Blackness.
Weightless, endless black.
Am I dead again?
Is this it? Was my reincarnation some twisted joke? A meaningless loop?
But… I feel something. Pressure. A dull, agonizing throb crawling under my skin like a thousand fire ants. My body is heavy—too heavy. I'm not floating. I'm lying down. Maybe on a bed?
I try to move.
Pain.
God.
It's everywhere.
It slams into me like a tidal wave, dragging nails down every nerve ending. My skin feels like it's being stabbed with thousands of needles and set on fire. My chest feels like it's caving in. My throat—
I open my mouth to scream in pain but nothing comes out.
Just a wheeze. A broken, pitiful whisper of air rasping through a throat that's not there anymore.
And then—
I remember.
The fire.
The heat.
That boy—my classmate—his terrified face as I threw him out the window. The flames. The pain. The sky.
The blue sky.
I should be dead.
Why aren't I dead?
"Yuta!"
A voice—loud, cracking with emotion. Daiki.
"Yuta, baby! Yuta! He's awake! Nurse! Nurse!"
Naomi.
She sounds like she's falling apart.
My vision is… nothing. Just the same black void. I blink—at least I think I blink—but the darkness doesn't change. Doesn't shift.
I want to see them. I try to blink again. Nothing.
Why can't I—
Wait.
Why can't I see?
Am I blind!?
A rush of panic wells in my chest. My heart begins to race, pounding like a drum in my ears. I try to speak, to ask what's happening, to beg someone to tell me this isn't real—but all that escapes is another choking rasp.
There's movement around me. Footsteps. Machines beeping faster. A cool hand on mine—Naomi's. I feel her shaking. Daiki's hand on my other hand. His grip is stronger. But barely. He's trying to stay strong—for me, for Mom—but I can feel the tremble in his fingers.
"It's okay, sweetie," she whispers, her voice torn and ragged. "You're safe now. You're okay. You're—"
She can't finish. Her breath catches. I hear her break.
Daiki's voice follows, thick and trembling. "He's gonna be okay, right? Tell us he's gonna be okay."
A new voice enters. Calm. Professional. Cold.
The doctor.
"I'll be honest with you," he says, "your son is lucky to be alive. A Pro Hero found him just in time. He was seconds away from… from succumbing to the flames. They pulled him out of the debris and stabilized him on-site before rushing him here."
Seconds away from death.
So I was supposed to die.
I listen silently, my heart sinking deeper with every word. The doctor continues, each sentence driving a nail into whatever hope I had left.
"Third-degree burns cover over ninety percent of his body," the doctor says. "We've done everything we can to stop the spread of necrosis, but… it's bad."
Naomi chokes back a sob. I feel her tears hit my hand like raindrops on glass.
"His vocal cords… they're completely gone. Even with surgery or biotech assistance, I'm sorry to say he will likely never speak again."
I want to scream.
I try to scream.
Nothing.
"His right leg was crushed in the collapse. Shattered. We're trying to save it, but there's a high risk of amputation. Even if it's kept, it may never regain full function."
I feel vomit rise in my throat.
"His sense of smell has been heavily compromised. The nerves may never recover. And his eyes were burned beyond repair. I'm so sorry but… He won't see again."
Stop! Stop talking. I can't take anymore.
"We're doing everything we can, but…"
I can feel it. The dread in her voice. She doesn't want to say the next part.
"The extent of the trauma means it's possible—likely—that he may never leave this hospital."
Naomi lets out a noise I've never heard before. A sob. A scream. A broken sound no human should ever have to make. I feel her hand tighten around mine like she's trying to hold me here with sheer will. Daiki swears under his breath, a choked, helpless sound. He hits something—a wall, maybe—then stifles a sob of his own.
His voice breaks "No. No, please. He's just a kid. He's MY kid!"
This…
This can't be happening.
I was supposed to have another chance.
A second life.
A real life.
But now I'm a crippled, blind, mute husk. A child-shaped corpse hooked up to machines.
I saved a life. I did the right thing.
So why… why did I lose everything?
Why do I feel like I'm being punished?
I want to cry. I try to cry. But my eyes—my fucking eyes—are gone. Melted away like wax under a blowtorch. I have no tears left to give.
And all I can think—all that pounds in my skull, over and over again—is:
Why?
Why did I survive?
Why save me if I was just going to wake up like this?
Why give me another life if it was going to be worse than the last?
This isn't a second chance. This is a prison.
I don't want to be here.
This isn't fair.
THIS ISN'T FAIR!!!
I try to scream. I try to cry. I try to move.
But all I can do is lie in this bed, trapped in this body, listening to my parents sob, as the question echoes in my head again and again and again—
Why?
Time passes but I don't know how long it's been.
Days? Weeks? Months?
Time drips slowly in this place. Slower than molasses, slower than decay. The beeping of machines and the low murmurs of nurses are my new constants. My world is darkness, punctuated only by sound and pain.
I can't move.
I can't speak.
I can't do anything.
I'm five years old… and my life is over.
My parents visit every day. Naomi hums to me softly and holds my hand like I'll break if she lets go. Daiki tells me stories about what's happening outside—the Pro Heroes stopping villains, the changing weather, some new café he and Mom tried. He pretends it's all normal. That we're just waiting for me to "get better."
But I hear it in their voices. The cracks.
They cry when they think I'm asleep. They whisper apologies to me like I can't hear them.
But I do.
Nurses come and go. Some are gentle. Some are rough. I hear whispers behind curtains, behind doors. "Poor kid," they say. "Can't believe he made it." "How do you even treat something like this?" "What kind of future could he even have?"
I want to scream at them. Tell them I will get out of here.
But I can't.
There's one nurse I like. Hana.
She sounds young, probably a college student doing her residency. She doesn't talk much, but she plays music. Classical, mostly. Sometimes lo-fi. Sometimes old jazz that reminds me of rainy nights and studying for exams.
I listen. That's all I can do.
But when the music stops, I fall back into the one thing that's always brought me peace.
Science.
I imagine lectures in my head. Little biology classes I teach myself to keep from losing my mind. I walk through the body, piece by piece, system by system.
Today, I'm focusing on skin, the body's largest organ.
Three primary layers: epidermis, dermis, hypodermis.
Epidermis—top layer. Dead cells. Protective barrier.
Dermis—middle layer. Collagen, nerves, blood vessels.
Hypodermis—lowest layer. Fat and connective tissue.
I think about how skin heals itself—how it's supposed to, anyway. Mine doesn't. Mine's too far gone. Burned to nothing.
But…
What if it wasn't?
What if I could tell my body what to do? What if I could just reach into myself and scream at my cells to grow, to repair, to fix what's broken?
If I could just…
Control it.
I focus. Not like some kind of meditation crap—I mean real, cold, scientific concentration. I visualize my skin like a blueprint, and then I try to force it to change. I imagine stem cells differentiating. Collagen weaving itself like thread. Blood vessels forming. Skin sealing.
It's stupid. It's impossible. A stubborn refusal to accept reality.
But I picture it: the epidermis forming from scratch, one cell at a time. I imagine blood vessels creeping up to feed it. I picture nerves and flesh gently threading through, like vines.
I concentrate—not just imagining but commanding. Demanding.
Repair!
Fix yourself!
Do something. Anything. Please!
And then—
A warmth.
It's faint. Almost like a flicker in the darkness. A growing small, warm, patch on my cheek, just below my right eye—where nothing should feel warm anymore. Where there should be only numbness and scars.
My breath catches in my ruined throat, and I feel it. It's like something deep inside me is straining, pulling, obeying.
It's difficult. It takes everything I have. Every ounce of focus. It's like dragging a thread through a needle in the dark. My brain feels like it's going to split open from the pressure.
But I won't stop.
And when it's over, I can tell.
I can feel it.
A small patch of skin that doesn't hurt.
It's healthy.
Not the scarred, melted, dead flesh I wear now. But real skin. Whole. Smooth.
My heart starts pounding even harder and my thoughts race like lightning.
Is this real?
Is this my—
A laugh tries to bubble up from my throat, but it only comes out as a hoarse wheeze.
Holy crap.
Holy crap holy crap holy crap!!!
My quirk.
My quirk just awakened!