The rhythm of the Haimawari household shifted once more, trading the gentle cadence of maternity leave for the purposeful tempo of a hero preparing for war. Ryuko’s return was not a simple resumption of duties; it was a strategic mobilization.
The first order of business was security. Her agency underwent a silent, thorough overhaul. Reinforced windows, state-of-the-art alarm systems, and a complete review of all staff security clearances. It was a fortress being prepared, not just for a Top Hero, but for a mother.
Next was the nursery. A spacious, sunlit room adjacent to her office was converted, soundproofed and filled with everything two toddlers could need. "I want them here," she told Koichi, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Where I can see them. Where I know they're safe." She entrusted her veteran secretary with a new, vital duty: regular check-ins. Nezu’s offer to have the twins watched at U.A., with Koichi nearby, was gracious but declined. Her children would be in her hoard, under her direct protection.
The brand deal paperwork was tackled with a dragon's shrewdness. She reviewed every contract, every clause, her reputation for integrity now sharpened by a new, fierce protectiveness. Her image was her currency, and she would spend it wisely.
Then came the physical transformation. She stood in front of the mirror one morning, gathered her now-long hair in her hands, and with a few decisive snips, returned it to its practical, chin-length style, a blond curtain that swept across the right side of her face. The softness of motherhood was shed in the gym, replaced by honed muscle and familiar power. Her athletic build returned, the curves of pregnancy giving way to the defined lines of the Dragon Hero. It was a return to herself, but a harder, more determined version.
She officially filed the paperwork to bring Nejire Hado back as her primary work-study intern. She would need capable, trusted hands.
Through it all, Koichi was her steadfast support system. He became the anchor in her whirlwind of preparation. He’d take the twins to the park for hours, giving her uninterrupted time to brutalize training dummies or conquer mountains of paperwork. He’d find her asleep at her desk, head pillowed on a contract, and would gently carry her to bed. More often than not, she’d simply curl around him on the couch, using his steady presence as her favorite comfort object, her draconic instincts soothed by his proximity.
The news of the League’s attack on the summer training camp hit like a thunderclap. The fact that Bakugo Katsuki had been kidnapped sent a fresh wave of dread through the hero community. Koichi had been on standby, ready to deploy his mobility for search and rescue, his own class’s safety paramount in his mind.
But the real earthquake was yet to come. The battle at Kamino Ward. The reveal of All For One. All Might’s final, devastating stand.
Koichi had been there, on the periphery. While the world watched the titans clash, his role was evacuation and crowd control. But when he saw All Might falter, saw the Symbol of Peace pushed beyond his limit, he didn’t hesitate. He’d shot into the fray, using his Rebound to deflect flying debris meant for civilians and a weakened All Might, putting himself between the collateral damage of the battle and the people—and the hero—he was sworn to protect. He’d taken a shredded piece of rebar to the arm and a concussive blast to the side, but Recovery Girl had mended the worst of it, leaving him with only fading bruises and a profound sense of loss.
All Might was retired. The Symbol of Peace was gone.
The world felt darker, more uncertain. But as Koichi returned home, weary and bruised, he found Ryuko waiting for him. She wasn't in her workout clothes or her business attire. She was just in a soft sweater, a twin asleep on each shoulder. The agency was ready. Her body was ready. Her will was steel.
She looked at him, at the faint marks on his skin, and her golden eyes held not fear, but a fierce, unwavering resolve. The world had lost its greatest hero. But in this apartment, Koichi saw a different kind of strength—a mother, a wife, a hero, ready to stand her ground and protect what was hers. The preparations were over. Ryukyu was back.
The dawn light filtering through the bedroom window felt different. It wasn't the soft, lazy light of a morning spent in the nest of blankets. It was the clear, sharp light of a day of action. But Ryuko refused to let it dictate her pace. Not just yet.
Today was a gift to herself. One last day of softness.
She lay on her side, propped on an elbow, just watching them. Hayate and Ryuusei were still asleep, tangled together in the middle of the big bed like a pile of warm, breathing puppies. Their little chests rose and fell in perfect rhythm, their faces smooth and utterly peaceful. Ryuko reached out, her finger tracing the impossibly soft curve of Ryuusei's cheek, then brushing a stray brown curl from Hayate's forehead. They were so small, so perfect. A lump formed in her throat. She was going to miss this.
A warm arm slid around her waist, pulling her back against a firm, familiar chest. Koichi, shirtless and smelling sleepily of himself and their sheets, nuzzled into the nape of her neck.
"One more day," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. His hand splayed over her stomach, his thumb stroking gentle circles on the now-toned skin there.
"One more day," she agreed, her voice a whisper. She leaned back into him, savoring the solid, comforting warmth of him. This was her center. Her hoard. Her mate and her offspring, all together, safe and warm.
The morning was a sacrament of cuddles. She didn't get up to train. She didn't check her phone. She gathered both drowsy toddlers into her arms, burying her face in their soft hair, inhaling their sweet, milky scent. She let them climb all over her, their little hands patting her face, their happy babbles the only music she needed.
Later, when Koichi got up to make breakfast, she followed him into the kitchen just to watch the play of muscles across his back as he moved, to lean against the counter and simply appreciate the fit, capable man her husband had grown into. He caught her looking and grinned, flipping a pancake with a flourish before pulling her in for a syrup-sweet kiss.
It was a day of deliberate, luxurious stillness. A day to imprint the feeling of tiny hands and her husband's skin into her memory, a talisman against the chaos she knew awaited her.
The next morning, the light was the same, but the feeling was entirely different. The air crackled with purpose.
Ryuko stood before her full-length mirror, not in soft sweaters, but in the familiar, form-fitting scales of her Ryukyu costume. It felt different. It hugged a body that was once again a weapon, but it also carried the memory of the softer form that had nurtured life. She looked… complete.
Downstairs, Koichi had the twins in their high chairs, feeding them bits of fruit. He looked up as she descended, and his breath caught. There was pride in his eyes, and a flicker of the same awe he’d had when he first saw her in her full glory.
"Like I'm ready to get back to work," she finished, a confident smile on her lips. She kissed each of her daughters on the head, then gave Koichi a deep, promising kiss. "Hold down the fort."
Stepping out of her agency’s doors into the sunlight was like taking a first breath after being underwater for a year. The city sounds, the smell of exhaust and concrete, the weight of the gaze of the public—it was all familiar, yet thrillingly new.
A blur of blue and white shot down from the sky, landing with an excited bounce.
"RYUKYU-SENSEI! YOU'RE BACK! YOU LOOK SO AMAZING! AND SO STRONG! WAS IT WEIRD PUTTING THE SUIT BACK ON? ARE YOU EXCITED? I'M SO EXCITED!"
Nejire Hado beamed, her energy seemingly multiplied after a summer of waiting. She fell into step beside Ryuko effortlessly, the seasoned intern once more.
"It's good to be back, Nejire," Ryuko said, her voice taking on its old, authoritative yet warm tone. "And yes, it feels right."
They launched into the sky, a dragon and her energetic fledgling, soaring over the city on their first patrol. The wind whipping past felt like it was scouring away the last remnants of domestic stillness, awakening the hero beneath.
"As for the new school year," Ryuko said, her eyes scanning the streets below with a practiced ease, "I expect you to be a leader for the new first-years. Your experience is invaluable."
Nejire chattered excitedly about her classes, her friends, her theories on the new students. Ryuko listened, interjecting with guidance, her mind already shifting, adapting. She was a hero. A wife. A mother. She was Ryukyu. And she was finally, completely, back. The sky was hers again, but now, it was a sky she flew in to protect the precious world waiting for her at home.
The sun was a high, bright coin in a vast blue sky, the perfect stage for a triumphant return. Ryukyu cut through the air with a powerful beat of her wings, the wind a familiar symphony against her scaled armor. Beside her, Nejire Hado spiraled and dipped with effortless, chaotic grace, a stream of constant, excited commentary flowing behind her.
Their first patrol back was a resounding success. It was as if the city itself had missed her. A bank robbery was thwarted before it could truly begin, Ryukyu’s sudden descent from the sky and thunderous roar scattering the would-be thieves into the waiting arms of the police. A factory fire was contained by the sheer force of her wingbeats, creating a temporary firebreak until the emergency services could arrive. A runaway construction vehicle was halted by Nejire’s precise spiral energy blasts at its tires, followed by Ryukyu simply landing in front of it and stopping its momentum with her raw strength.
Between incidents, there were the fans. People on the street pointing, cheering. A group of schoolchildren she’d rescued from the fire asking for autographs, their eyes wide with hero worship. A young woman shyly approached, holding a baby, and told Ryukyu she’d been an inspiration during her own pregnancy. Ryukyu signed the autograph, her smile softer, more genuine than it had ever been before.
By afternoon, the adrenaline had settled into a warm, professional satisfaction. They touched down on the balcony of her agency, the glass doors sliding open automatically. The transition from the roaring sky to the climate-controlled, quiet interior was always stark.
"Go ahead and start on the preliminary incident reports, Nejire," Ryukyu instructed, her voice calm but firm. "I'll be in my office with the final drafts."
"Okay, sensei!" Nejire chirped, zipping off toward the main bullpen, already buzzing about the "super-efficient way to categorize collateral damage."
Ryuko’s path, however, took her past the reinforced door of the agency's new nursery. She paused, her sharp hearing picking up the sounds within. Giggles. The soft, melodic voice of her secretary. And the higher, excited pitch of Nejire, who had clearly abandoned reports the second she’d heard the twins were awake.
A small smile touched Ryukyu’s lips. Reports could wait five more minutes.
She pushed the door open silently. The scene inside was one of perfect, contained chaos. Her secretary was gently trying to convince a determined Hayate that crayons were not for eating. And Nejire was on the floor, on her back, with a giggling Ryuusei carefully balanced on her stomach, using her own spiraling energy to make the baby hover a few inches up and down, much to her delight.
"Again! Again!" Ryuusei babbled, her golden eyes shining.
Nejire looked up, beaming. "Ryukyu-sensei! Look! She loves flying! She's a natural!"
"I see that," Ryukyu said, her heart swelling. She nodded to her secretary. "Thank you. I'll take it from here."
Alone with Nejire and her daughters, the formidable Dragon Hero finally allowed her posture to relax. She sank onto a large, soft playmat, stretching out her legs. Hayate immediately abandoned the crayons to crawl into her lap, patting the shiny scales on her armor.
For the next hour, Ryukyu was buried in paperwork, but it was a different kind of work. The steady scratch of her pen was accompanied by the sounds of her children playing and her intern’s joyful presence. It was the harmony she had worked so hard to create.
Finally, she scrawled her signature on the last form with a flourish. Done.
She set the stack aside and turned her full attention to the room. She didn't get up. Instead, she simply held out her arms.
Nejire, understanding immediately, gently floated a squealing Ryuusei over to her. Hayate, not wanting to be left out, clambered up her side.
Ryukyu gathered them both into her lap, these two tiny, warm weights that were her entire world. She leaned back against the wall, surrounded by toys, with a hero-in-training beaming at her and her daughters cuddled close. The scent of baby shampoo and the residual ozone from Nejire's quirk filled the air.
The patrol had been a success. The reports were filed. The city was safer. But this—this quiet, messy, perfect moment at the end of the day—was her real victory. She was Ryukyu, the Dragon Hero. And she was finally, seamlessly, everything she was meant to be.
September 22nd dawned bright and clear, and Koichi Haimawari had a mission. It was a mission requiring more stealth and precision than any patrol, more strategic planning than any lesson plan. It was Ryuko’s birthday, and he was throwing a surprise party.
The key was getting her out of the apartment. Thankfully, her return to hero work provided the perfect cover. He’d kissed her goodbye that morning with an extra bit of warmth, whispering, “Knock ‘em dead today, birthday girl,” but played it off as simple encouragement. She’d left for her agency, none the wiser.
The moment the door closed, Operation: Dragon’s Delight went into effect.
The twins, now energetic toddlers, were his first and most important recruits. He sat cross-legged on the living room floor with them, a plate of tiny, icing-free cupcakes as a motivational tool.
“Okay, team,” he said, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Today is a very special day. It’s Mommy’s birthday.”
Hayate tilted her head. “Mama?”
“Yes! Mama. And when she comes home, we’re going to surprise her. We’re going to run to her and we’re going to say…” He leaned in. “Ha-ppy… birth-day… Mom-my!”
Ryuusei stared at him, her golden eyes serious. Hayate just reached for a cupcake.
“Cupcake after,” Koichi said with a laugh, moving it just out of reach. “Say it with me. Happy… birthday… Mommy!”
It took most of the morning. There were garbled versions (“Habby bur-day Mimi!”), silent, thoughtful stares, and one attempt by Hayate to just yell “MAMA!” at the top of her lungs. But by lunchtime, after much repetition and a few strategic cupcake bribes, they had a serviceable, heart-meltingly cute approximation.
Next, the reinforcements arrived. Moe Kamiji burst in with her usual fiery energy, carrying a bag full of streamers and a comically large “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” banner. Ayame Hebiko followed, serene and elegant, with a beautifully wrapped present and a gourmet cake box.
“Is she gone? Is the coast clear?” Moe stage-whispered, peering around the door.
“She’s at the agency until five,” Koichi confirmed, grinning. “We’ve got time.”
They transformed the apartment. Streamers were hung, the banner was stretched across the main wall, and the smell of Ayame’s exquisite cake filled the air. Moe, with surprising delicacy, helped the twins make crude but enthusiastic birthday cards with crayons and an abundance of glitter.
As five o’clock approached, the air grew thick with anticipation. Koichi’s phone buzzed. A text from Ryuko: On my way home. Long day. Can’t wait to see you and the girls.
Can’t wait to see you too, he typed back, his heart pounding. We have a surprise for you.
He hadn’t planned to add that last part, but the impulse was too strong. A little tease, to make the surprise even sweeter.
He heard her key in the lock. He quickly shooed Moe and Ayame into the kitchen, out of immediate sight. He knelt down between Hayate and Ryuusei.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Get ready… on three…”
The door opened. Ryuko stepped inside, looking tired but satisfied, still in her casual post-work clothes. She kicked off her shoes. “I’m home,” she called out, a weary smile on her face.
On cue, Hayate and Ryuusei, fueled by a day of practice and pure toddler excitement, toddled across the room as fast as their little legs could carry them, their arms outstretched.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOMMY!” they chorused, their voices a little loud, a little slurred, but utterly, perfectly clear.
Ryuko froze. Her briefcase slipped from her fingers and thudded softly on the floor. Her hands flew to her mouth, her golden eyes wide, shimmering with instant, joyful tears. The exhaustion of the day vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated love.
“Oh, my babies…” she breathed, sinking to her knees just in time to catch them as they barreled into her, wrapping their arms around her neck.
“SURPRISE!” yelled Moe, leaping out of the kitchen with a party popper that showered them in confetti.
“Happy Birthday, darling,” Ayame said, emerging with the stunning cake, its candles already lit.
Koichi stayed where he was, watching his wife—the powerful Dragon Hero, the dedicated professional, the love of his life—be reduced to a tearful, laughing mess on the floor by the embrace of their children and the love of their friends.
She looked up at him, her face radiant, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You… you taught them…”
“Team effort,” he said, his own vision blurring as he walked over to join the pile. He wrapped his arms around all three of them, his family.
It wasn’t a grand party. It was a messy, glitter-strewn, cupcake-fueled celebration in their living room. But as Ryuko blew out her candles surrounded by the people she loved most, Koichi knew it was the best birthday she’d ever had. It was a celebration of her, not just as a hero, but as a mother, a wife, and the incredible woman who held their world together.
The patrol had started with the satisfying, straightforward rhythm Ryukyu had come to relish. A minor gang, all bluster and weak Quirks, trying to rob an armored truck. It was practically a training exercise for Nejire, who was effortlessly corralling them with wide, spiraling energy blasts.
Then one of the thugs, a man with a frost Quirk, pulled a vial from his pocket and jammed it into his neck. Trigger.
The change was instantaneous. His control vanished, replaced by a raging, uncontrolled blizzard. Ice erupted from him, sheeting over the street, climbing buildings, trapping civilians' cars. The straightforward arrest became a rescue operation.
"Nejire! Focus on containment and evacuation! Get those people out of the ice!" Ryukyu roared, transforming fully into her dragon form. She beat her mighty wings, creating a powerful downdraft to slow the spread of the ice, then used her tail to smash through frozen barriers to free trapped vehicles.
It was a destructive, chaotic fight. But Ryukyu was a Top 10 Hero for a reason. She weathered the icy assault, closing in on the frothing villain and pinning him with one massive claw, careful not to crush him. The immediate threat was neutralized.
"Nejire, status report!" she called out, her draconic voice echoing in the suddenly quiet, frost-encased street.
"It's all good, sensei! Everyone's safe and—" Nejire's cheerful reply was cut off by a sharp, distinct crack.
Ryukyu felt the impact on her scaled shoulder—a sharp, stinging sensation that barely registered, the bullet flattening against her natural armor. It was a nuisance, nothing more.
But a fraction of a second later, she heard a gasp.
She turned her great head.
Nejire was standing frozen, a look of pure shock on her face. A small, peculiar-looking round was embedded in her arm. There was no major blood, but the effect was immediate and terrifying. The vibrant, swirling energy that always emanated from her sputtered and died. The familiar hum of her Quirk simply… vanished.
"Nejire!" Ryukyu bellowed, her blood running cold.
The remaining villains were quickly subdued by back-up heroes who arrived on the scene. But Ryukyu’s focus was solely on her intern. She shrank back to her human form, rushing to Nejire's side.
"My… my Quirk…" Nejire stammered, flexing her fingers, her face pale with a fear Ryukyu had never seen in her. "I can't feel it. It's gone."
The hospital examination was tense. Ryukyu stood by, her arms crossed, a low, worried rumble in her chest that made the medical equipment vibrate. The doctors were baffled. There was no nerve damage, no toxin. It was as if the Quirk factor itself had been… switched off.
"Temporary Erasure," the lead physician finally concluded, his expression grave. "We've never seen anything like it. The bullet seems to have contained some kind of payload that suppresses Quirk functionality. Based on the metabolic rate of the cells around the wound, the effect should wear off in about twenty-four hours. She'll be fine."
Nejire, though visibly relieved, was uncharacteristically quiet, staring at her hand as if it belonged to a stranger.
Ryukyu, however, felt no relief. A cold dread, far deeper than any frost villain could conjure, settled in her gut.
This wasn't a random weapon. This was targeted, sophisticated, and terrifying. A bullet that could strip a hero of their power. It was a game-changer.
She thought of the USJ. Of Stain. Of the League's growing boldness. And now this.
As she escorted a quiet, Quirkless Nejire back to the agency, her mind raced. Where did these bullets come from? Who made them? How many were there? If they could erase a Quirk temporarily… could they make it permanent?
The victory over the villains felt hollow. The frozen street was already being cleaned up, the damage repaired. But a new, invisible threat had been unveiled. Ryukyu flew over her city, her golden eyes scanning not for obvious threats, but for shadows. The battle was no longer just against villains. It was against a weapon that could fundamentally undermine the very concept of heroism. And she knew, with chilling certainty, that this was only the beginning.
The air in the U.A. stadium crackled with an even greater intensity than the previous year. The students of Year Two weren't wide-eyed newcomers anymore; they were battle-hardened young heroes, their Quirks refined, their resolve steeled by real-world terror. The Sports Festival was no longer just a showcase; it was a declaration of intent.
But before the first event could begin, Class 2-A and 2-B were treated to a special, heart-melting preview. At Koichi’s request, Ryuko had arrived at the school not in her hero gear, but in civilian clothes, a twin holding tightly to each hand.
A chorus of coos and excited whispers erupted as they entered the preparation room. These were students who had seen the Skycrawler face down the Hero Killer, who had witnessed the power of the pros firsthand. But the sight of their formidable teacher beaming as two tiny, wobbly toddlers shyly peered out from behind their mother’s legs was a different kind of awe-inspiring.
"Everyone," Koichi announced, his voice full of paternal pride, "I'd like you to meet Hayate and Ryuusei."
The usually boisterous class fell into a hushed, reverent silence. Izuku Midoriya immediately began muttering under his breath, analyzing the potential Quirk combinations with frantic, adorable intensity. Ochako Uraraka had her hands clasped over her heart, her eyes shining. Eijiro Kirishima was trying (and failing) to look manly while his expression completely melted.
Ryuko gave a small, warm smile. "They've been very excited to meet all of you."
It was Tsuyu Asui who broke the ice, kneeling down to be at their level with a calm, gentle "ribbit." "Hello there. You're both very brave to come to such a big, noisy place, kero."
Hayate, emboldened, took a tentative step forward, while Ryuusei observed with her mother's serious golden eyes. The brief visit was a wave of gentle pats, soft greetings, and a palpable sense of warmth. It was a reminder of what they were all fighting to protect—a future of simple, happy moments.
Then, the festival began.
The growth from the previous year was staggering. The obstacle race was a masterclass in controlled power, with Shoto Todoroki using his ice with surgical precision to create pathways and traps, no longer just brute-force glaciers. The cavalry battle was a whirlwind of complex strategies, with Izuku’s team displaying incredible synergy.
Ryuko watched from the faculty box, her analyst's mind fully engaged. She was there to scout, and two students in particular held her attention.
Tsuyu Asui was a study in effortless efficiency. Her frog Quirk wasn't flashy, but her mobility was unparalleled. She navigated every challenge with a calm, unflappable grace, her tactical mind always two steps ahead. She used her tongue with the precision of a surgical instrument, rescuing teammates and disarming opponents with a practicality that Ryuko deeply respected. This was a hero who understood her tools and used them with brilliant economy.
Ochako Uraraka, meanwhile, had transformed. The girl who once made herself sick from overexertion was now a powerhouse of controlled, devastating force. She had integrated gunhead martial arts into her style, making her a threat at close range the second she made an opponent weightless. But it was her creativity that impressed Ryuko most. During the tournament segment, when faced with a powerful, earth-shaking opponent, Uraraka didn't just try to float them. She made the entire debris field around them weightless, creating a chaotic, orbiting asteroid belt that she controlled with stunning skill. It was a level of environmental manipulation that spoke of a profound understanding of her Quirk's potential.
The final match was a titanic clash between a more confident, fluid Izuku Midoriya and a Shoto Todoroki who had finally fully embraced his fire. It was a breathtaking display, but in the end, Todoroki’s overwhelming, balanced power secured him the victory, a pillar of ice and flame standing tall in the center of the stadium.
As the confetti fell for Todoroki, Ryuko’s mind was already made up. She leaned over to Koichi, who was clapping proudly for all his students.
"Tell Asui and Uraraka to expect a call from my agency," she said, a satisfied smile on her face. "I have a feeling they're exactly what I'm looking for."
The festival had crowned a champion, but Ryukyu had found her next generation of heroes. She saw in them not just power, but the heart, the intelligence, and the resilience that the coming years would desperately require. The future was in good hands.
The last application form was signed with a flourish. Uraraka, Asui. Their names looked right on the agency letterhead. A wave of bone-deep fatigue washed over Ryuko. The day's patrol had been long, the paperwork endless. She trudged into the nursery, where the soft, sleepy sounds of the twins' afternoon nap called to her like a siren's song.
She didn't even bother changing. She just sank onto the large, plush mat between their cribs, gathering a drowsy Hayate into one arm and a sighing Ryuusei into the other. Within moments, the warm weight of her daughters and the quiet of the room pulled her under.
Her dream was not a memory, but a peculiar, sun-drenched fantasy.
She was fifteen again, but the world was different. The air smelled of chalk dust and hope, not alleyway grit and desperation. She stood on the U.A. grounds, her uniform crisp, her hair shorter, her heart pounding with a different kind of anticipation. The Entrance Exam was about to begin.
Not the elusive, scarred Crawler, but a boy. Koichi Haimawari. A little scrawny, hopelessly average, with a nervous energy that was entirely out of place among the powerhouses. But when the mock city erupted into chaos, he didn't freeze. He moved. Not with explosive power, but with an impossible, low-gravity glide. He wasn't fighting robots; he was a ghost, sliding between their legs, rebounding off walls to redirect their attacks into each other, creating paths for other, more powerful students to follow. He was saving people with a breathtaking, unorthodox grace.
Their eyes met across the battlefield. His were wide with panic and determination. Hers, golden and draconic, narrowed with an instant, primal fixation. Mine. The instinct was the same, a deep, resonant pull in her soul. But here, it wasn't forbidden. It was just… high school.
They were placed in the same class. He was the underdog, the kid with the "weak" Quirk everyone underestimated. She was the powerhouse, the destined Top Hero. She found herself drawn to him, sitting next to him, "accidentally" brushing against him. Her draconic possessiveness manifested not as rooftop confessions, but as growling at any other girl who tried to partner with him for training exercises.
Their first kiss wasn't under the stars, charged with the danger of his secret. It was behind the gym after school, clumsy and sweet, surrounded by the scent of cut grass. She'd backed him against the wall, her confidence overwhelming his shyness. "I've decided you're my favorite," she'd declared, and he'd just blushed and stammered, "O-okay."
They were Koichi and Ryuko, the unlikely high school sweethearts. She helped him train, her brute strength a perfect counterpoint to his evasive precision. He taught her control, patience, how to see the battlefield not just as a thing to dominate, but as a puzzle to solve. They studied together, fought together, grew up together. There was no Number Six, no HPSC deal hanging over them. Their biggest worries were exams and where to go on their next date.
The path was clear, paved by U.A.'s guidance. They graduated together. He became the Skycrawler, a licensed hero celebrated for his unique rescue tactics. She became Ryukyu. They were a power couple, their love story a public fairy tale.
Ryuko awoke with a soft gasp, the dream fading like mist. The sterile scent of Shiketsu High was replaced by the warm, familiar smell of her agency. Hayate was snoring softly into her shoulder, a tiny fist clutching her shirt. Ryuusei was curled against her other side, her breathing even.
And around them all were Koichi’s arms. He had come to see her and the twins at her agency, found his family sleeping, and curled around them protectively. His face was peaceful in sleep, the lines of stress and the scar from his real battles softened.
She lay still, the echo of the dream clinging to her. That other life… it was simpler. Softer. A life without scars, without trauma, without the weight of terrible choices and lost friends.
But as she looked at the man holding her, really looked at him, she saw the truth. The Koichi in her dream was a sweet boy. The Koichi in her arms was a man. A man who had faced the darkness of the world and chosen to be kind. A man who had fought for every scrap of happiness they had. The fire of their love hadn't been kindled in the safe sunshine of a schoolyard; it had been forged in the crucible of shared danger and hard-won trust. The forbidden nature of their beginning had deepened their bond into something unbreakable.
The dream had been beautiful, but it was a fantasy. This—the weight of her daughters, the solid strength of her husband, the memory of the struggles they had overcome together—this was real. This was better.
She nestled back into his embrace, breathing him in. The path they had walked had been harder, littered with pain and sacrifice. But it had led them here, to this perfect, peaceful moment. And she wouldn't have traded a single, difficult step of it for all the easy, sunlit days in the world.
The air in Ryukyu’s agency training facility hummed with a new, vibrant energy. The return of Nejire Hado was a given, her boundless enthusiasm filling the space as usual. But today, she had brought the new recruits.
Ochaco Uraraka and Tsuyu Asui stood at attention, their new intern uniforms crisp, a mix of excitement and nerves plain on their faces. Ryukyu observed them, her expression neutral but her golden eyes missing nothing. This wasn't just about evaluating their power; it was about assessing their character, their potential to be part of her hoard.
"Welcome," Ryukyu said, her voice calm but carrying the weight of her rank. "Your performance at the Sports Festival was impressive. But the festival is a controlled environment. The city is not. Our first step is to gauge your current technical limits. Hado, you're with me. We'll demonstrate."
The session was intense. Ryukyu put them through a grueling series of drills focused on precision and control. She had Uraraka practice making specific, small objects weightless with a touch, then rapidly switching targets, all while maintaining her own balance and fighting off drone "attackers" with the martial arts moves she'd learned.
For Asui, the test was in mobility and environmental adaptation. Ryukyu had her navigating a complex, shifting obstacle course designed to mimic a collapsed building, using her tongue not just for movement, but for delicate tasks like retrieving "survivor" dummies without causing further injury.
Nejire, meanwhile, showcased her refined control, her spiraling energy blasts now capable of everything from wide-area suppression to pinpoint strikes that could disarm a villain without harming a hostage.
Ryukyu watched it all, offering curt, precise feedback. "Uraraka, your speed is good, but your footwork is sloppy when you're multitasking. A floating opponent is useless if you're flat on your back. Asui, your instincts are excellent, but you hesitate before committing to a complex tongue maneuver. Hesitation gets people killed."
The girls were sweating and breathless, but their eyes shone with determination. They were being challenged, and they were rising to it.
Satisfied with their baseline, Ryukyu moved them to the real test: patrol.
Stepping out onto the city streets with three interns in tow was a different kind of operation. Ryukyu took the lead, a powerful, silent presence. Nejire floated above, providing aerial reconnaissance with her usual chatter now focused into tactical reports. Uraraka and Asui brought up the rear, their eyes wide, taking in every detail.
The first few hours were quiet—directions given to tourists, a lost cat returned, a minor traffic accident coordinated. It was mundane, but Ryukyu watched how her new interns handled it. Asui was calm and methodical, her straightforward nature putting civilians at ease. Uraraka was earnest and empathetic, her bright smile a comfort.
Then, the call came over the comms. A robbery in progress at a bank two blocks over, the perpetrators armed and using emitter-type Quirks to hold back police.
"This is it," Ryukyu said, her voice dropping to a tactical growl. "Hado, high-altitude overview and containment. I want a energy net over any potential escape routes. Uraraka, Asui, you're with me. Containment and civilian extraction are the priorities. Do not engage the primary targets unless I give the order."
They arrived at a scene of controlled chaos. Ryukyu transformed in a flash of scales, her roar shaking the street and drawing the villains' attention. Asui immediately scaled the building, using her camouflage to get a vantage point and her tongue to swiftly, silently extract civilians from second-story windows who were trapped by the fray.
Uraraka, following Ryukyu's lead, focused on the environment. When one villain tried to create a smokescreen, she made the smoke canisters weightless and hurled them away with a kick. When another unleashed a shockwave, she touched the rubble it kicked up, sending it harmlessly floating into the sky instead of towards the police line.
It was a flawless, coordinated effort. Ryukyu handled the direct confrontation, a unstoppable force, while her interns worked seamlessly around her, neutralizing threats and mitigating damage without ever needing to throw a punch at a villain. Within minutes, the robbers were surrounded, disoriented, and easily captured.
Back at the agency, as the sun began to set, Ryukyu addressed her interns. The stern expression was gone, replaced by a look of genuine approval.
"Uraraka. Your environmental control is exceptional. You think like a rescue hero, and that is a rare and valuable skill."
"Asui. Your calm under pressure and tactical adaptability are exactly what I look for in a sidekick. You were invaluable today."
She looked at both of them, then at a beaming Nejire.
"You all performed to a standard I expect from pros. This week, we push harder. The world is getting more dangerous. But after today," a small, rare smile touched her lips, "I am confident you are ready for it."
The two newest members of Ryukyu's agency stood a little taller, the exhaustion replaced by a fierce, glowing pride. They had passed the first test. They were no longer just students; they were her fledglings.
The week had been a resounding success. Ryuko watched, a quiet pride warming her chest, as Uraraka and Asui—Uravity and Froppy—truly came into their own. Their movements were sharper, their decisions more confident. The bank heist they’d helped thwart wasn't just luck; it was the result of seamless teamwork. Uraraka’s clever use of her Zero Gravity on the villains' own weapons, sending them floating harmlessly away, and Asui’s swift, silent extractions of terrified hostages had been a masterclass in non-lethal resolution.
And in the quiet moments back at the agency, the sound she cherished most was the laughter echoing from the nursery. Nejire, Uraraka, and Asui had become the twins’ favorite jungle gyms. Hayate would shriek with delight as Uraraka made her float just inches off the ground, while Ryuusei would solemnly offer a toy to a patiently crouching Asui. It was a harmony of hero work and family life that felt stronger than ever.
That fragile peace shattered with the buzz of her private line. The caller ID made her sit up straighter: Sir Nighteye.
“Ryukyu,” his voice was characteristically precise, devoid of pleasantries. “I am contacting you regarding a time-sensitive, high-risk operation. Your specific capabilities are required.”
He laid it out with chilling clarity. The Shie Hassaikai. A resurgent yakuza group. And their product: the Quirk-erasing bullets. The source of the terror that had gripped her since Nejire was shot.
“We have a lead inside their compound. A girl named Eri. She is the source of the bullets’ power. Our intelligence suggests a raid is imminent to retrieve her and dismantle the operation. The risk is extreme. Overhaul, the leader, has a devastating Quirk. We need overwhelming, contained force. We need you.”
Ryuko’s blood ran cold. The abstract threat had a name, a location. It was real. And a child was at the center of it.
She thought of Nejire’s terrified face, the hollow feeling of a vanished Quirk. She thought of the twins, their bright, Quirk-filled futures. She thought of the countless heroes who could be rendered helpless by this evil.
“What is the timeline?” she asked, her voice steady, though her knuckles were white where she gripped the desk.
“We mobilize in 48 hours. This stays within the operation group. No one else can know.”
She ended the call and sat in the sudden silence of her office. The cheerful sounds from the nursery felt miles away. She looked at the family photo on her desk—Koichi, her, the twins, all smiling, a moment of perfect, unguarded happiness.
This was what she foThe atmosphere in Sir Nighteye’s private conference room was thick enough to taste. It was a gathering of some of the most formidable and specialized heroes in Japan, and the gravity of the situation had stripped away all pretense.
Ryukyu sat with a rigid posture, Koichi beside her. His presence was a quiet comfort, his hand finding hers under the table, giving it a firm squeeze. Across from them sat Eraserhead, looking more exhausted and grim than usual, with a determined Mirio Togata at his side. Fat Gum’s large frame seemed to absorb the light in the room, his usual joviality replaced by a stern focus, a subdued Kirishima and a deeply anxious Tamaki flanking him.
Nejire was there too, her usual boundless energy contained into a sharp, simmering intensity. The memory of her powerlessness was a fresh wound.
Sir Nighteye stood before them, his expression unyielding. He methodically laid out the nightmare.
He began with the Shie Hassaikai, their structure, and their leader, Overhaul, whose Quirk was a terrifying ability to disassemble and reassemble matter. Then, he presented the core of the horror: a slide showing a small, terrified girl with white hair and a horn. Eri.
“She is the source,” Nighteye stated, his voice cold and precise. “Her Quirk rewinds living organisms. Overhaul is using her very life force, harvesting her body to create the bullets that erase Quirks.”
A collective wave of nausea and fury swept through the room. Ryukyu’s grip on Koichi’s hand tightened until her knuckles were white. Using a child. It was a depravity that made Stain’s fanaticism seem almost sane.
Nighteye then connected the threads, turning the operation into a deeply personal affair for everyone present.
He looked at Nejire and Tamaki. “The bullet used on Hado was a prototype. A temporary suppressant. Our intelligence suggests permanent versions are now operational. Suneater, your experience was a warning shot.”
His gaze shifted to Kirishima. “The Trigger-enhanced villain you fought, the one who could pierce your Unbreakable form, was a test subject for the Hassaikai. Their drugs and their bullets are two sides of the same coin.”
Finally, he turned to Koichi. “Skycrawler. Your history, your knowledge of the Naruhata underworld, the Quirk-enhancing drug distribution networks… it all points back to this group. They are the source, the manufacturers on a scale we’ve never seen. Your insight into their logistics is invaluable.”
Koichi gave a grim nod. “They’ve gone corporate. This isn’t back-alley dealing anymore.”
The room understood. This wasn’t just another villain takedown. It was a surgical strike against an existential threat. For Ryukyu, it was about protecting every hero, every child, from the horror of having their very identity stolen. For Koichi, it was the culmination of a fight he’d been waging since his days in the shadows. For the students, it was a brutal lesson in the true cost of heroism.
“The operation commences in 24 hours,” Nighteye concluded, his glasses glinting. “We have one objective: extract Eri and dismantle the Hassaikai. Failure is not an option. The future of Quirk society depends on our success.”
The meeting adjourned, leaving behind a heavy silence. There were no boasts, no words of encouragement. Only the shared, grim understanding of the battle to come. As they filed out, Ryukyu caught Koichi’s eye. No words were needed. The look they shared was a promise, a vow. They would go into this darkness together, and they would bring that little girl out. Whatever it took.ught for. This was the hoard she protected. The Shie Hassaikai weren't just criminals; they were a disease threatening the very essence of the world she was building for her daughters.
She stood up, her resolve hardening into something cold and sharp as diamond. The playful Dragon Hero was gone. In her place was Ryukyu, the Top Ten Pro, a force of nature. The yakuza had made a weapon out of a child. They had threatened the foundation of hero society.
They were about to learn why you never threaten a dragon’s hoard.
The atmosphere in Sir Nighteye’s private conference room was thick enough to taste. It was a gathering of some of the most formidable and specialized heroes in Japan, and the gravity of the situation had stripped away all pretense.
Ryukyu sat with a rigid posture, Koichi beside her. His presence was a quiet comfort, his hand finding hers under the table, giving it a firm squeeze. Across from them sat Eraserhead, looking more exhausted and grim than usual, with a determined Mirio Togata at his side. Fat Gum’s large frame seemed to absorb the light in the room, his usual joviality replaced by a stern focus, a subdued Kirishima and a deeply anxious Tamaki flanking him.
Nejire was there too, her usual boundless energy contained into a sharp, simmering intensity. The memory of her powerlessness was a fresh wound.
Sir Nighteye stood before them, his expression unyielding. He methodically laid out the nightmare.
He began with the Shie Hassaikai, their structure, and their leader, Overhaul, whose Quirk was a terrifying ability to disassemble and reassemble matter. Then, he presented the core of the horror: a slide showing a small, terrified girl with white hair and a horn. Eri.
“She is the source,” Nighteye stated, his voice cold and precise. “Her Quirk rewinds living organisms. Overhaul is using her very life force, harvesting her body to create the bullets that erase Quirks.”
A collective wave of nausea and fury swept through the room. Ryukyu’s grip on Koichi’s hand tightened until her knuckles were white. Using a child. It was a depravity that made Stain’s fanaticism seem almost sane.
Nighteye then connected the threads, turning the operation into a deeply personal affair for everyone present.
He looked at Nejire and Tamaki. “The bullet used on Hado was a prototype. A temporary suppressant. Our intelligence suggests permanent versions are now operational. Suneater, your experience was a warning shot.”
His gaze shifted to Kirishima. “The Trigger-enhanced villain you fought, the one who could pierce your Unbreakable form, was a test subject for the Hassaikai. Their drugs and their bullets are two sides of the same coin.”
Finally, he turned to Koichi. “Skycrawler. Your history, your knowledge of the Naruhata underworld, the Quirk-enhancing drug distribution networks… it all points back to this group. They are the source, the manufacturers on a scale we’ve never seen. Your insight into their logistics is invaluable.”
Koichi gave a grim nod. “They’ve gone corporate. This isn’t back-alley dealing anymore.”
The room understood. This wasn’t just another villain takedown. It was a surgical strike against an existential threat. For Ryukyu, it was about protecting every hero, every child, from the horror of having their very natural identity stolen. For Koichi, it was the culmination of a fight he’d been waging since his days in the shadows. For the students, it was a brutal lesson in the true work of heroism.
“The operation commences in 24 hours,” Nighteye concluded, his glasses glinting. “We have one objective: extract Eri and dismantle the Hassaikai. Failure is not an option. The future of Quirk society depends on our success.”
The meeting adjourned, leaving behind a heavy silence. There were no boasts, no words of encouragement. Only the shared, grim understanding of the battle to come. As they filed out, Ryukyu caught Koichi’s eye. No words were needed. The look they shared was a promise, a vow. They would go into this darkness together, and they would bring that little girl out. Whatever it took.
The air outside the Shie Hassaikai compound was taut with anticipation, a drawn bowstring waiting for the snap. Heroes and their sidekicks were poised, a coiled spring of power and intent. Ryukyu’s squad—herself, Nejire, Uraraka, and Asui—stood ready, a unit forged in the fires of the past week.
Instead, the compound’s front wall exploded outwards, and a monstrous figure, swollen to grotesque proportions by his own Quirk, burst into the open. Rikiya Katsukame. He was a titan, and his very presence seemed to suck the vitality from the air.
“He’s mine!” Ryukyu roared, transforming in a flash of scales. The fight was immediate and brutal. Rikiya’s stamina-draining aura was a tangible force, a creeping exhaustion that threatened to sap their will. But Ryukyu’s squad was relentless. Nejire’s spiraling energy blasts harried him from above, Uraraka lightened debris for Asui to whip at him with incredible speed, and Ryukyu met his raw power with her own draconic strength.
It was a war of attrition, and the Yakuza thug was a bottomless well. But they were a team. Seeing an opening, Uraraka made a massive chunk of rubble weightless. “Froppy, now!”
Asui’s tongue shot out, wrapping around the rubble, and with a powerful heave, she swung it like a pendulum, smashing it into Rikiya’s legs and staggering him. In that moment of imbalance, Nejire unleashed a concentrated blast to his chest, forcing him to stumble back.
“RYUKYU!” Nejire screamed.
It was all the opening the Dragon Hero needed. She surged forward, wrapped her massive claws around the disoriented giant, and with a thunderous beat of her wings, launched into the sky. She ascended, higher and higher, a dragon with her captured prey, before twisting and plunging back to earth in a devastating, meteor-like body slam.
The impact was cataclysmic. The ground beneath them couldn’t hold. With a roar of shattered concrete, Ryukyu and the now-unconscious Rikiya plummeted through the floor, crashing down into the underground labyrinth below.
The world was chaos. She found herself in a warzone. She saw Nighteye, grievously wounded. She saw Mirio—Lemillion—fighting with breathtaking, intangible skill alongside Skycrawler, a cyan blur of motion, their combined efforts barely holding back the terrifying form of Overhaul.
Then, the nightmare unfolded. A Yakuza member raised a pistol, aiming not at a hero, but at the small, terrified figure of Eri.
“NO!” Mirio’s cry was a raw thing of pure heroism. He moved without thought, a phantom of his former self, placing his body between the bullet and the girl. The round struck him in the side. There was no blood, but the effect was instantaneous and horrifying. The vibrant, powerful presence of Lemillion’s Quirk simply… vanished. He stumbled, his face a mask of a heroic smile hiding the shock and pain, but he didn’t fall. He stood, quirkless, between the monster and the child.
Overhaul, enraged, charged. Mirio, even without his power, met him with a desperate, furious series of blows, his training and willpower his only weapons. Koichi was a dervish around them, sliding and rebounding, his attacks a constant, distracting nuisance to the villain.
Then, another shot rang out. A different thug, seeing his chance, fired at Eri once more.
A blur of Red cloth and grey scales moved faster than thought.
The mother’s instinct, the dragon’s protective fury, was absolute. Ryukyu was a wall of armored flesh between the bullet and Eri. It ricocheted off her scales with a sharp ping, harmless.
She stood over the trembling girl, a low, earth-shaking growl rumbling in her chest. Her massive body shielded Eri completely. “You will not touch her,” she snarled, her voice the promise of extinction. No one dared approach.
Overhaul, seeing his prize so close yet so impossibly guarded, let out a scream of pure rage. He broke away from Mirio and Koichi, lunging for Eri with an outstretched, disassembling hand.
Mirio, with the last of his strength, delivered a perfect, quirkless punch to Overhaul’s back, stunning him for a critical second.
That was all Ryukyu needed.
Her claw, larger than the man himself, swept out with blinding speed. It was not an attack meant to subdue. It was an act of primal, protective violence. The swipe was clean, brutal, and final.
Overhaul screamed, a high, shrill sound of agony and utter shock as both of his arms were severed from his body at the shoulders. He collapsed to his knees, staring at the stumps, his devastating Quirk rendered useless in an instant.
The fight left the remaining Yakuza. The heart of their operation had been torn out.
As the dust settled, Ryukyu shrank back to her human form, her body trembling not from exertion, but from the aftershock of her rage. She turned her back on the crippled monster and knelt before Eri, her voice softening from a roar to a whisper.
“You’re safe now,” she murmured, gently wrapping the girl in a protective embrace. “No one will ever hurt you again.”
She looked up, her golden eyes meeting Koichi’s across the ruined battlefield. In his gaze, she saw no horror at her brutality, only understanding, and a shared, weary relief. They had faced the darkness. They had protected the innocent. The monster was slain, and the dragon’s hoard was secure.
The hospital room was a stark, silent contrast to the chaos of the raid. Sir Nighteye lay against the white pillows, his body broken, his spirit seemingly dimmed. The vibrant, precise man was gone, replaced by a fading echo. When Ryukyu entered, his glasses turned toward her, the light catching them, hiding his eyes but not the grim set of his mouth.
"Ryukyu," he said, his voice a dry whisper. "Thank you for coming."
"How are you, Sir?" she asked, her own voice softer than usual, the dragon’s roar subdued by the sterile quiet.
He gave a slight, pained shake of his head, dismissing the pleasantry. "There is no time for that. We must speak of the girl. Eri."
Ryukyu’s posture straightened. "What about her?"
"My final act, the last entry in my ledger, will be to ensure her future," Nighteye stated, his words carrying the weight of a last will and testament. "The system will place her somewhere. An orphanage. A foster home. But she is not a normal child. Her Quirk, her trauma… she needs a specific kind of safety. A specific kind of family."
His eyes, now visible as he looked directly at her, were filled with an unnerving clarity. "I have put your names forward. You and Skycrawler. As the primary option for her guardianship."
Ryukyu’s breath caught. "Us?"
"You have a secure home. You are both proven heroes, connected to U.A., the safest institution in the country. And most importantly," he paused, a flicker of something almost gentle in his gaze, "you have young children. Hayate and Ryuusei are too young to understand strangeness, to push her away. They will simply accept her as a new sister. That immediate, unconditional acceptance is what she needs most. She needs to see what a family is."
The request was immense. To take in a child whose power had been used to create weapons, a child who had known nothing but pain. But as Ryukyu looked at Nighteye, seeing the last of his strength being spent on this final, calculated act of care, she felt no hesitation. The same instinct that had made her a shield between Eri and the bullets now made the decision for her.
"We’ll take her," Ryukyu said, her voice firm. "She’ll be safe with us."
A faint, relieved smile touched Nighteye’s lips. "Good."
Later, she found Koichi, and together they went to Eri’s room. The little girl was curled up in the large hospital bed, looking impossibly small and fragile. She flinched when they entered, her red eyes wide with a fear that broke Ryukyu’s heart.
"Hello, Eri," Koichi said, his voice the gentlest Ryukyu had ever heard it. He knelt by the bed, making himself small and non-threatening. "My name is Koichi. This is Ryuko. We… we wanted to talk to you about where you'll go when you leave the hospital."
Eri just stared, clutching the blanket tightly.
"We have a home," Ryukyu said, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. "And we have two daughters, a little younger than you. Their names are Hayate and Ryuusei. We would like you to come live with us. To be part of our family."
The word 'family' seemed to confuse her more than comfort her. Before they could say more, the door opened, and Mirio and Izuku peeked in. Mirio, though pale and moving stiffly without his Quirk, beamed his signature smile.
"Eri! Look who came to visit!"
The sight of Mirio, her hero, brought the first flicker of light to Eri’s eyes. Izuku followed, smiling warmly. The room suddenly felt warmer, safer. Seeing Eri interact with them, the tiny, trusting way she looked at Mirio, solidified their resolve.
While the boys visited, Koichi pulled Ryukyu aside. "I need to talk to Aizawa," he murmured. "If we're doing this, we need to be prepared. Her Quirk… it's incredibly dangerous. He's the only one who can teach her to control it. We can't let what happened to her ever happen again."
Ryukyu nodded in firm agreement. It was a necessary step. They would provide the love and safety; Aizawa would provide the tools for control.
When it was time to leave, Eri was watching them, a silent question in her eyes. They couldn't take her yet; the doctors and social workers needed more time.
"We have to go now," Koichi said softly. "But we will be back for you. I promise."
They left her there, in the hospital room, with Mirio and Izuku to watch over her. Walking away was one of the hardest things they had ever done. But as they stepped out into the sunlight, their hands found each other. Their family was about to grow. The path ahead would be difficult, filled with challenges they couldn't yet imagine. But they were Skycrawler and Ryukyu. They had faced down monsters. They could certainly learn to be parents to three.
The morning they were to bring Eri home felt different from any other. It wasn't the pre-mission tension of the raid, nor the daily rhythm of hero work. This was a quiet, profound anticipation. The apartment, usually a scene of happy chaos, was meticulously prepared. A new room, right next to the twins', had been furnished with a soft bed, shelves for the few toys she had, and a nightlight shaped like a gentle star.
Koichi had spent the last few days shuttling between U.A. and the hospital, his classes covered by a understanding All Might. Each visit, he’d brought something small—a colorful picture book, a soft stuffed rabbit, a blanket with a dragon pattern. He’d sit with Eri, not demanding conversation, just offering a quiet, steady presence. He’d tell her simple stories about Hayate and Ryuusei, about their silly antics, preparing her for the whirlwind that was about to enter her life.
Now, standing in the hospital room as a social worker finalized the paperwork, Ryuko felt a surge of protective fierceness. Eri was dressed in new clothes they’d bought for her, clutching the stuffed rabbit tightly. Her small hand felt incredibly fragile in Ryuko’s as they led her out of the hospital and into the waiting car.
The car ride was silent. Eri stared out the window, her red eyes wide, taking in a world that was no longer a cage. Koichi drove, occasionally pointing out a bird or a particularly fluffy cloud, his voice a calm, reassuring hum.
When they arrived at the apartment building and rode the elevator up, Eri’s grip on Ryuko’s hand tightened. The door swung open, revealing the warm, welcoming space. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the living room.
"Welcome home, Eri," Koichi said, his smile gentle and genuine.
They gave her space. They showed her to her new room, letting her explore it on her own terms. She ran a tentative hand over the soft comforter, touched the star nightlight. It was hers. A place that was just hers.
After a little while, when Eri seemed slightly more settled, Ryuko nodded to Koichi. It was time.
He quietly opened the door to the twins' room. A moment later, two tiny tornadoes of energy came toddling out. Hayate, ever the pioneer, spotted the new person first. She stopped in her tracks, her head tilting. Ryuusei, close behind, mirrored the gesture.
Eri froze, uncertainty and a flicker of old fear in her eyes. She was used to being seen as a tool, a thing.
Hayate took a few wobbly steps forward. She didn't see a horn or a dangerous Quirk. She didn't see a history of pain. She saw a bigger girl. A new friend. She held up a half-eaten rice cracker she’d been clutching.
"Shawe?" Hayate babbled, offering the soggy, precious treasure.
Ryuusei, not to be outdone, toddled over and, with great seriousness, held up her favorite stuffed dragon.
Eri looked from the cracker to the toy, then to the two identical pairs of golden eyes staring at her with pure, uncomplicated curiosity. The fear in her own eyes began to melt, replaced by a dawning wonder.
Tentatively, she reached out and took the cracker. Hayate beamed as if she’d just been given a medal. Eri took a tiny bite. Then, a small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.
That was the breakthrough.
The rest of the afternoon was a slow, beautiful unfolding. The twins, with the innate wisdom of children, didn’t crowd her. They simply included her. They sat on the floor near her, playing with their blocks, occasionally pushing one in her direction. When naptime came, Ryuko gathered all three onto the large couch. Hayate and Ryuusei immediately cuddled into their mother’s sides, as was their routine. After a moment’s hesitation, Eri, drawn by the magnetic pull of warmth and safety, slowly leaned against Ryuko’s other side.
Ryuko wrapped an arm around her, holding her new daughter close. She looked over at Koichi, who was watching the scene, his own eyes shimmering with emotion.
Sir Nighteye had been right. The twins didn’t see a project or a problem. They saw a sister. And in their simple, unconditional acceptance, they were giving Eri the most powerful healing of all: the chance to finally, just be a child. In the warm, sunlit apartment, surrounded by the soft sounds of napping toddlers, a new family was born, not from blood, but from choice, from protection, and from a love strong enough to rewrite a tragic past.
The world outside the apartment was a vast, terrifying, and exhilarating mystery to Eri. For so long, her world had been a sequence of sterile, painful rooms. Now, holding tightly to Ryuko’s hand with one hand and Koichi’s with the other, she was stepping into a universe of color and sound.
Their first stop was the park. The sheer openness of it made her shrink back for a moment, but the sight of Hayate and Ryuusei immediately waddling off onto the grass with delighted squeals gave her courage. Koichi stayed with the twins, becoming a human jungle gym, while Ryuko knelt beside Eri on a bench.
“It’s okay,” Ryuko murmured, her voice a soft rumble. “You don’t have to run. You can just watch.”
And Eri did. She watched children shrieking with laughter on the swings. She saw dogs chasing balls. She felt the sun on her face, a sensation so simple yet so novel it almost brought tears to her eyes. Hayate, noticing Eri’s stillness, toddled over and deposited a slightly grubby dandelion in her lap before charging off again. Eri picked it up, staring at the yellow flower as if it were a jewel.
Next was the sweet shop, a place that smelled of sugar and warmth. The display case was a kaleidoscope of colorful treats. Hayate and Ryuusei, their faces pressed against the glass, pointed excitedly at a particular confection.
“Appa Mochi!” Hayate declared.
Koichi bought four. He handed one to each of the twins, who immediately began nibbling with messy enthusiasm. Then he knelt and offered one to Eri. It was a soft, round ball of rice cake, dusted with powder and filled with sweet apple paste.
“It’s called apple mochi,” he said gently. “Try it.”
Eri looked from the treat to his kind eyes. She took it carefully. She took a small, tentative bite. The texture was soft and chewy, and the flavor… the flavor was a burst of pure, sweet joy. Her eyes widened, and she took another, bigger bite. A real, genuine smile, small and shy, but utterly real, bloomed on her face for the first time.
It was in this moment of simple happiness, with Eri happily eating her mochi and the twins covered in powdered sugar, that a familiar, gruff voice called out.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
Eri flinched, instinctively moving closer to Ryuko. But Koichi was smiling. Standing by the shop entrance were two figures: the large, imposing form of Oguro, his sharp eyes taking in the scene, and the quieter, gentler Tamao beside him.
“Oguro. Tamao,” Koichi greeted them. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Oguro’s gaze, which could make villains sweat, softened as it fell on the children. He nodded at the twins. “They’ve gotten big.” Then his eyes shifted to Eri, who was trying to hide behind Ryuko’s leg. He didn’t ask questions. He simply gave a slow, respectful nod. “New recruit?”
“This is Eri,” Ryuko said, her hand resting protectively on Eri’s head. “She’s living with us now.”
Tamao stepped forward, her smile warm and non-threatening. “It’s very nice to meet you, Eri. I’m Tamao. That grumpy man is Oguro.”
Eri peeked out, her curiosity overcoming her fear. These people knew Koichi and Ryuko. They weren’t scared. They were… friends.
Oguro looked at Koichi, a rare, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. “From Naruhata to this, huh, Crawler? Not a bad life you’ve built.”
Koichi looked at his family—his heroic wife, his three daughters, one happily eating mochi, two covered in sugar—and then back at his old friend from a life of shadows and vigilante justice.
“Not bad at all,” Koichi agreed, his voice thick with emotion.
The two groups chatted for a few more minutes before parting ways. As they walked home, the sun beginning to set, Eri walked a little taller. She held her half-eaten apple mochi like a trophy. She had been to a park. She had eaten a delicious treat. She had met new people who were kind. The world wasn’t just a place of fear and pain. It had parks, and sweet shops, and gentle giants, and dandelions.
She looked up at Ryuko and Koichi, who were smiling down at her, and then at her two new sisters, who were babbling happily. For the first time, the future didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like something to be discovered, one apple mochi at a time.
The grounds of U.A. were buzzing with a different kind of energy. The high-stakes tension of hero training had been temporarily replaced by the creative chaos of the School Festival. Classes were building stages, designing costumes, and rehearsing acts with a fervor that rivaled any combat drill. For the students, it was a chance to breathe, to show a different side of themselves.
But deep within the campus, in a secured, isolated training gym, a different, more delicate kind of preparation was underway.
The air was still. Aizawa stood with his usual slouch, his capture scarf loose around his shoulders, his eyes tired but intensely focused. Koichi was nearby, a supportive presence, his expression a mix of encouragement and concern. And in the center of the vast room stood Eri, small and solemn, her hands clenched into tiny fists at her sides.
"Remember, Eri," Aizawa's voice was flat, but not unkind. "It's not about stopping it entirely. Not yet. It's about feeling it. Recognizing the sensation before it activates."
Eri nodded, her red eyes fixed on a simple, potted sapling on a stool several feet away. This was their training. Not to rewind a person, not even an animal. A plant. Something that could be regrown.
"Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
She concentrated. A faint, golden light began to shimmer around the tiny horn on her forehead. The air around the sapling wavered, like heat haze on a summer road. The leaves trembled.
Aizawa’s hair floated up, his eyes glowing red. Erasure activated. The golden light around Eri vanished instantly, and the sapling settled.
"You felt that?" Aizawa asked, his Quirk deactivating.
Eri took a shaky breath. "A little. It felt… warm. Like a knot in my stomach starting to untie."
"Good. That's the trigger. Your body's signal. We need to make you aware of that signal before the untangling begins."
Koichi stepped forward, kneeling to be at her eye level. "You're doing amazing, Eri. This is really, really hard. But you're so brave for trying."
A small smile touched Eri's lips. Koichi’s encouragement was a constant balm against the fear of her own power.
They continued for an hour. Activate, feel the sensation, Aizawa erases. Over and over. It was tedious, exhausting work. There were setbacks. Once, the rewind effect manifested faster than Aizawa could react, and the sapling shriveled back into a seed. Eri had gasped, tears welling in her eyes, terrified she had broken something forever.
But Aizawa had simply walked over, picked up the seed, and placed it in her hand. "It's a seed again. We can plant it. It's not gone. It's just… back at the beginning. That's all. No permanent harm."
His pragmatic, unflinching approach was exactly what she needed. It stripped the power of its terror, turning it into a simple problem to be solved.
As they took a break, the distant sound of 1-A's band rehearsal—a surprisingly competent rock number—drifted into the gym. Eri looked toward the sound, a curious expression on her face.
"That's the festival," Koichi explained softly. "The students are getting ready to have fun. To sing and dance and make people happy."
Eri looked from the joyful noise outside to the serious, quiet gym. "Will… will I be able to go?"
Aizawa answered before Koichi could. "When you can recognize that 'knot' feeling and choose not to untie it without my help. That's the goal. Control, not suppression. So you can do normal things, like go to a festival."
A new determination sparked in Eri's eyes. The festival wasn't just a party; it was a prize. A symbol of the normal life she was fighting for.
The training session ended, and as they walked back toward the main campus, Eri held Koichi's hand tightly. She was quiet, processing.
Later that evening, at home, as Ryuko helped her get ready for bed, Eri looked up at her.
"Mama Ryuko?" she asked, using the title that had come so naturally. "When I can control my Quirk… will I be a hero like you and Papa Koichi?"
Ryuko’s heart swelled. She smoothed Eri's hair back. "You can be anything you want to be, Eri. But first, we learn control. One step at a time."
As Eri fell asleep, the sounds of the practicing festival felt less like a distant dream and more like a future within reach. In the quiet gym, with a tired hero and a steadfast teacher, she was slowly, painstakingly, learning to build a leash for the power that had once been her cage. And for the first time, she was the one holding the other end.
It happened on a Tuesday. There was no fanfare, no dramatic light show. Just a small, determined girl in a silent gym, a single potted marigold on a stool, and two heroes holding their breath.
Eri stood perfectly still, her brow furrowed in concentration. The familiar, unwelcome warmth began to bloom at the base of her horn, the "knot" in her stomach starting to loosen. The air around the marigold began to shiver. Aizawa’s hand twitched, his hair beginning to float, his eyes ready to flash red.
But Eri didn't wait for him. She took a sharp, deep breath, and she pushed. It wasn't a physical push, but a monumental act of will. She visualized the knot pulling tight again, the warmth receding. She focused on the feeling of Koichi’s hand on her shoulder from the last session, on the sound of Hayate’s laughter, on the promise of the school festival.
The shimmering air around the marigold stabilized. The faint golden glow at her forehead faded. The knot in her stomach held.
The marigold remained exactly as it was, a cheerful burst of orange.
Aizawa slowly lowered his hand. His hair settled. He didn't smile—Aizawa rarely did—but the severe lines of his face softened into something akin to profound respect.
"You did it," he said, his voice quiet with awe. "You stopped it."
Eri’s eyes widened, disbelieving. She looked from the untouched flower to Aizawa, then to Koichi, who was beaming, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
"I… I did?" she whispered.
Koichi was at her side in an instant, sweeping her up into a crushing hug. "You did! Eri, you were amazing! I'm so proud of you!"
It was a victory far greater than any villain takedown. It was the conquest of a personal demon.
That evening, as Koichi recounted the moment to Ryuko, they shared a look of overwhelming pride. And then, another thought occurred to them simultaneously. In the frantic aftermath of the raid, they had learned the date she was found. It was the closest thing to a birthday she had.
"She's never had one," Ryuko said, her voice thick with emotion.
"Then we're giving her one," Koichi replied instantly. "The best one ever."
The planning was a whirlwind of happy secrecy. While Eri was at school with the twins, Ayame and Moe were enlisted. Moe, with her usual explosive energy, took charge of decorations, filling the apartment with colorful streamers and a banner that read "HAPPY BIRTHDAY ERI!" in glittering letters. Ayame, with her refined taste, arrived with an exquisite, multi-layered cake decorated with delicate sugar butterflies.
When Eri came home after being picked up by Koichi, led by a giggling Hayate and Ryuusei who had been sworn to secrecy (a promise they barely understood but found thrilling), she stopped dead in the doorway.
The apartment was transformed. And standing in the middle of it were two new women, one with fiery green hair and a wide grin, the other elegant and smiling serenely.
"Surprise! Happy Birthday, Eri!" everyone yelled.
Eri’s hands flew to her mouth, her red eyes wide with shock and confusion. A birthday? For her?
Moe bounded forward. "Hi! I'm Auntie Moe! You must be Eri! We've heard so much about you!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and not at all scary.
Ayame approached more slowly, kneeling down. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Eri. I'm Ayame. I brought you a cake."
Then came the presents. There were new clothes, art supplies, and books. But the best gift came from the twins. With Ryuko's help, they presented Eri with a clumsily wrapped package. Inside was a framed drawing they had all made together—a colorful, scribbled picture of five stick figures holding hands: a medium one for Ryuko, a tall one for Koichi, two small ones for themselves, and one in the middle, for Eri.
As Ryuko lit the candles on the cake, the room fell silent. "Make a wish, Eri," Koichi whispered.
Eri looked around the room at her new family—her strong mama, her kind papa, her two silly sisters, and her new aunties who smiled at her like she was the most special girl in the world. She closed her eyes. She didn't need to wish for a family anymore. She had one.
She took a deep breath and blew out the candles. The room erupted in cheers and applause. As Ryuko cut the cake, Eri felt a hand on her head. She looked up to see Ryuko smiling down at her, her golden eyes full of a love so fierce it felt like a shield.
"This is your day, sweetheart," Ryuko said. "This is how birthdays are supposed to be."
And for the first time in her life, surrounded by noise and laughter and love, Eri believed it. The past was rewound. Her new life, her real life, had finally begun.
The U.A. School Festival was a symphony of controlled chaos, a vibrant explosion of color, sound, and smells that was the complete opposite of the institution's usual serious demeanor. For Eri, holding tightly to Koichi’s hand, it was like stepping into a waking dream.
Her eyes were wide, trying to take in everything at once—the food stalls with their sizzling grills and sweet scents, the game booths with their ringing bells, the crowds of laughing people. But it was the sound of distant music, a thrumming bassline and a powerful guitar riff, that drew her attention most.
"That's Class 1-A's concert," Koichi said, smiling down at her. "Want to go see?"
They found seats in the packed auditorium just as the lights dimmed. When the curtain rose, Eri gasped. There were her heroes—Uraraka, Asui, Jiro, the serious boy with the engines, even the loud, explosive one—but they weren't in their costumes. They were on stage with instruments, bathed in colorful lights.
Then the music started. It was loud, energetic, and full of a joy so powerful it was almost physical. Jiro’s voice soared over the driving rhythm, and the entire class moved together in a practiced, enthusiastic dance. Eri was mesmerized. She didn't just hear the music; she felt it in her chest. She watched, completely still, as the students poured their hearts out on stage, not to fight or to win, but simply to make people happy.
A new, strange feeling blossomed inside her. It was a pull, an fascination she’d never felt before. The way the notes fit together, the way the melody made her feel brave and light… it was magic. A passion, quiet but undeniable, was born in her heart that day.
After the thunderous applause died down, they met up with Ryuko and the interns. Ryukyu, out of her armor and in casual clothes, was enjoying a yakitori skewer with Uraraka and Asui, who were both still buzzing from their performance.
"That was incredible, you two!" Ryuko said, genuinely impressed. "I had no idea you could rock that hard."
"Jiro is a really strict band leader, kero," Asui said with a blink.
"It was so much fun!" Uraraka beamed, her cheeks flushed. She spotted Eri and waved. "Did you like it, Eri?"
Eri, usually so shy, nodded vigorously, a tiny, awestruck smile on her face. "It was… loud. But good loud."
Meanwhile, the twins were having their own adventure. Koichi had them in a double-stroller, and they were absorbing the festival with the boundless curiosity of one-year-olds. Their heads swiveled at every new sight and sound. They particularly enjoyed the music, bobbing their little bodies and babbling along.
Their journey led them to a couple of very familiar, very distinctive figures. All Might, in his skeletal form, was trying to be incognito in a large hat and sunglasses, but his height made it a futile effort. Present Mic, being Present Mic, was the exact opposite of incognito, his voice carrying even when he was whispering.
"Well, HELLO there, little listeners!" Present Mic boomed, spotting the stroller and immediately dropping to a crouch. "Look at you two! Are you having a GOOD time?"
Hayate stared at the man with the wild blonde hair and giant sunglasses, her mouth open in wonder. Ryuusei, more cautious, studied him with her mother's serious golden eyes.
All Might chuckled, a dry, wheezing sound. "It's good to see the students enjoying the peace they help protect, young Haimawari."
Koichi grinned. " I think they might have your flair for the dramatic, Mic."
"YEAH! They've got great taste!" Mic said, gently offering a finger for Hayate to grab, which she did with a delighted squeal.
The scene was a perfect snapshot of their world: the Symbol of Peace, retired but still watching over the next generation; the Voice Hero, bringing unbridled joy; and the next generation itself, blissfully unaware of the battles fought for their right to simply enjoy a concert and meet funny-looking men.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, the Haimawari family regrouped. Eri was quietly humming a bit of 1-A's song, a light in her eyes that hadn't been there before. The twins were drowsy, full of festival treats and exhausted from excitement. Ryuko slipped an arm around Koichi's waist, leaning her head on his shoulder.
"It's a good life, isn't it?" she murmured, watching their children—all three of them—experiencing a simple, perfect day.
Koichi kissed her temple. "The best."
The festival was a celebration of peace, of talent, of community. But for them, it was also a celebration of how far they had come. The battles were worth it for moments like this. The shadows of the past were chased away by the bright lights of the stage and the joyful noise of a future they had fought to create.
The air in the Haimawari apartment was thick with a nervous anticipation that hadn't been present since the twins' first birthday. Today wasn't about a party or a festival; it was about a final, crucial step in making Eri's place in the family official.
The doorbell rang, and Koichi took a deep breath before opening it. There stood his parents, their faces beaming with the familiar, warm excitement they always brought. But today, their eyes held a new, soft curiosity.
"Koichi! Let us see them!" his mother chirped, bustling in and immediately scooping up a giggling Hayate, who had charged toward the new arrivals.
His father followed, a quiet smile on his face as he picked up the more reserved Ryuusei. "They get bigger every time," he remarked, his voice full of grandfatherly affection.
But then, their attention shifted. Standing slightly behind Ryuko's legs, half-hidden in the folds of her pants, was Eri. She clutched the hem of Ryuko's shirt, her red eyes wide with a fear that made Koichi's heart ache.
Ryuko's parents arrived moments later, their demeanor more formal but no less loving. They greeted the twins with gentle hugs before their gazes also settled on the new, small face in the room.
The moment of truth had arrived.
Koichi knelt down, extending a hand to Eri. "Eri, it's okay. These are your grandparents. They've been so excited to meet you."
Eri didn't move, pressing herself harder against Ryuko.
Ryuko, in turn, placed a firm, reassuring hand on Eri's head. "Mama and Papa are right here," she said, her voice a low, steady rumble that vibrated through Eri's small frame. "No one will hurt you. They just want to say hello."
There was a long, silent pause. The grandparents stood still, understanding the delicacy of the moment. They didn't press, they didn't reach out. They simply waited, their expressions overflowing with a patience and kindness that filled the room.
Then, Koichi's mother did something simple and perfect. She set Hayate down and slowly reached into her bag, pulling out a small, beautifully wrapped present. She didn't hand it to Eri. She just placed it on the floor between them.
"It's for you, sweetheart," she said softly. "Just a little welcome gift."
Hayate, ever curious, toddled over to the present and patted it, looking at Eri as if to say, Look! For you!
Something in the gentle offering, in the silent, patient love radiating from the four adults, broke through Eri's fear. Slowly, so slowly, she loosened her grip on Ryuko's pants and took a tentative step forward. Then another. She knelt and carefully picked up the present.
As she unwrapped it—a soft, hand-knitted white sweater with a small, red apple motif on the chest—Ryuko's mother stepped forward. She didn't try to hug Eri. Instead, she simply knelt as well.
"That color will look lovely on you," she said, her voice gentle. "It matches your beautiful eyes."
That was the final key. The comment held no judgment of her unusual red eyes, only appreciation. Eri looked from the sweater to the kind-faced woman, and then, for the first time, she smiled. It was a small, shy thing, but it was real.
The rest of the afternoon unfolded in a warm, gentle wave. The grandparents didn't overwhelm her. They let Eri come to them. They played with the twins on the floor, and Eri gradually inched closer, eventually sitting near Koichi's mother and watching her play a clapping game with Hayate.
By the time tea was served, Eri was sitting on a cushion between Koichi and Ryuko, wearing her new sweater, quietly eating a cookie. She was listening as the adults talked, her initial terror replaced by a cautious fascination.
As the visit ended and the grandparents said their goodbyes, each of them made sure to address Eri directly.
"We'll see you very soon, Eri," Koichi's mother said, giving a little wave.
"Welcome to the family," Ryuko's father added with a dignified nod that held immense warmth.
When the door closed, the apartment was quiet again. Eri stood in the middle of the room, running her fingers over the soft wool of her new sweater. She looked up at Koichi and Ryuko, her expression one of dawning wonder.
"They were… nice," she whispered, as if testing the truth of the words.
Ryuko knelt and pulled her into a tight hug. "They're your family now, Eri. They love you already."
Koichi joined the hug, the twins piling on in a giggling heap. In that moment, surrounded by the tangible proof of her belonging, Eri finally understood. Her family wasn't just the people in this apartment. It was bigger. It was a network of love that stretched outwards, ready to catch her, a safety net she had never known existed. The last shadow of doubt vanished, replaced by the warm, sturdy certainty of home.
The final bell of the U.A. academic year seemed to ring with a note of permanent change. For Ryuko, it was marked by a flurry of official paperwork, the most important being the contract she signed with a beaming, newly-graduated Nejire Hado.
"You're sure about this?" Ryuko asked, one last time, pen poised over the document. "You could have your pick of agencies."
"This is my pick!" Nejire insisted, her energy undimmed by the formality. "I still have so much to learn from you, sensei! And who else is going to keep the new interns in line?" She grinned. "Besides, the twins would miss me too much."
Ryuko signed with a fond smile. Having Nejire officially as a sidekick was a comfort. It was a piece of stability in a world that felt like it was shifting beneath her feet. With the paperwork finalized, her schedule opened up, and the space in her mind was immediately filled by a looming, anxious presence: the upcoming Japanese Hero Billboard Chart.
The HPSC representative's promise echoed in her mind. Number Seven. A guaranteed rise. It was everything a pro hero worked for, a tangible measure of their impact and value.
So why did it feel like a lead weight in her stomach?
Late one evening, she stood on their balcony, looking out over the quiet city. The lights twinkled, each one representing a life she had sworn to protect. Yet, all she could feel was the ghost of a transaction.
Number Seven. Not earned through a decade of grueling work, not through a legendary victory over a great evil, but because she had fulfilled a clause in a contract. She had children. The HPSC had wanted a child with a specific Quirk lineage, and she and Koichi had provided one. The fact that Hayate and Ryuusei were the greatest joy of her life was almost irrelevant in this cold, professional calculus. In her own critical eyes, the ranking felt unearned, a political move rather than a heroic achievement.
"You're thinking too loud," a soft voice said from behind her.
Koichi slipped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. He didn't need to ask what was wrong; he could read the tension in her frame like a map.
"They're going to announce the new rankings next week," she murmured, her voice tight. "Number Seven."
"It's an incredible achievement, Ryuko," he said, his tone gentle but firm.
"Is it?" The dam broke, and the doubts she'd been suppressing spilled out. "Or is it just the Commission making good on a deal? I didn't climb to seven. I was placed there. Because we had a baby. Two, actually. What does that say about my work? About my worth as a hero outside of… of this?" She gestured vaguely at herself, at the apartment behind them where their children slept.
Koichi turned her around to face him, his hands on her shoulders, his gaze intense.
"Listen to me," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "That deal was their leverage, not your accomplishment. Your accomplishments are everything you've done since. You came back from maternity leave stronger than ever. You were key in the raid that saved Eri and destroyed the Quirk-erasing bullets. You took down Overhaul. You're mentoring the next generation of heroes, and you're raising three incredible daughters."
He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. "The HPSC might see a box they wanted ticked. I see the woman who fought tooth and nail to build this life on her own terms. The ranking isn't a reward for having a baby, Ryuko. It's a recognition of the hero you are while being a mother. It's a testament that you can be both, and be absolutely phenomenal at both."
He looked at her, his eyes full of a love and admiration so fierce it was almost overwhelming. "You deserve every bit of that spot. Not because of some deal, but because you are Ryukyu. You're my hero. You're their hero." He nodded towards the twins' room. "And you're about to be officially recognized as one of the top seven heroes in all of Japan. So you stop this. Right now."
A single tear traced a path down Ryuko's cheek, but it wasn't born of sadness. It was from the sheer force of his belief in her, shattering the brittle cage of her self-doubt. He saw the whole picture, the messy, powerful, beautiful entirety of her life, and he found it worthy.
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his, breathing him in. The anxiety didn't vanish completely, but it was overshadowed by the solid, unwavering foundation of his support.
"Okay," he echoed, pulling her into a tight embrace.
As they stood together under the stars, the weight of the upcoming ranking felt different. It was no longer a judgment, but a celebration. A recognition of the complex, demanding, and glorious life they had built together. She was a Dragon Hero, a wife, a mother, a teacher. And she was, without a doubt, deserving of her place.
The quiet of the night was absolute, broken only by the soft, rhythmic sounds of breathing. Koichi drifted in that hazy space between sleep and waking, the remnants of a dream clinging to him like cobwebs. It had been so vivid, so… complete.
In the dream, he hadn't met her on a rain-slicked rooftop, a vigilante and a hero. He’d met her in a sun-drenched college library, surrounded by the smell of old paper and ambition. She was studying biology, her nose buried in a textbook on speculative evolution, her hair a long, golden cascade that brushed the middle of her back. She was softer, not just in body but in spirit, her draconic intensity replaced by a thoughtful, sometimes self-deprecating ease. She was still her own harshest critic, but the stakes were essays and exams, not life and death.
He, meanwhile, was still chasing heroics, but it was a simpler path. They’d met, two students from different worlds. Their courtship was a normal, sweet unfolding of shared coffee, late-night study sessions, and awkward first dates. He’d fallen in love with the brilliant, quietly passionate woman who could debate the anatomical feasibility of dragons for hours.
The dream had fast-forwarded through a whole life. Graduation. A small wedding. Their first apartment. The joyful chaos of their first child, a son. The peaceful arrival of a daughter years later. The surprise of a final son, completing their family. He saw them navigate the mundane struggles of careers and parenting, the quiet joy of anniversaries, the slow, gentle graying of their hair. He saw them grow old together, their love a comfortable, worn-in thing. And in the dream, they had passed away, peacefully, in their sleep, side-by-side, their story a long, gentle arc from beginning to end.
He woke with a soft gasp, the profound sense of that other life slowly receding. The reality of his bedroom came into focus. The weight on his chest wasn't the ghost of a dream-son, but Ryuko. Her arms and legs were wrapped around him in a possessive, draconic sprawl, her face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing deeply. She was all hard muscle and fierce love, her hair cut practical and short once more.
And tucked against his other side, having sneaked in sometime in the night, was Eri. Her small form was curled into a ball, one hand fisted in his pajama shirt, her horn just visible through her white hair.
He lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling, the two halves of his existence warring within him. The dream had been… nice. Peaceful. A life without scars, without the ever-present threat of loss, without the weight of terrible choices. A simple, happy story.
He looked at Ryuko, at the powerful line of her back, at the faint scar on her shoulder from a villain’s blade. He thought of the rooftop confessions, the desperate battles, the HPSC’s cold deal, the terrifying fight for Eri’s soul. Their love hadn't been a gentle arc; it was a jagged, breathtaking mountain range, forged in fire and sealed in blood.
He looked at Eri, a child who had been saved, not born to them, her presence a testament to the battles they had chosen to fight.
The dream life was a beautiful, serene painting. His real life was a messy, vibrant, sometimes terrifying mosaic, pieced together from broken things and made whole through sheer force of will.
A slow, certain smile spread across Koichi’s face in the dark. The dream had been a gift, a glimpse of a quiet, parallel universe. But as he felt Ryuko’s steady heartbeat against his side and Eri’s trusting grip on his shirt, he knew with every fiber of his being that he wouldn't trade his complicated, hard-won, glorious reality for all the peaceful dreams in the world.
He carefully extricated an arm and wrapped it around both his wife and his daughter, holding his hoard close. The dream had been nice. But this? This was everything.
The air in the packed conference hall was thick with a palpable mix of anticipation and ego. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured, and the assembled heroes sat with practiced smiles, their postures radiating varying degrees of confidence and anxiety. For Ryuko, sitting in the front row reserved for the new Top 10, it felt like a trial.
The announcements began. The lower ranks were called, each hero stepping up to the podium for a brief moment in the spotlight. Then, the real event began.
"Number One Hero… Endeavor."
A wave of applause, though it felt more respectful than rapturous. Enji Todoroki took the podium, his expression as severe as ever, his speech a blunt declaration of a new, more severe era of heroism. Koichi, watching from the couch at home with the twins and Eri, felt his jaw tighten. The sight of the Flame Hero’s face on the screen was a visceral punch, dragging up the old, never-forgotten grief of Kazuho’s death. He forced himself to breathe, focusing on the warm weights of his children leaning against him.
The rankings continued. Hawks at Number Two, effortlessly charming the crowd. Best Jeanist at Three, eloquent and precise. Edgeshot at Four, silent and deadly even in speech. Mirko at Five, who gave a gloriously dismissive wave and a few gruff words about "kicking more ass," which drew the first genuine cheers of the night.
The announcer’s voice cut through the noise again. "And the new Number Six Hero… Ryukyu!"
A genuine ripple of surprise went through the crowd. Ryuko’s own breath hitched. Six? Not Seven? The HPSC’s promise had been specific, a transactional placement. This… this was different. Her mind raced, connecting the dots—the media coverage of the Shie Hassaikai raid, her very public adoption of Eri, the visible growth of her agency and her interns. The public and the hero community had seen her work, and supported her for it.
She walked to the podium, her boots clicking on the stage, the eyes of the nation upon her. She looked out at the sea of faces, her heart pounding.
"Thank you," she began, her voice clear and steady, belying the turmoil inside. "This ranking… is unexpected. I will be honest. I look at the heroes who have come before me on this stage, and I see legends. I see decades of unwavering service. And I question if my own record, my own contributions, truly measure up to this honor."
The hall was silent, captivated by her raw honesty.
"I was prepared for a different number tonight," she admitted, a faint, wry frown touching her lips. "One that came with… certain expectations. But Number Six? This feels less like a reward for past actions, and more like a challenge for the future. A challenge I fully intend to meet."
She stood taller, her golden eyes gleaming with a renewed fire. "I may not feel I have fully earned this spot yet, but I swear to you, I will. I will strive to be a hero worthy of this rank, not in the eyes of a committee, but in the eyes of the public I serve. A hero who protects the present, and fights for a safer future for all our children. Thank you."
Her speech, devoid of bravado and full of humble resolve, earned her a wave of applause that was warmer and more sincere than any that had come before. She had not claimed a throne; she had accepted a mantle.
Back at the apartment, the mood was ecstatic. The moment Ryuko had appeared on screen, Eri had pointed, her face lit with awe. "Mama!" The twins, picking up on the excitement, had clapped their chubby little hands. Koichi’s dark expression at Endeavor had vanished, replaced by a proud, tearful smile. "That's your mother," he told them, his voice thick. "Number Six." Though for some reason the scar on his face stung for a second.
When Ryuko finally walked through the front door, she was met with a tidal wave of affection. Koichi didn't say a word. He just pulled her into a crushing hug, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
"You were perfect," he whispered into her hair. "You were honest, and strong, and they loved you for it."
Then the children descended. Eri wrapped her arms around Ryuko’s legs, beaming up at her. "You were on the TV! You're the best hero!"
Hayate and Ryuusei, babbling incoherently about numbers but with clear intent, latched onto her, demanding their share of cuddles from their famous mama.
Later, after the children were asleep, nestled in the quiet of their home, Ryuko leaned against Koichi on the couch. "I meant what I said," she murmured. "I have a lot to live up to."
Koichi kissed her temple. "You already do. The ranking just finally caught up to the truth."
He was right. The Number Six spot wasn't a gift from the HPSC. It was a testament. A testament to the dragon who fought for a broken little girl, the hero who led from the front, the mother who built a family from love and battle-scarred pieces. It was a challenge, yes. But it was one she was more than ready to face.
jacobvanloon
dededos
dailybridgerton
baratheonpilled
