That boy could become a strong Hero," she said. "His quirk is powerful. More importantly… there's drive in his eyes. Whatever he wants, he'll chase it."
The old man nodded. "Kuro isn't lacking in potential either. He's from the Kurose family. With proper rehabilitation, his quirk could recover over time. That family has always fought against death itself."
Granny Neko shook her head.
"He can't carry that legacy."
She watched Kuro in silence for a moment.
"If I had to choose between the two… I'd choose the one who still wants something."
Her voice softened.
"Kuro has already given up on this world."
"And someone who's lost that… can't become a Hero."