Not sure if you'd be up for writing or art requests, but I have this idea of an AU where Itsuka Kendo's heart is enlarged to compensate for her Big Hands quirk
(The AI cover depiction may differ from descriptions in the story and the original work.)
Rabbit Runs Again
[Chapter 22 - Hope]
Mirko’s gaze wandered into the distance, lost in a memory she couldn't escape.
“At the party… I was talking with Mt. Lady.”
Her voice turned faint, as if slipping backward in time.
“That’s when I heard it. ‘…Why are you still whole...’ — that voice.”
She lowered her head, then slowly turned it, her eyes darting around as if searching for an invisible enemy.
“When I looked around, startled… the Big Three were there—laughing together, like nothing had ever happened.”
Her tone fell, quiet and hollow.
“The voice came again—clearer this time.”
‘We fought together… so why— so why are YOU the ones left whole?'
A long, weightless silence followed. Only the faint drift of tea’s scent and the soft rustle of vines brushing against each other filled the space between them.
“For a whole week after that, nothing else happened. I told myself it was just fatigue. That I was imagining things.”
Mirko traced the rim of her teacup with her fingertips, her voice barely above a whisper.
“But that evening, I saw Deku and Bakugo on the news.”
Her voice trembled as if the memory itself hurt.
“They were defeating villains, pulling civilians from the rubble… The world was cheering. Bright lights, smiling faces. They looked so... clean.”
“…And then, I heard it again. This time, closer.”
Her eyes went still, frozen on empty air.
‘If that kid hadn’t let himself get dragged away... if he had been where he was supposed to be..'
Her voice wavered, then another tone crept in, twisting her words. It was as if someone else were speaking through her throat.
‘If Bakugo hadn’t fallen first... if his heart hadn’t failed... you wouldn’t have been torn apart to cover for them.’
Mirko’s voice sank low.
“I tried to deny it—to tell myself it wasn’t their fault, that it wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
Her breath hitched sharply, as if invisible hands were tightening around her throat.
“But… the voice kept whispering.”
She buried her face in her hands. Cold sweat clung to her fingertips.
“To pull myself together, I threw handfuls of cold water over my face—again and again. …But then—”
Her voice cut out. Her lips stiffened, her shoulders giving a faint tremor.
“I looked up at the mirror, water dripping from my chin.”
Her voice cracked open.
“And there... standing right behind my shoulder...”
The moment the name left her lips, the air froze still. The faint scent of tea vanished, replaced instantly by the choking smell of dust. The vines along the wall quivered as if in fear.
“…Shigaraki was watching me.”
Shiozaki held her breath, listening without breathing.
“It was him... exactly as he looked that day at the Coffin in the Sky.”
Mirko’s voice sank lower, trembling with the weight of the memory.
“That wild mess of white hair... veins crawling through those bloodshot eyes...”
She gripped her own arms, her knuckles turning white.
"His skin... dry. Gray. Cracking like old plaster on a corpse. Not a drop of water on him."
The air curdled cold. Even the chill brushing Shiozaki's cheek sank deeper—heavy, like sinking underwater.
“...When I turned around... his lips peeled back into that wide, distorted grin. And slowly raised his finger at me…”
Mirko lifted her own arm, the muscles beneath her wrist tensing hard.
“The warmth of my skin vanished. I felt it again. The heavy, cold grind of metal."
Her breathing grew shallow and ragged.
“And he said…”
‘Do you really think you won? Weren’t you lying in your own blood—broken, like a discarded puppet?’
The tremor in her voice spread through the air, rippling like glass about to shatter.
“I still see that face whenever I close my eyes.”
Her rabbit ears trembled; the air itself seemed to tear around her.
“I squeezed my eyes shut and kept whispering to myself. ‘He isn’t real… he’s just a hallucination I created.’ That’s what I kept telling myself—again, and again, and again.”
She dug her trembling fingertips into her knees.
“I shut my eyes tight, drew in a deep breath—then opened. And...”
Mirko’s gaze hung somewhere in the empty air.
“I saw them… my comrades, smiling as if the war had never happened. They were laughing together, raising their glasses—so peacefully it hurt.”
Her breath wavered.
“And then—”
A low, scraping voice crawled through the air. A brittle tremor rippled across the room.
“‘You were the one ripped apart, weren’t you?’”
When the words ended, the air shivered faintly. Even its texture changed. The gentle scent of tea vanished, replaced by the dry, choking smell of dust and decay.
And from the cracks in the walls and ceiling, a low, rasping laugh seeped through.
Shiozaki flinched before she could stop herself. A cold shiver crept from her fingertips up her spine. The vines coiled tightly, as if shielding her from something unseen. A shaky breath escaped her.
'If the mere echo is this suffocating…'
Her fingers trembled faintly.
'Then what kind of hell has she been walking in alone?'
Before her eyes, Mirko still looked caught in that air from the past. The light had left her face, and her white ears barely stirred. Shiozaki steadied her breath, watching the trembling settle—like a quiet prayer.
“Whose faces… did you see?”
Her voice came low, barely more than a breath. Mirko’s lips trembled before finally opening.
“…Nejire. Tamaki.”
Her breath caught between the names, as if each one was a stone in her throat.
Her eyes drifted through the empty space, seeing ghosts of laughter.
“The people I love. The ones I threw my body away to protect. They were all smiling… so brightly.”
Mirko let out an unsteady breath and lowered her head. Her rabbit ears drooped faintly.
“But that brightness… it burned me.”
Her fingers tightened until they turned white.
“I was jealous,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of the truth. “I was so jealous it made me sick... and I was terrified that this feeling would turn into hate.”
Shiozaki remained silent. She lowered her eyes. It felt like a prayer—quiet, steady—as if she wished that the confession before her might become healing, not another wound.
"I loathed myself... for daring to resent them."
The moment the words left her, the air in the room stilled again.
“Lately… every time I see them, I hear those voices again. Whispering in my ear… spitting curses.”
Her nails scraped against her skin as if trying to tear the voices out.
“I kept denying it—but the voices never stopped.”
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Then Shiozaki spoke. Her voice was quiet, yet it cut through the darkness like a blade of light.
“To harbor hatred... is not a sin.”
The words settled softly into the air—not as comfort, nor command, but as simple, undeniable truth.
“Heroes are human too.”
Her tone held gentle weight.
“They can harbor resentment, and sometimes that resentment turns inward, piercing the heart that holds it.”
She drew in a slow breath, her gaze lowered once more. A single vine unfolded from her fingertips, swaying as if with the rhythm of her words.
“That is not a sin,” she said. “It’s a wound—one that just hasn’t healed yet.”
Her voice continued, unwavering, tender.
“Even that dark voice you hear… is merely the shadow of the love you bear for them.”
Mirko lifted her head slowly. Shiozaki’s eyes met hers—steady and luminous.
“If you hadn’t cherished them so deeply, those feelings would never have taken root.”
A soft silence followed. The edges of Mirko’s eyes trembled faintly. Within that trembling, something long suppressed began to break open—quietly, at last.
“Everyone bleeds when they’re wounded. Even heroes… are no exception.”
Shiozaki’s voice filled the room like soft light. The vines swayed slowly, releasing a tranquil scent that drifted between them.
“That wound—it’s still yours. Jealousy, resentment… do not cast them aside.”
Her tone was quiet, yet each word landed with gentle conviction.
“They’re not flaws or sins. They’re proof that you’re alive. They remind you that you’re still human.”
The words lingered softly in the air.
“Love… is a vine that binds us.”
Her voice fell low, carrying the calm weight of a prayer.
“To care for someone,” she murmured, “is to let them take root in your heart. And if they were comrades-in-arms… those roots grow deep enough to shake your very soul when they tremble.”
She paused, drawing in a slow, steady breath.
“We do not suffer because we are broken—but simply because we are human.”
A brief hush settled between them. The soft scent rose again, warm and sweet, wrapping gently around them both.
“All the jealousy and bitterness you felt… They’re not shameful marks.”
Shiozaki looked deeply into Mirko’s eyes.
“They are the scars of how fiercely you loved. They are the price of your survival.”
As her words ebbed away, Mirko’s breath trembled faintly—as if something long submerged had finally begun to breathe again.
Shiozaki reached out her hand. The vines in her hair unwound in silence, drifting close to Mirko’s trembling hand. They did not touch, but a living warmth hung softly between them.
“You’ve lost so much in that war.”
Her voice came soft and low, like a quiet breath of wind.
“Not only your body… but your heart, too. Now it’s time to face those wounds.”
Her tone flowed gently through the room.
“You don’t have to hide them. The darkness you feel—it isn’t yours alone.”
Mirko’s gaze lifted slowly. In her eyes, heavy fatigue and trembling began to ease, little by little. Shiozaki’s eyes met hers—steady and calm, like light touching still water.
The air filled again with gentle fragrance. The vines quivered faintly, as if to wrap softly around her hand. For a moment, warmth shimmered between them—as though a fragment of a collapsing heart had drawn a quiet breath again.
Mirko lowered her eyes, her voice a whisper.
“But… those voices that curse the ones I fought beside… they mean that somewhere inside, I feel the same way. Don’t I?”
Shiozaki shook her head.
“No.”
Her voice stayed low, but unwavering.
“You can’t believe those voices are your heart.”
Her gaze did not waver.
“They’re echoes born from wounds—pain that hasn’t yet found its place, lingering as a trembling aftertone.”
She folded her hands gently.
“Don’t mistake that echo for yourself. It’s a part of you—but not all of you.”
Her words settled softly into the air, her gaze resting on Mirko like quiet light.
“When the body heals, pain lingers for a while. The heart is the same. In its recovery, scars remain—sometimes as sorrow, sometimes as voices that shake us.”
Shiozaki folded her hands slowly. The vines wove between her fingers, forming the shape of clasped hands in prayer.
“But that only means the wound inside you hasn’t fully healed yet. The pain you feel now… might simply be what’s natural.”
Her words settled into the air, and Mirko’s faint breath followed—as if emotions long submerged were beginning to wake.
“I thought it was only natural… that I was supposed to be fine—because I’m a hero.”
Shiozaki’s voice flowed on, gentle yet unshaken.
“When anyone is wounded, it hurts all the same. Being a hero doesn’t make you an exception to that.”
The vines swayed slowly, a soft scent drifting through the air again. Her words weren’t comfort—they were permission. And they settled quietly on Mirko’s tense shoulders.
“…My pain. My wounds… I didn’t realize they ran that deep.”
Mirko bowed her head.
“Back then, I never thought about it. I just believed I was doing what any hero should. Even when I lost my arms and legs, I smiled as if nothing had happened. But now that my body’s whole again—”
Her voice trailed into silence. Shiozaki closed her eyes briefly, then answered softly.
“Wounds don’t linger only on the body. They remain in the heart… and in time itself.”
Her tone was calm, but deep—reverent.
“Your body may have been restored, but your heart lived through every moment of it.”
Her gaze turned toward Mirko.
“Now, with your body rewound and your memories tangled together, the pain buried deep within you… has finally come to the surface.”
“The body was restored,” Mirko murmured, her voice low and drifting, “but the heart… stayed the same.”
Shiozaki inclined her head softly.
“Yes. The heart can’t move backward through time.”
Her eyes trembled gently.
“What was rewound was only the shape of the wound—not its weight.”
Mirko drew a slow breath.
“So that’s why… it still aches.”
Shiozaki nodded with a faint smile.
“To feel pain means you’re still alive.”
Her words lingered softly in the air, like fragrance. Rumi’s shoulders quivered faintly. Within that trembling, time that had long been frozen began to move again—just a little.
“…Can I ever overcome the pain inside me?”
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“The confusion from the rewind… and the remnants of Shigaraki woven into my nerves—they keep rising… deeper, louder.”
She inhaled deeply.
“Just recently, I almost lost myself. I nearly killed a villain… and I hurt Kendo.”
Her hands clenched tightly over her knees.
“Villains—I can fight them, and it’s over. But this… I don’t even know where it is. I can’t strike it, and I can’t run from it.”
Shiozaki closed her eyes, then slowly raised her head again.
“That’s why you won’t have to face it alone.”
Her gaze met Mirko’s—clear and unwavering.
“Kendo. Komori. Pony…”
She spoke each name with gentle certainty.
“You have countless comrades—myself included.”
Her voice grew firmer, though still soft.
“People who will stand beside you—to keep you from falling.”
Her words drifted through the air like the faint scent of tea. Rumi’s eyes quivered—just barely. Within that trembling, pain began to breathe again—breathing with the names of those she’d once fought for.
Shiozaki watched her quietly.
“All of us know. That Mirko was always the one who stood at the front—fighting for us.”
For a moment, a thin trail of incense smoke drifted between them. Through that pale haze, Shiozaki’s eyes shone faintly.
“What you showed us wasn’t just fighting.”
Her voice deepened, carrying warmth and conviction.
“In the terror of All For One and Shigaraki—when so many had lost hope—every battle you fought, every kick you struck, became our light.”
She drew in a calm breath and continued, her tone steady and sure.
“And because of you—we were able to win.”
Her words lingered in the air, while the vines swayed slowly, wrapping the silence between them in gentle warmth.
“Just as you were our hope back then…”
Shiozaki lowered her head slightly, smiling softly.
“Now it’s our turn—to become your hope.”
The air in the room softened.
The tension that had held Mirko’s shoulders stiff began to ease. She exhaled slowly, a quiet breath slipping through parted lips. For the first time, she could feel the faint warmth of the incense.
Shiozaki watched her, then spoke softly.
“That’s enough for today.”
She gathered the teacups with careful fingers.
“For now, your memories and emotions are still tangled. You’ll need time to sort through them—little by little.”
The vines moved lazily toward the window. As sunlight filtered through the curtains, the room grew warm.
“I’ll bring you a tea to calm your body and mind.”
Her voice fell gentle and low.
“Rest, slowly.”
She rose quietly.
When the door closed, only the scent of tea and the whisper of wind remained.
“…Hope,” Mirko murmured.
A faint smile touched her lips.
The heavy fear that had crushed her chest slowly faded away.
And in its place, something warm rose slowly from deep within.
‘HOPE?'
The voice split the air—dry, raspy, like crumbling stone.
Every muscle in her body locked.
Mirko turned her head—slowly, her neck creaking with resistance.
(The AI cover depiction may differ from descriptions in the story and the original work.)
Rabbit Runs Again
[Chapter 22 - Hope]
Mirko’s gaze wandered into the distance, lost in a memory she couldn't escape.
“At the party… I was talking with Mt. Lady.”
Her voice turned faint, as if slipping backward in time.
“That’s when I heard it. ‘…Why are you still whole...’ — that voice.”
She lowered her head, then slowly turned it, her eyes darting around as if searching for an invisible enemy.
“When I looked around, startled… the Big Three were there—laughing together, like nothing had ever happened.”
Her tone fell, quiet and hollow.
“The voice came again—clearer this time.”
‘We fought together… so why— so why are YOU the ones left whole?'
A long, weightless silence followed. Only the faint drift of tea’s scent and the soft rustle of vines brushing against each other filled the space between them.
“For a whole week after that, nothing else happened. I told myself it was just fatigue. That I was imagining things.”
Mirko traced the rim of her teacup with her fingertips, her voice barely above a whisper.
“But that evening, I saw Deku and Bakugo on the news.”
Her voice trembled as if the memory itself hurt.
“They were defeating villains, pulling civilians from the rubble… The world was cheering. Bright lights, smiling faces. They looked so... clean.”
“…And then, I heard it again. This time, closer.”
Her eyes went still, frozen on empty air.
‘If that kid hadn’t let himself get dragged away... if he had been where he was supposed to be..'
Her voice wavered, then another tone crept in, twisting her words. It was as if someone else were speaking through her throat.
‘If Bakugo hadn’t fallen first... if his heart hadn’t failed... you wouldn’t have been torn apart to cover for them.’
Mirko’s voice sank low.
“I tried to deny it—to tell myself it wasn’t their fault, that it wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
Her breath hitched sharply, as if invisible hands were tightening around her throat.
“But… the voice kept whispering.”
She buried her face in her hands. Cold sweat clung to her fingertips.
“To pull myself together, I threw handfuls of cold water over my face—again and again. …But then—”
Her voice cut out. Her lips stiffened, her shoulders giving a faint tremor.
“I looked up at the mirror, water dripping from my chin.”
Her voice cracked open.
“And there... standing right behind my shoulder...”
The moment the name left her lips, the air froze still. The faint scent of tea vanished, replaced instantly by the choking smell of dust. The vines along the wall quivered as if in fear.
“…Shigaraki was watching me.”
Shiozaki held her breath, listening without breathing.
“It was him... exactly as he looked that day at the Coffin in the Sky.”
Mirko’s voice sank lower, trembling with the weight of the memory.
“That wild mess of white hair... veins crawling through those bloodshot eyes...”
She gripped her own arms, her knuckles turning white.
"His skin... dry. Gray. Cracking like old plaster on a corpse. Not a drop of water on him."
The air curdled cold. Even the chill brushing Shiozaki's cheek sank deeper—heavy, like sinking underwater.
“...When I turned around... his lips peeled back into that wide, distorted grin. And slowly raised his finger at me…”
Mirko lifted her own arm, the muscles beneath her wrist tensing hard.
“The warmth of my skin vanished. I felt it again. The heavy, cold grind of metal."
Her breathing grew shallow and ragged.
“And he said…”
‘Do you really think you won? Weren’t you lying in your own blood—broken, like a discarded puppet?’
The tremor in her voice spread through the air, rippling like glass about to shatter.
“I still see that face whenever I close my eyes.”
Her rabbit ears trembled; the air itself seemed to tear around her.
“I squeezed my eyes shut and kept whispering to myself. ‘He isn’t real… he’s just a hallucination I created.’ That’s what I kept telling myself—again, and again, and again.”
She dug her trembling fingertips into her knees.
“I shut my eyes tight, drew in a deep breath—then opened. And...”
Mirko’s gaze hung somewhere in the empty air.
“I saw them… my comrades, smiling as if the war had never happened. They were laughing together, raising their glasses—so peacefully it hurt.”
Her breath wavered.
“And then—”
A low, scraping voice crawled through the air. A brittle tremor rippled across the room.
“‘You were the one ripped apart, weren’t you?’”
When the words ended, the air shivered faintly. Even its texture changed. The gentle scent of tea vanished, replaced by the dry, choking smell of dust and decay.
And from the cracks in the walls and ceiling, a low, rasping laugh seeped through.
Shiozaki flinched before she could stop herself. A cold shiver crept from her fingertips up her spine. The vines coiled tightly, as if shielding her from something unseen. A shaky breath escaped her.
'If the mere echo is this suffocating…'
Her fingers trembled faintly.
'Then what kind of hell has she been walking in alone?'
Before her eyes, Mirko still looked caught in that air from the past. The light had left her face, and her white ears barely stirred. Shiozaki steadied her breath, watching the trembling settle—like a quiet prayer.
“Whose faces… did you see?”
Her voice came low, barely more than a breath. Mirko’s lips trembled before finally opening.
“…Nejire. Tamaki.”
Her breath caught between the names, as if each one was a stone in her throat.
Her eyes drifted through the empty space, seeing ghosts of laughter.
“The people I love. The ones I threw my body away to protect. They were all smiling… so brightly.”
Mirko let out an unsteady breath and lowered her head. Her rabbit ears drooped faintly.
“But that brightness… it burned me.”
Her fingers tightened until they turned white.
“I was jealous,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of the truth. “I was so jealous it made me sick... and I was terrified that this feeling would turn into hate.”
Shiozaki remained silent. She lowered her eyes. It felt like a prayer—quiet, steady—as if she wished that the confession before her might become healing, not another wound.
"I loathed myself... for daring to resent them."
The moment the words left her, the air in the room stilled again.
“Lately… every time I see them, I hear those voices again. Whispering in my ear… spitting curses.”
Her nails scraped against her skin as if trying to tear the voices out.
“I kept denying it—but the voices never stopped.”
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Then Shiozaki spoke. Her voice was quiet, yet it cut through the darkness like a blade of light.
“To harbor hatred... is not a sin.”
The words settled softly into the air—not as comfort, nor command, but as simple, undeniable truth.
“Heroes are human too.”
Her tone held gentle weight.
“They can harbor resentment, and sometimes that resentment turns inward, piercing the heart that holds it.”
She drew in a slow breath, her gaze lowered once more. A single vine unfolded from her fingertips, swaying as if with the rhythm of her words.
“That is not a sin,” she said. “It’s a wound—one that just hasn’t healed yet.”
Her voice continued, unwavering, tender.
“Even that dark voice you hear… is merely the shadow of the love you bear for them.”
Mirko lifted her head slowly. Shiozaki’s eyes met hers—steady and luminous.
“If you hadn’t cherished them so deeply, those feelings would never have taken root.”
A soft silence followed. The edges of Mirko’s eyes trembled faintly. Within that trembling, something long suppressed began to break open—quietly, at last.
“Everyone bleeds when they’re wounded. Even heroes… are no exception.”
Shiozaki’s voice filled the room like soft light. The vines swayed slowly, releasing a tranquil scent that drifted between them.
“That wound—it’s still yours. Jealousy, resentment… do not cast them aside.”
Her tone was quiet, yet each word landed with gentle conviction.
“They’re not flaws or sins. They’re proof that you’re alive. They remind you that you’re still human.”
The words lingered softly in the air.
“Love… is a vine that binds us.”
Her voice fell low, carrying the calm weight of a prayer.
“To care for someone,” she murmured, “is to let them take root in your heart. And if they were comrades-in-arms… those roots grow deep enough to shake your very soul when they tremble.”
She paused, drawing in a slow, steady breath.
“We do not suffer because we are broken—but simply because we are human.”
A brief hush settled between them. The soft scent rose again, warm and sweet, wrapping gently around them both.
“All the jealousy and bitterness you felt… They’re not shameful marks.”
Shiozaki looked deeply into Mirko’s eyes.
“They are the scars of how fiercely you loved. They are the price of your survival.”
As her words ebbed away, Mirko’s breath trembled faintly—as if something long submerged had finally begun to breathe again.
Shiozaki reached out her hand. The vines in her hair unwound in silence, drifting close to Mirko’s trembling hand. They did not touch, but a living warmth hung softly between them.
“You’ve lost so much in that war.”
Her voice came soft and low, like a quiet breath of wind.
“Not only your body… but your heart, too. Now it’s time to face those wounds.”
Her tone flowed gently through the room.
“You don’t have to hide them. The darkness you feel—it isn’t yours alone.”
Mirko’s gaze lifted slowly. In her eyes, heavy fatigue and trembling began to ease, little by little. Shiozaki’s eyes met hers—steady and calm, like light touching still water.
The air filled again with gentle fragrance. The vines quivered faintly, as if to wrap softly around her hand. For a moment, warmth shimmered between them—as though a fragment of a collapsing heart had drawn a quiet breath again.
Mirko lowered her eyes, her voice a whisper.
“But… those voices that curse the ones I fought beside… they mean that somewhere inside, I feel the same way. Don’t I?”
Shiozaki shook her head.
“No.”
Her voice stayed low, but unwavering.
“You can’t believe those voices are your heart.”
Her gaze did not waver.
“They’re echoes born from wounds—pain that hasn’t yet found its place, lingering as a trembling aftertone.”
She folded her hands gently.
“Don’t mistake that echo for yourself. It’s a part of you—but not all of you.”
Her words settled softly into the air, her gaze resting on Mirko like quiet light.
“When the body heals, pain lingers for a while. The heart is the same. In its recovery, scars remain—sometimes as sorrow, sometimes as voices that shake us.”
Shiozaki folded her hands slowly. The vines wove between her fingers, forming the shape of clasped hands in prayer.
“But that only means the wound inside you hasn’t fully healed yet. The pain you feel now… might simply be what’s natural.”
Her words settled into the air, and Mirko’s faint breath followed—as if emotions long submerged were beginning to wake.
“I thought it was only natural… that I was supposed to be fine—because I’m a hero.”
Shiozaki’s voice flowed on, gentle yet unshaken.
“When anyone is wounded, it hurts all the same. Being a hero doesn’t make you an exception to that.”
The vines swayed slowly, a soft scent drifting through the air again. Her words weren’t comfort—they were permission. And they settled quietly on Mirko’s tense shoulders.
“…My pain. My wounds… I didn’t realize they ran that deep.”
Mirko bowed her head.
“Back then, I never thought about it. I just believed I was doing what any hero should. Even when I lost my arms and legs, I smiled as if nothing had happened. But now that my body’s whole again—”
Her voice trailed into silence. Shiozaki closed her eyes briefly, then answered softly.
“Wounds don’t linger only on the body. They remain in the heart… and in time itself.”
Her tone was calm, but deep—reverent.
“Your body may have been restored, but your heart lived through every moment of it.”
Her gaze turned toward Mirko.
“Now, with your body rewound and your memories tangled together, the pain buried deep within you… has finally come to the surface.”
“The body was restored,” Mirko murmured, her voice low and drifting, “but the heart… stayed the same.”
Shiozaki inclined her head softly.
“Yes. The heart can’t move backward through time.”
Her eyes trembled gently.
“What was rewound was only the shape of the wound—not its weight.”
Mirko drew a slow breath.
“So that’s why… it still aches.”
Shiozaki nodded with a faint smile.
“To feel pain means you’re still alive.”
Her words lingered softly in the air, like fragrance. Rumi’s shoulders quivered faintly. Within that trembling, time that had long been frozen began to move again—just a little.
“…Can I ever overcome the pain inside me?”
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“The confusion from the rewind… and the remnants of Shigaraki woven into my nerves—they keep rising… deeper, louder.”
She inhaled deeply.
“Just recently, I almost lost myself. I nearly killed a villain… and I hurt Kendo.”
Her hands clenched tightly over her knees.
“Villains—I can fight them, and it’s over. But this… I don’t even know where it is. I can’t strike it, and I can’t run from it.”
Shiozaki closed her eyes, then slowly raised her head again.
“That’s why you won’t have to face it alone.”
Her gaze met Mirko’s—clear and unwavering.
“Kendo. Komori. Pony…”
She spoke each name with gentle certainty.
“You have countless comrades—myself included.”
Her voice grew firmer, though still soft.
“People who will stand beside you—to keep you from falling.”
Her words drifted through the air like the faint scent of tea. Rumi’s eyes quivered—just barely. Within that trembling, pain began to breathe again—breathing with the names of those she’d once fought for.
Shiozaki watched her quietly.
“All of us know. That Mirko was always the one who stood at the front—fighting for us.”
For a moment, a thin trail of incense smoke drifted between them. Through that pale haze, Shiozaki’s eyes shone faintly.
“What you showed us wasn’t just fighting.”
Her voice deepened, carrying warmth and conviction.
“In the terror of All For One and Shigaraki—when so many had lost hope—every battle you fought, every kick you struck, became our light.”
She drew in a calm breath and continued, her tone steady and sure.
“And because of you—we were able to win.”
Her words lingered in the air, while the vines swayed slowly, wrapping the silence between them in gentle warmth.
“Just as you were our hope back then…”
Shiozaki lowered her head slightly, smiling softly.
“Now it’s our turn—to become your hope.”
The air in the room softened.
The tension that had held Mirko’s shoulders stiff began to ease. She exhaled slowly, a quiet breath slipping through parted lips. For the first time, she could feel the faint warmth of the incense.
Shiozaki watched her, then spoke softly.
“That’s enough for today.”
She gathered the teacups with careful fingers.
“For now, your memories and emotions are still tangled. You’ll need time to sort through them—little by little.”
The vines moved lazily toward the window. As sunlight filtered through the curtains, the room grew warm.
“I’ll bring you a tea to calm your body and mind.”
Her voice fell gentle and low.
“Rest, slowly.”
She rose quietly.
When the door closed, only the scent of tea and the whisper of wind remained.
“…Hope,” Mirko murmured.
A faint smile touched her lips.
The heavy fear that had crushed her chest slowly faded away.
And in its place, something warm rose slowly from deep within.
‘HOPE?'
The voice split the air—dry, raspy, like crumbling stone.
Every muscle in her body locked.
Mirko turned her head—slowly, her neck creaking with resistance.
(The AI cover depiction may differ from descriptions in the story and the original work.)
Rabbit Runs Again
[Chapter 21 - Confession]
Late morning. Shiozaki Ibara’s counseling room was bathed in silence.
Soft golden sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, breaking gently across the wooden floor where dust motes danced in the warm air. A simple cross, a small flower pot, and a sun-faded verse from the Bible hung quietly on the plaster wall, adding to the faint, comforting scent of dried herbs and old paper.
Shiozaki lifted the teapot and poured the tea with steady hands. Warm steam rose, and a gentle fragrance spread through the room.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Mirko leaned back in the chair and glanced around for a moment.
“Comfortably, huh…” A dry, hollow laugh escaped her. “These days, that’s the hardest thing to do.”
Between the last drip of tea and the sway of curtains, a heavy quiet settled in the cup.
“Aren’t you going to ask me anything?”
Mirko tilted her head slightly, one eyebrow arched in genuine surprise.
“Doctors usually can’t wait to start prying right away.”
Shiozaki met her gaze calmly, gently swirling the teacup to spread the aroma.
“You’ve already said a lot at the hospital, haven’t you?”
“I did.” Mirko let out a sharp, cynical scoff. “I talked about all sorts of things out of sheer frustration. But the answers were all pretty much the same.”
She crossed her arms and turned her gaze aside.
“‘You need rest,’ ‘Time will heal you’—Just noise. That’s all. It just made me... sick.”
Shiozaki nodded.
“That’s why I will just listen today.” Her voice came low, carrying a quiet warmth. “Even without asking, I feel like there’s something you want to say, Mirko.”
Mirko stopped tapping her finger against her arm. She studied Shiozaki, her eyes searching—gauging if she could truly let her guard down.
Shiozaki pushed the teacup slightly forward.
“You can talk about what we spoke of earlier, or about your daily life. Or you can just drink tea and rest for a while.” Her gaze softened. “Follow where your heart leads.”
A thin trail of steam rose from the cup, drifting like a white haze between the two of them. Mirko kept her eyes on that haze.
“…As my heart leads...”
Her lips curled in bitter self-mockery.
“My heart… has lost its place.”
It was a quiet remark, yet the air in the room slowly cooled. She exhaled softly, a tired sound that carried more emptiness than breath.
“...I got it all back.”
She lifted both arms slowly, testing the weight of what she’d regained. Light brushed against her skin, tracing the smooth outline of rebuilt muscle.
“Both arms. My right leg. Even the tip of my ear…”
Her fingers drifted to her thigh, wandering as if searching for an old wound.
“Even the burn scars gone, wiped clean like they’d never been. But still…”
A short, brittle laugh slipped from her lips.
“...Why does everything still feel wrong?”
Mirko kept her eyes on the empty air and murmured quietly.
“…Maybe... accepting the Rewind was a mistake.”
The tea rippled in the cup, warping her reflection into something she didn’t recognize.
“Maybe I should’ve just stayed as metal, ”
Her eyes fell, heavy with thought.
“At least… my heart didn’t feel this lost.”
Mirko lifted the cup and took a sip. Warm tea touched her tongue—then nothing. Shiozaki lowered her gaze, waiting in silence until Mirko’s shaking eased.
The silence filled the room, deep and heavy—an answer in itself.
“May I ask… what made you decide to accept the Rewind?”
Her voice was careful, steady—not probing, but ready to listen.
Mirko went quiet, lost somewhere in thought. Her eyes wandered to the window, to the curtain swaying in the light.
“…Eraser Head was the first to mention it.”
She crossed her arms and stared into empty space.
“And I told him I didn't need fixing. ‘What I lost was just flesh.’ That’s what I said.”
A short, dry laugh escaped her.
“Back then, I thought I could endure anything.”
Mirko’s gaze drifted away, the light in her eyes dimming with memory.
“Not long after Eraser Head left, a massive congratulatory wreath arrived. From Hawks, of course.”
She let out a short, rough chuckle.
“He always did that—every damn time I finished a mission, he’d send one. That was just like him. And I knew... what he was trying to hide behind those loud flowers and short letters.”
The words dissolved into a heavy sigh.
“That was when a thought came to me—quiet, but sharp. ‘Could a body like this ever be… a good wife? A good mother?’”
A short silence followed. Her voice trembled softly.
“The prosthetics worked. But they weren’t mine. If I ever held someone again…”
She uncrossed her arms, staring down at them.
Skin, flesh, and bone. A pulse beating beneath the surface, warm blood flowing through veins. Her own, whole arms.
“I wanted to feel their warmth, not through metal.”
The curtain by the window swayed, catching the light like a quiet breath. Shiozaki said nothing, only watching the light tremble on Mirko's face.
Mirko’s eyes wandered, unfocused.
“The feeling right after Rewind—it still feels vivid, even now.”
She raised both arms again, fingertips trembling as if remembering that moment.
“Back then, lifting my arms like this… it felt like salvation. Eri’s tears. The warmth of her small fist bumping against mine. No more iron. No more gears. Only bone—and flesh.”
Her fingertips traced her own arms, as if to be sure they were truly hers. A faint pulse stirred beneath her skin—alive, real.
“To feel again at all… in that moment, it was nothing short of a miracle.”
Mirko’s voice fell, low and filled with awe.
“After that, I locked myself away in the HPSC basement, training for months. I had to learn to move again. And above all, Eri—and what she’d done—had to stay secret.”
“Eri still came to see me sometimes. She’d show up with a little lunchbox, smiling like the sun. ‘Do your best today!’ she’d say.”
Mirko let out a slow breath, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.
“I’d ruffle her hair and tell her, ‘When I finish my comeback mission, dinner’s on me.’ ‘And when you graduate from U.A.… we’ll run together someday.’”
Her gaze lingered on the empty air, seeing that memory instead of the room.
“At that time, I felt lighter than air. I truly believed the best was yet to come. To feel the wind against this restored body, running side by side with them again.”
Shiozaki nodded gently, acknowledging the warmth in her voice.
“It sounds like a time filled with light.”
She paused briefly before asking softly.
“Then… were there no symptoms back then?”
Mirko thought for a moment, then shook her head slowly.
“Not exactly. There were... signs.”
She exhaled softly before she went on.
“I’d get headaches. Dizzy spells, sometimes. Time slipped. The line between now and eight years ago... it kept blurring. But it got better—little by little. No hallucinations, no voices—just the clock in my head running wrong.”
Her fingertips traced her forehead. She let out a slow, unsteady breath.
“That was when it first began—during the ceremony. Near the end of the event, pain hit—sharp, sudden, like a needle driven into my skull. And at the same moment, a high-pitched whine screamed in my ears.”
She pressed her temple, eyes half-closed.
“Looking back now… I think it was a whisper. Or maybe a warning. But then, I didn’t think twice. I blinked—and then it was gone.”
Mirko pressed her fingertips together, as if to keep herself steady.
“The real start of it all… was that night. I was talking with Mt. Lady, and for a second, time itself felt wrong. It didn’t feel like now. It felt… like before the war ended.”
Her eyes stayed on the floor.
“The air turned strange for a moment, but we soon laughed it off. I just thought it was a simple side effect of the treatment back then... but looking back, something had already slipped out of place.”
Silence settled between them.
“Just as I lifted my glass, the champagne bubbling in the light...”
Her breath hitched.
“I felt it. A breath... brushing right against my ear. Same sound from just like that day at Jaku Hospital. Ragged. Trembling. It was too close... I couldn't tell if it was a scream, or a prayer.”
“And after that…”
Her voice faded, dissolving into the stillness. Her lips moved—opened, closed—but no words came.
Shiozaki watched in silence.
‘Here it is. The thorn she has been hiding all this time.’
Her vines stirred restlessly, brushing against the teacup’s shadow—a silent reflection of the agitation in the air. That small motion brought back the memory of the Commission meeting.
‘Something she still can’t say.’
The thought echoed again in her mind. Mirko stayed silent, her shoulders trembling just a little. Shiozaki steadied her breath, fingers meeting in quiet prayer.
‘Mirko had spoken of the pain, the fear, the hallucinations. But there was a wall she refused to cross.’
‘Every time she approached the core of her agony, her voice died. What is behind that wall she refuses to cross?’
‘The pieces aligned in her mind. The ceremony. The toast. The news broadcast…’
‘Every single instance… was tied to the bonds she cherished most. Her comrades.’
Shiozaki lowered her eyes, a deep understanding settling in her heart. She saw the trembling of Mirko’s fists on her knees.
‘It wasn’t Shigaraki she feared. It was the shadow growing inside her own heart.’
‘She feared her words would wound her comrades. And she couldn’t forgive the part of herself that resented them.’
‘She had always stood at the front—shielding everyone else. And precisely because of that... even her own anger felt like a betrayal.’
Her vines swayed gently, in response to her sorrow.
‘Now… it’s her heart that needs saving.’
Shiozaki drew a quiet breath.
“It’s all right,” she said. Her voice carried warmth, but also an unshakeable strength. “You don’t have to answer right away.”
Mirko lifted her head; her eyes held both caution and exhaustion.
“But…”
Shiozaki smiled faintly.
“The feelings you carry—they are not sins.”
The air stilled, heavy and clear. She lowered her eyes, then looked up again, steady.
“Mirko… No.” She paused. “Rumi.”
Her voice was quiet, yet it rang firm.
“We remember. We remember how you stood in that war against All For One. You were the spear. The shield. The Rabbit Hero, Mirko. The first to bleed, and the last to fall.”
Silence lingered. Mirko’s eyes wavered. Shiozaki went on, her tone low and kind.
“Pain turning inward... anger seeking a way out... none of that is a sin.”
“It is simply proof that your heart is still alive. That you are human.”
“For heroes, for citizens—you gave everything. No matter how strong the villains, you faced them with that wild, fearless grin.”
“That heart,” she said softly, “is what truly matters.”
Silence filled the room once more, deep and steady. Mirko finally looked at Shiozaki.
In those tired, guarded eyes, the walls finally began to crack.
The permission to be weak. The permission to be broken. It was something she had never given herself.
“I was afraid I’d hurt them... I never said it out loud until now.”
She took a moment to steady her breath.
“I can’t keep avoiding or running.”
Her next words barely left her lips.
“My... comrades…”
“I hear voices...full of resentment toward them.”
The air stopped moving.
Shiozaki said nothing to break the confession. She held her breath, letting the words settle into the quiet.
(The AI cover depiction may differ from descriptions in the story and the original work.)
Rabbit Runs Again
[Chapter 21 - Confession]
Late morning. Shiozaki Ibara’s counseling room was bathed in silence.
Soft golden sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, breaking gently across the wooden floor where dust motes danced in the warm air. A simple cross, a small flower pot, and a sun-faded verse from the Bible hung quietly on the plaster wall, adding to the faint, comforting scent of dried herbs and old paper.
Shiozaki lifted the teapot and poured the tea with steady hands. Warm steam rose, and a gentle fragrance spread through the room.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Mirko leaned back in the chair and glanced around for a moment.
“Comfortably, huh…” A dry, hollow laugh escaped her. “These days, that’s the hardest thing to do.”
Between the last drip of tea and the sway of curtains, a heavy quiet settled in the cup.
“Aren’t you going to ask me anything?”
Mirko tilted her head slightly, one eyebrow arched in genuine surprise.
“Doctors usually can’t wait to start prying right away.”
Shiozaki met her gaze calmly, gently swirling the teacup to spread the aroma.
“You’ve already said a lot at the hospital, haven’t you?”
“I did.” Mirko let out a sharp, cynical scoff. “I talked about all sorts of things out of sheer frustration. But the answers were all pretty much the same.”
She crossed her arms and turned her gaze aside.
“‘You need rest,’ ‘Time will heal you’—Just noise. That’s all. It just made me... sick.”
Shiozaki nodded.
“That’s why I will just listen today.” Her voice came low, carrying a quiet warmth. “Even without asking, I feel like there’s something you want to say, Mirko.”
Mirko stopped tapping her finger against her arm. She studied Shiozaki, her eyes searching—gauging if she could truly let her guard down.
Shiozaki pushed the teacup slightly forward.
“You can talk about what we spoke of earlier, or about your daily life. Or you can just drink tea and rest for a while.” Her gaze softened. “Follow where your heart leads.”
A thin trail of steam rose from the cup, drifting like a white haze between the two of them. Mirko kept her eyes on that haze.
“…As my heart leads...”
Her lips curled in bitter self-mockery.
“My heart… has lost its place.”
It was a quiet remark, yet the air in the room slowly cooled. She exhaled softly, a tired sound that carried more emptiness than breath.
“...I got it all back.”
She lifted both arms slowly, testing the weight of what she’d regained. Light brushed against her skin, tracing the smooth outline of rebuilt muscle.
“Both arms. My right leg. Even the tip of my ear…”
Her fingers drifted to her thigh, wandering as if searching for an old wound.
“Even the burn scars gone, wiped clean like they’d never been. But still…”
A short, brittle laugh slipped from her lips.
“...Why does everything still feel wrong?”
Mirko kept her eyes on the empty air and murmured quietly.
“…Maybe... accepting the Rewind was a mistake.”
The tea rippled in the cup, warping her reflection into something she didn’t recognize.
“Maybe I should’ve just stayed as metal, ”
Her eyes fell, heavy with thought.
“At least… my heart didn’t feel this lost.”
Mirko lifted the cup and took a sip. Warm tea touched her tongue—then nothing. Shiozaki lowered her gaze, waiting in silence until Mirko’s shaking eased.
The silence filled the room, deep and heavy—an answer in itself.
“May I ask… what made you decide to accept the Rewind?”
Her voice was careful, steady—not probing, but ready to listen.
Mirko went quiet, lost somewhere in thought. Her eyes wandered to the window, to the curtain swaying in the light.
“…Eraser Head was the first to mention it.”
She crossed her arms and stared into empty space.
“And I told him I didn't need fixing. ‘What I lost was just flesh.’ That’s what I said.”
A short, dry laugh escaped her.
“Back then, I thought I could endure anything.”
Mirko’s gaze drifted away, the light in her eyes dimming with memory.
“Not long after Eraser Head left, a massive congratulatory wreath arrived. From Hawks, of course.”
She let out a short, rough chuckle.
“He always did that—every damn time I finished a mission, he’d send one. That was just like him. And I knew... what he was trying to hide behind those loud flowers and short letters.”
The words dissolved into a heavy sigh.
“That was when a thought came to me—quiet, but sharp. ‘Could a body like this ever be… a good wife? A good mother?’”
A short silence followed. Her voice trembled softly.
“The prosthetics worked. But they weren’t mine. If I ever held someone again…”
She uncrossed her arms, staring down at them.
Skin, flesh, and bone. A pulse beating beneath the surface, warm blood flowing through veins. Her own, whole arms.
“I wanted to feel their warmth, not through metal.”
The curtain by the window swayed, catching the light like a quiet breath. Shiozaki said nothing, only watching the light tremble on Mirko's face.
Mirko’s eyes wandered, unfocused.
“The feeling right after Rewind—it still feels vivid, even now.”
She raised both arms again, fingertips trembling as if remembering that moment.
“Back then, lifting my arms like this… it felt like salvation. Eri’s tears. The warmth of her small fist bumping against mine. No more iron. No more gears. Only bone—and flesh.”
Her fingertips traced her own arms, as if to be sure they were truly hers. A faint pulse stirred beneath her skin—alive, real.
“To feel again at all… in that moment, it was nothing short of a miracle.”
Mirko’s voice fell, low and filled with awe.
“After that, I locked myself away in the HPSC basement, training for months. I had to learn to move again. And above all, Eri—and what she’d done—had to stay secret.”
“Eri still came to see me sometimes. She’d show up with a little lunchbox, smiling like the sun. ‘Do your best today!’ she’d say.”
Mirko let out a slow breath, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.
“I’d ruffle her hair and tell her, ‘When I finish my comeback mission, dinner’s on me.’ ‘And when you graduate from U.A.… we’ll run together someday.’”
Her gaze lingered on the empty air, seeing that memory instead of the room.
“At that time, I felt lighter than air. I truly believed the best was yet to come. To feel the wind against this restored body, running side by side with them again.”
Shiozaki nodded gently, acknowledging the warmth in her voice.
“It sounds like a time filled with light.”
She paused briefly before asking softly.
“Then… were there no symptoms back then?”
Mirko thought for a moment, then shook her head slowly.
“Not exactly. There were... signs.”
She exhaled softly before she went on.
“I’d get headaches. Dizzy spells, sometimes. Time slipped. The line between now and eight years ago... it kept blurring. But it got better—little by little. No hallucinations, no voices—just the clock in my head running wrong.”
Her fingertips traced her forehead. She let out a slow, unsteady breath.
“That was when it first began—during the ceremony. Near the end of the event, pain hit—sharp, sudden, like a needle driven into my skull. And at the same moment, a high-pitched whine screamed in my ears.”
She pressed her temple, eyes half-closed.
“Looking back now… I think it was a whisper. Or maybe a warning. But then, I didn’t think twice. I blinked—and then it was gone.”
Mirko pressed her fingertips together, as if to keep herself steady.
“The real start of it all… was that night. I was talking with Mt. Lady, and for a second, time itself felt wrong. It didn’t feel like now. It felt… like before the war ended.”
Her eyes stayed on the floor.
“The air turned strange for a moment, but we soon laughed it off. I just thought it was a simple side effect of the treatment back then... but looking back, something had already slipped out of place.”
Silence settled between them.
“Just as I lifted my glass, the champagne bubbling in the light...”
Her breath hitched.
“I felt it. A breath... brushing right against my ear. Same sound from just like that day at Jaku Hospital. Ragged. Trembling. It was too close... I couldn't tell if it was a scream, or a prayer.”
“And after that…”
Her voice faded, dissolving into the stillness. Her lips moved—opened, closed—but no words came.
Shiozaki watched in silence.
‘Here it is. The thorn she has been hiding all this time.’
Her vines stirred restlessly, brushing against the teacup’s shadow—a silent reflection of the agitation in the air. That small motion brought back the memory of the Commission meeting.
‘Something she still can’t say.’
The thought echoed again in her mind. Mirko stayed silent, her shoulders trembling just a little. Shiozaki steadied her breath, fingers meeting in quiet prayer.
‘Mirko had spoken of the pain, the fear, the hallucinations. But there was a wall she refused to cross.’
‘Every time she approached the core of her agony, her voice died. What is behind that wall she refuses to cross?’
‘The pieces aligned in her mind. The ceremony. The toast. The news broadcast…’
‘Every single instance… was tied to the bonds she cherished most. Her comrades.’
Shiozaki lowered her eyes, a deep understanding settling in her heart. She saw the trembling of Mirko’s fists on her knees.
‘It wasn’t Shigaraki she feared. It was the shadow growing inside her own heart.’
‘She feared her words would wound her comrades. And she couldn’t forgive the part of herself that resented them.’
‘She had always stood at the front—shielding everyone else. And precisely because of that... even her own anger felt like a betrayal.’
Her vines swayed gently, in response to her sorrow.
‘Now… it’s her heart that needs saving.’
Shiozaki drew a quiet breath.
“It’s all right,” she said. Her voice carried warmth, but also an unshakeable strength. “You don’t have to answer right away.”
Mirko lifted her head; her eyes held both caution and exhaustion.
“But…”
Shiozaki smiled faintly.
“The feelings you carry—they are not sins.”
The air stilled, heavy and clear. She lowered her eyes, then looked up again, steady.
“Mirko… No.” She paused. “Rumi.”
Her voice was quiet, yet it rang firm.
“We remember. We remember how you stood in that war against All For One. You were the spear. The shield. The Rabbit Hero, Mirko. The first to bleed, and the last to fall.”
Silence lingered. Mirko’s eyes wavered. Shiozaki went on, her tone low and kind.
“Pain turning inward... anger seeking a way out... none of that is a sin.”
“It is simply proof that your heart is still alive. That you are human.”
“For heroes, for citizens—you gave everything. No matter how strong the villains, you faced them with that wild, fearless grin.”
“That heart,” she said softly, “is what truly matters.”
Silence filled the room once more, deep and steady. Mirko finally looked at Shiozaki.
In those tired, guarded eyes, the walls finally began to crack.
The permission to be weak. The permission to be broken. It was something she had never given herself.
“I was afraid I’d hurt them... I never said it out loud until now.”
She took a moment to steady her breath.
“I can’t keep avoiding or running.”
Her next words barely left her lips.
“My... comrades…”
“I hear voices...full of resentment toward them.”
The air stopped moving.
Shiozaki said nothing to break the confession. She held her breath, letting the words settle into the quiet.
(The AI cover depiction may differ from descriptions in the story and the original work.)
Rabbit Runs Again
[Chapter 20 - Ember]
<Public Safety Bureau Vehicle — En Route Dawn>
The engine purred low, a steady rhythm beneath the hush of early morning. Mist drifted over the road as the cool air slipped through the window. The sky, moments before sunrise, was tinted with a pale orange glow.
"It's quiet."
Hawks rested one hand on the wheel. "The air feels different once we leave the city."
He glanced at the rearview mirror, but Mirko’s eyes stayed fixed on the window.
"You could’ve taken the back seat, you know."
Mirko crossed her arms, a short, dry laugh slipping out. "When the President’s behind the wheel? That’d feel too fancy for me."
"Fancy? I’d call it courtesy."
"Guess I’m not used to being taken care of." She glanced at him sideways. "You didn’t have to do this yourself."
Hawks exhaled, one corner of his mouth lifting.
"Cleared my schedule for the morning. Figured you’d prefer someone familiar behind the wheel."
Mirko raised an eyebrow. "Just to drive me?"
"For the No. 5 hero? I think I can manage that much."
Mirko let out a sharp little laugh through her nose. "I’m No. 6 now."
"You’ll always be No. 5 to me."
His tone was playful, yet something old and wistful threaded through it. For a while, only the hum of the road filled the car. Hawks tapped the steering wheel lightly.
"If I still had wings, we’d be there already."
Mirko glanced at him. "We’ve both lost a lot."
He paused. "Me? …It’s nothing."
Her gaze lingered on him. The passing road lights flashed over his face, hiding the faint tremor in his fingers.
"…Lately, I’ve been thinking about him a lot."
Mirko kept her eyes on the dark landscape outside. "How’s Endeavor these days?"
Hawks lowered his head for a moment before answering with a soft smile. "He’s doing better. Stood up from his wheelchair not long ago. Walks with a cane now—helps victims, oversees rebuilding. Never really stops."
"Not punishment," Hawks said quietly. "Responsibility." His eyes drifted toward the distance. "He’s choosing to carry the weight of his own fire—to watch its shadow until the end."
Mirko said nothing. In the glass, her reflection flickered—one small light caught in the dark.
"He lost so much," she murmured. "Honor, family, even an arm… Refused treatment, refused surgery. Just endured. Burned through it all—like fire, to the very end."
Hawks nodded, tightening his grip on the wheel. "That’s who he is. Even when he breaks, even when the flame dies out… a spark always remains."
Mirko leaned back, eyes distant. "I worked with him a few times. For someone who liked charging in alone, he was one of the few heroes I ever called for backup."
A faint smile crossed her lips, then vanished. "He’d always show up when I called, even without notice. Grumbled the whole time—‘Damn rabbit, calling me out like that’—and still came running anyway."
Silence followed.
"As a hero… he was truly remarkable."
Hawks nodded slowly. "To me too. He was the best."
His gaze unfocused. A quiet breath escaped—and a flash of memory followed. A small room, years ago. A man on the TV, flames roaring across the screen. On a dusty shelf, an Endeavor figure swaying in the breeze. Each time the light touched its face, the world seemed a little less dark.
The All Might toy had been lost long ago, but that one—Endeavor—always remained. A child’s hand reached for it, the image flashing by like a spark cutting through the dark.
Mirko glanced his way, her voice low. "His inferiority toward All Might, his obsession with being Number One… that’s what burned him out in the end."
Hawks exhaled through his nose. A road sign slid past the window. "He lived like fire—and burned out the same way."
"Still…" Mirko turned back to the glass. "Because of that fire, a lot of lives kept burning on." A pause. Then she added, almost to herself, "…Me included."
The car went quiet. Even the engine sounded far away.
"Sometimes I wonder," Mirko said, her voice trembling low. "If I’ll end up the same way he did—if the fire in my heart will burn me out too."
Hawks’ hands tightened around the wheel.
"Endeavor didn’t have anyone to hold his fire back," he said quietly, but firmly. "You’re different. You’re not alone. —You have me."
Mirko turned slightly, but he kept his eyes ahead.
"I won’t let your fire consume you," he said after a pause. "And even if it does… I’ll pull you out myself."
Morning light streamed across the glass, touching both their faces—faint, but steady, like a flame refusing to die. For a while, Mirko said nothing. The sunlight caught on the white tips of her ears. Then, slowly, she smiled.
"...I can trust that, right?"
Hawks’ eyes curved with a small grin. "I’m a bird who can’t lie." He drew in a slow breath. "No wings now, but I still fly—so that shadow of yours never catches you again."
"A shadow, huh…" Mirko chuckled. "Ha, still sounds dumb every time you say it."
Her laughter spread, and Hawks joined in. For the first time in a long while, the air inside the car felt light. The morning sun slipped between them, lingering there—not as fire, but as light.
Beyond the mist, a bell tower came into view. Beneath the mountain ridge, an old village slowly woke.
Hawks eased down on the brake. "We’re here."
The moment they stepped out, the city’s scent vanished—replaced by the quiet breath of soil and grass filling their lungs. Soft sunlight brushed over the stone walls. At the end of the narrow winding path, the church cross shimmered faintly.
And at the base of the slope—stood a woman in a white robe and black boots, her hands gently folded.
Shiozaki Ibara — Hero Name: Vine.
Green tendrils, flowing like her hair, wrapped around her shoulders, swaying with the morning breeze. Where sunlight touched them, the smaller strands quivered as if drawing breath. One vine trailed down her forehead, weaving naturally into a small crown.
Light rested on it softly—a laurel of grace upon the sanctuary of morning.
Her skin was pale, but her eyes held warmth. Within that calm gaze lingered an old, unshaken faith. When she brought her fingertips together, the surrounding vines stirred in response to the wind—alive, and breathing.
"I’ve been expecting you, Mirko."
Mirko let out a quiet breath. "You’ve been standing out here since dawn, huh."
"Yes. The weather’s quite pleasant today." Shiozaki’s smile was gentle—like sunlight itself.
Mirko nodded, glancing up the path that led toward the church. It was narrow, but on either side, wildflowers bowed softly in the wind. The slope began to ease. Between the ridges, birdsong echoed, and wind brushed softly through the leaves.
Hawks spoke in an easy tone. "First time seeing it up close?"
Mirko nodded. "Yeah. Only ever saw it on TV or in articles."
Hawks glanced toward Shiozaki.
"She helps with the parish, teaches the kids, tends the fields... basically, whenever folks around here are struggling, she’s there. They call her the village’s healer of hearts."
Shiozaki bowed her head modestly. "I only do what I can."
A faint smile crossed Mirko’s lips. "You make me think of the sports festival. You floored Kaminari in one hit back then."
Shiozaki laughed softly. "That was thanks to my teammates."
"Kendo told me," Hawks said with a grin. "Didn't Kaminari say if he won, you’d have to go on a date with him?"
Shiozaki chuckled. "Maybe that’s why I fought so hard."
Their laughter carried on the morning breeze—light, fleeting, and warm.
Mirko spoke again. "Even back then, a lot of heroes had their eyes on you. Same when you interned under The Lurkers. Kamui especially—he praised you all the time."
She tilted her head with a faint smile. "Strong quirk, kind heart—" she paused, then added with a teasing grin, "and a pretty face on top of that. So why aren’t you putting yourself out there more? I’d bet you could crack the Top 20 on the Hero Billboard Chart easily."
Shiozaki lowered her eyes for a moment before smiling softly. "I’m still active."
The wind brushed against her vines, carrying the scent of morning grass. The leaves caught the sunlight and shimmered faintly, silver and green.
"Just… in a different way."
She touched one of the vines that trailed over her head. "My Quirk, Vine, is something I see as a blessing." She took a quiet breath before continuing. "But it’s not without flaws. Against speedsters like Iida, I was always a step behind. And with my rigid nature, I never handled trickier opponents very well."
A faintly self-mocking smile touched her lips. "During the joint training, I got caught in Shinso’s brainwashing. Ended up binding my own teammates with my vines. When it finally wore off, I muttered ‘forgive this foolish sheep’—and passed out right after."
Hawks chuckled. "That’s so you. Only you would take a training exercise that seriously."
Shiozaki lowered her head, then smiled softly. "But at disaster sites—when I’m rescuing people from collapsed buildings, when I’m shielding those scattered and afraid—"
She lifted a hand, showing the vines wrapped around her arm. The green tendrils swayed in the wind, catching the light as they shimmered.
"Nothing else feels quite as right."
Her hands came together, and along her fingertips, the vines unfurled slowly, blooming like new leaves.
"That’s why I chose to follow my own path," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "When the world is at peace, I try to spread kindness. And when danger comes, I stay by the citizens’ side and guide them to safety."
She closed her eyes for a moment. The wind whispered softly through the vines.
"Whether it’s a shining struggle or a silent prayer… it all begins from the same place—the heart that reaches out to someone else."
Her gaze turned to Mirko. "The world needs those who fight on the front lines, like you, and those who stand as support, like me. That’s… the way I fight now."
Mirko watched her in silence for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Still a hero through and through. Just walking a different road."
For a while, no one spoke. The wind crossed the mountains, the vines shimmered softly in the sunlight, and within that light, the shadows of all three stretched long, side by side.
At the crest of the hill, sunlight spilled across the church roof. A heavy silence rested before the door—even the wind and birds seemed to pause for that one still moment.
Shiozaki brought her fingertips together, tracing a quiet cross in the air. The vines followed her gesture, gently pushing the doors open. The old hinges gave a low groan, and a faint scent of aged wood and incense drifted out.
Inside, the church was wider than expected. From the altar came the soft murmur of a priest’s prayer, and down the corridor, the hem of a white habit brushed lightly past. Sunlight through the stained glass scattered red and blue across the floor.
Shiozaki walked ahead in silence. "This way, please."
Mirko and Hawks followed, taking in the surroundings. Paintings of saints hung beside children’s drawings, and to one side stood a small soup kitchen run by the church. The wooden floor was old, yet each step drew out a quiet shine, as if it had been polished by years of care.
At the end of the corridor, Shiozaki stopped before a small door. A plaque above it read Counseling Room. From the crack beneath, a faint scent of herbs drifted out.
Hawks stopped at the doorway. "I’ll take a look around the village for a bit." He glanced between them with a teasing smile. "Take good care of her, Vine."
A quick wink.
Shiozaki drew a quiet breath, bowing her head with a gentle smile. "You haven’t changed, President Hawks."
"I’ll take that as a compliment."
Hawks waved lightly, his figure fading down the corridor.
Shiozaki opened the door. Warmth met them inside. A small desk, two chairs, a small Bible, and a tea set neatly arranged on the shelf, and a potted plant resting by the window.
"It’s quiet," Mirko murmured.
"This is a place for both prayer and conversation," Shiozaki said softly.
Gathering her vines, she moved them toward the window. Sunlight filtered through them, and the air within the room stirred faintly in its glow.
Mirko sat down. Her hands rested on her knees, her gaze lowered. Her rabbit ears trembled slightly.
Shiozaki took the seat across from her.
"Shall we begin—slowly?"
The words sank into the stillness of the church. Outside, a distant bell rang softly.
(The AI cover depiction may differ from descriptions in the story and the original work.)
Rabbit Runs Again
[Chapter 20 - Ember]
<Public Safety Bureau Vehicle — En Route Dawn>
The engine purred low, a steady rhythm beneath the hush of early morning. Mist drifted over the road as the cool air slipped through the window. The sky, moments before sunrise, was tinted with a pale orange glow.
"It's quiet."
Hawks rested one hand on the wheel. "The air feels different once we leave the city."
He glanced at the rearview mirror, but Mirko’s eyes stayed fixed on the window.
"You could’ve taken the back seat, you know."
Mirko crossed her arms, a short, dry laugh slipping out. "When the President’s behind the wheel? That’d feel too fancy for me."
"Fancy? I’d call it courtesy."
"Guess I’m not used to being taken care of." She glanced at him sideways. "You didn’t have to do this yourself."
Hawks exhaled, one corner of his mouth lifting.
"Cleared my schedule for the morning. Figured you’d prefer someone familiar behind the wheel."
Mirko raised an eyebrow. "Just to drive me?"
"For the No. 5 hero? I think I can manage that much."
Mirko let out a sharp little laugh through her nose. "I’m No. 6 now."
"You’ll always be No. 5 to me."
His tone was playful, yet something old and wistful threaded through it. For a while, only the hum of the road filled the car. Hawks tapped the steering wheel lightly.
"If I still had wings, we’d be there already."
Mirko glanced at him. "We’ve both lost a lot."
He paused. "Me? …It’s nothing."
Her gaze lingered on him. The passing road lights flashed over his face, hiding the faint tremor in his fingers.
"…Lately, I’ve been thinking about him a lot."
Mirko kept her eyes on the dark landscape outside. "How’s Endeavor these days?"
Hawks lowered his head for a moment before answering with a soft smile. "He’s doing better. Stood up from his wheelchair not long ago. Walks with a cane now—helps victims, oversees rebuilding. Never really stops."
"Not punishment," Hawks said quietly. "Responsibility." His eyes drifted toward the distance. "He’s choosing to carry the weight of his own fire—to watch its shadow until the end."
Mirko said nothing. In the glass, her reflection flickered—one small light caught in the dark.
"He lost so much," she murmured. "Honor, family, even an arm… Refused treatment, refused surgery. Just endured. Burned through it all—like fire, to the very end."
Hawks nodded, tightening his grip on the wheel. "That’s who he is. Even when he breaks, even when the flame dies out… a spark always remains."
Mirko leaned back, eyes distant. "I worked with him a few times. For someone who liked charging in alone, he was one of the few heroes I ever called for backup."
A faint smile crossed her lips, then vanished. "He’d always show up when I called, even without notice. Grumbled the whole time—‘Damn rabbit, calling me out like that’—and still came running anyway."
Silence followed.
"As a hero… he was truly remarkable."
Hawks nodded slowly. "To me too. He was the best."
His gaze unfocused. A quiet breath escaped—and a flash of memory followed. A small room, years ago. A man on the TV, flames roaring across the screen. On a dusty shelf, an Endeavor figure swaying in the breeze. Each time the light touched its face, the world seemed a little less dark.
The All Might toy had been lost long ago, but that one—Endeavor—always remained. A child’s hand reached for it, the image flashing by like a spark cutting through the dark.
Mirko glanced his way, her voice low. "His inferiority toward All Might, his obsession with being Number One… that’s what burned him out in the end."
Hawks exhaled through his nose. A road sign slid past the window. "He lived like fire—and burned out the same way."
"Still…" Mirko turned back to the glass. "Because of that fire, a lot of lives kept burning on." A pause. Then she added, almost to herself, "…Me included."
The car went quiet. Even the engine sounded far away.
"Sometimes I wonder," Mirko said, her voice trembling low. "If I’ll end up the same way he did—if the fire in my heart will burn me out too."
Hawks’ hands tightened around the wheel.
"Endeavor didn’t have anyone to hold his fire back," he said quietly, but firmly. "You’re different. You’re not alone. —You have me."
Mirko turned slightly, but he kept his eyes ahead.
"I won’t let your fire consume you," he said after a pause. "And even if it does… I’ll pull you out myself."
Morning light streamed across the glass, touching both their faces—faint, but steady, like a flame refusing to die. For a while, Mirko said nothing. The sunlight caught on the white tips of her ears. Then, slowly, she smiled.
"...I can trust that, right?"
Hawks’ eyes curved with a small grin. "I’m a bird who can’t lie." He drew in a slow breath. "No wings now, but I still fly—so that shadow of yours never catches you again."
"A shadow, huh…" Mirko chuckled. "Ha, still sounds dumb every time you say it."
Her laughter spread, and Hawks joined in. For the first time in a long while, the air inside the car felt light. The morning sun slipped between them, lingering there—not as fire, but as light.
Beyond the mist, a bell tower came into view. Beneath the mountain ridge, an old village slowly woke.
Hawks eased down on the brake. "We’re here."
The moment they stepped out, the city’s scent vanished—replaced by the quiet breath of soil and grass filling their lungs. Soft sunlight brushed over the stone walls. At the end of the narrow winding path, the church cross shimmered faintly.
And at the base of the slope—stood a woman in a white robe and black boots, her hands gently folded.
Shiozaki Ibara — Hero Name: Vine.
Green tendrils, flowing like her hair, wrapped around her shoulders, swaying with the morning breeze. Where sunlight touched them, the smaller strands quivered as if drawing breath. One vine trailed down her forehead, weaving naturally into a small crown.
Light rested on it softly—a laurel of grace upon the sanctuary of morning.
Her skin was pale, but her eyes held warmth. Within that calm gaze lingered an old, unshaken faith. When she brought her fingertips together, the surrounding vines stirred in response to the wind—alive, and breathing.
"I’ve been expecting you, Mirko."
Mirko let out a quiet breath. "You’ve been standing out here since dawn, huh."
"Yes. The weather’s quite pleasant today." Shiozaki’s smile was gentle—like sunlight itself.
Mirko nodded, glancing up the path that led toward the church. It was narrow, but on either side, wildflowers bowed softly in the wind. The slope began to ease. Between the ridges, birdsong echoed, and wind brushed softly through the leaves.
Hawks spoke in an easy tone. "First time seeing it up close?"
Mirko nodded. "Yeah. Only ever saw it on TV or in articles."
Hawks glanced toward Shiozaki.
"She helps with the parish, teaches the kids, tends the fields... basically, whenever folks around here are struggling, she’s there. They call her the village’s healer of hearts."
Shiozaki bowed her head modestly. "I only do what I can."
A faint smile crossed Mirko’s lips. "You make me think of the sports festival. You floored Kaminari in one hit back then."
Shiozaki laughed softly. "That was thanks to my teammates."
"Kendo told me," Hawks said with a grin. "Didn't Kaminari say if he won, you’d have to go on a date with him?"
Shiozaki chuckled. "Maybe that’s why I fought so hard."
Their laughter carried on the morning breeze—light, fleeting, and warm.
Mirko spoke again. "Even back then, a lot of heroes had their eyes on you. Same when you interned under The Lurkers. Kamui especially—he praised you all the time."
She tilted her head with a faint smile. "Strong quirk, kind heart—" she paused, then added with a teasing grin, "and a pretty face on top of that. So why aren’t you putting yourself out there more? I’d bet you could crack the Top 20 on the Hero Billboard Chart easily."
Shiozaki lowered her eyes for a moment before smiling softly. "I’m still active."
The wind brushed against her vines, carrying the scent of morning grass. The leaves caught the sunlight and shimmered faintly, silver and green.
"Just… in a different way."
She touched one of the vines that trailed over her head. "My Quirk, Vine, is something I see as a blessing." She took a quiet breath before continuing. "But it’s not without flaws. Against speedsters like Iida, I was always a step behind. And with my rigid nature, I never handled trickier opponents very well."
A faintly self-mocking smile touched her lips. "During the joint training, I got caught in Shinso’s brainwashing. Ended up binding my own teammates with my vines. When it finally wore off, I muttered ‘forgive this foolish sheep’—and passed out right after."
Hawks chuckled. "That’s so you. Only you would take a training exercise that seriously."
Shiozaki lowered her head, then smiled softly. "But at disaster sites—when I’m rescuing people from collapsed buildings, when I’m shielding those scattered and afraid—"
She lifted a hand, showing the vines wrapped around her arm. The green tendrils swayed in the wind, catching the light as they shimmered.
"Nothing else feels quite as right."
Her hands came together, and along her fingertips, the vines unfurled slowly, blooming like new leaves.
"That’s why I chose to follow my own path," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "When the world is at peace, I try to spread kindness. And when danger comes, I stay by the citizens’ side and guide them to safety."
She closed her eyes for a moment. The wind whispered softly through the vines.
"Whether it’s a shining struggle or a silent prayer… it all begins from the same place—the heart that reaches out to someone else."
Her gaze turned to Mirko. "The world needs those who fight on the front lines, like you, and those who stand as support, like me. That’s… the way I fight now."
Mirko watched her in silence for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Still a hero through and through. Just walking a different road."
For a while, no one spoke. The wind crossed the mountains, the vines shimmered softly in the sunlight, and within that light, the shadows of all three stretched long, side by side.
At the crest of the hill, sunlight spilled across the church roof. A heavy silence rested before the door—even the wind and birds seemed to pause for that one still moment.
Shiozaki brought her fingertips together, tracing a quiet cross in the air. The vines followed her gesture, gently pushing the doors open. The old hinges gave a low groan, and a faint scent of aged wood and incense drifted out.
Inside, the church was wider than expected. From the altar came the soft murmur of a priest’s prayer, and down the corridor, the hem of a white habit brushed lightly past. Sunlight through the stained glass scattered red and blue across the floor.
Shiozaki walked ahead in silence. "This way, please."
Mirko and Hawks followed, taking in the surroundings. Paintings of saints hung beside children’s drawings, and to one side stood a small soup kitchen run by the church. The wooden floor was old, yet each step drew out a quiet shine, as if it had been polished by years of care.
At the end of the corridor, Shiozaki stopped before a small door. A plaque above it read Counseling Room. From the crack beneath, a faint scent of herbs drifted out.
Hawks stopped at the doorway. "I’ll take a look around the village for a bit." He glanced between them with a teasing smile. "Take good care of her, Vine."
A quick wink.
Shiozaki drew a quiet breath, bowing her head with a gentle smile. "You haven’t changed, President Hawks."
"I’ll take that as a compliment."
Hawks waved lightly, his figure fading down the corridor.
Shiozaki opened the door. Warmth met them inside. A small desk, two chairs, a small Bible, and a tea set neatly arranged on the shelf, and a potted plant resting by the window.
"It’s quiet," Mirko murmured.
"This is a place for both prayer and conversation," Shiozaki said softly.
Gathering her vines, she moved them toward the window. Sunlight filtered through them, and the air within the room stirred faintly in its glow.
Mirko sat down. Her hands rested on her knees, her gaze lowered. Her rabbit ears trembled slightly.
Shiozaki took the seat across from her.
"Shall we begin—slowly?"
The words sank into the stillness of the church. Outside, a distant bell rang softly.
(The AI cover depiction may differ from descriptions in the story and the original work.)
Rabbit Runs Again
[Chapter 19 - Beneath]
<Late Afternoon, Hospital within the HPSC>
Kendo stopped at the end of the white corridor, standing before the hospital room door.
A faint mechanical beeping leaked from beyond it. The doctor’s words echoed in her mind.
“She wishes to meet alone. But she’s in a very unstable mental state. If the patient shows any abnormal reaction, please contact us immediately.”
Kendo’s fingers curled slightly. The hand resting on the doorknob felt cold.
“Mirko… it’s Kendo.”
She paused.
“May I come in?”
No answer.
Silence seeped out from the room, stretching down the corridor. Kendo steadied her breath and slowly pushed the door open. A faint creak broke the stillness. Her footfalls were light, deliberate.
“Excuse me…”
The door closed softly behind her, sealing her inside with the silence.
Inside, the room was perfectly arranged—every detail prepared for Mirko’s comfort. On one side, soft bedding lay neatly folded. Across from it stood a refrigerator stocked with carrots, protein drinks, and all the foods she used to love.
By the window stood rows of flower wreaths and gift baskets, each bearing a bright message:
“Congratulations on the Rabbit Hero’s return.”
They were tokens of genuine care—yet the scene felt strangely still.
In one corner sat a pair of light dumbbells, a stretching band, and a small treadmill. It felt like a space whispering, “You can run again anytime.”
But Mirko stood by the window, gazing at the distant sky.
Her shoulders were stiff, her rabbit ears drooping with a faint tremor. Sunlight streamed through the glass, spilling across the white floor, casting her long shadow within it.
Kendo stood by the door, unable to speak. The hero before her still looked like someone who had never left the battlefield.
Mirko turned slowly to face her.
In her hospital gown, she seemed outwardly fine. Beneath the thin fabric, faint lines of muscle shaped her restored limbs—the physique of a legendary hero, rebuilt to perfection.
But her face told another story.
Her eyes were sunken, heavy with exhaustion, her lips pressed into a tight line. Her ears hung low at her shoulders, trembling softly. The fierce smile that once lit up the battlefield was gone.
In its place was the face of someone who had survived the fight—but hadn’t found her way back yet.
Kendo drew a quiet breath before speaking.
“I heard from President Hawks.”
Mirko gave a slow nod. “Yeah… I know I can trust you.”
A short silence fell between them. Mirko’s gaze drifted somewhere beyond the window.
“Be careful,” she said softly. “There’s a girl out there who’s only just found her happiness again… You’ll protect that, won’t you?”
Kendo lowered her head. Her voice wavered slightly.
“…I will. I promise.”
For a long moment, Mirko couldn’t speak. When she finally did, her voice came out thin and dry—like a breath that hurt just to release.
“Eri…”
Her throat tightened.
“She never wanted me to end up like this… not like this.”
Tears welled in her crimson eyes. She didn’t even lift a hand to wipe them away—just stared into the distance as her voice trembled low.
“When she sees me like this… she’ll blame herself for it, won’t she?”
Her breathing faltered slightly.
“She’s already such a wounded child…”
Her shoulders sank, ever so slightly. Her rabbit ears gave a slow, faint tremor. She couldn’t even cry properly, simply lowering her head in silence.
Kendo steadied her breath and took a slow step closer. Her voice was cautious, yet warm.
“About Eri…”
Mirko’s shoulders stirred, the faintest movement.
“Jiro said she performed at an outdoor concert a few days ago,” Kendo continued softly. “She’s been smiling every single day—brightly.”
A small smile touched Kendo’s lips.
“I saw the pictures too. She was wearing… a cute little rabbit hairpin.”
Silence followed. The tears that had gathered at Mirko’s lashes finally slipped free.
“...Really?”
Kendo nodded. “And she’s been praying—for your happiness, Mirko.”
Mirko couldn’t answer. She only brushed the corner of her eye with her fingertips.
Sunlight crept back into the room through the window. Mirko’s gaze drifted down to Kendo’s hand—to the white bandage wrapped around her knuckles.
“Is your hand okay?”
Kendo let out a small, surprised laugh.
“Oh, this? It’s fine! It’s nothing serious, but the doctor insisted on wrapping it up. Really—such an overreaction, don’t you think?”
She forced a smile, quietly hiding her hand behind her back. Mirko’s eyes followed the movement. Her lips moved with effort.
“…I’m sorry. Because of me.”
Kendo shook her head firmly. “Please don’t say that.”
A soft silence filled the space between them. Then Kendo spoke again, her tone gentle.
“These things happen between heroes. And besides… it’s thanks to that we can talk like this again, isn’t it?”
Mirko didn’t answer, but the tension around her eyes eased just a little. Her rabbit ears gave a faint twitch. She turned toward the window, her voice barely above a whisper.
“The other two… they must’ve been terrified.”
Kendo nodded quietly. “Pony and…”
Mirko’s voice trailed off. She hesitated for a long moment before forcing out the next word.
“…Komori.”
The moment she spoke the name, Mirko’s gaze wavered violently. Her rabbit ears twitched once, then folded back tight against her head. She pressed a hand to her forehead.
“No… no, that’s not it…”
Her breath came out uneven and ragged. Kendo moved closer without a word and gently took her hand, steadying it in her own. Mirko’s fingers trembled faintly, then went still. Her heavy, uneven breaths began to slow. Her rabbit ears unfolded again, little by little.
Kendo didn’t let go. She simply watched her for a moment before speaking, her voice cautious and low.
“Just now… did you hear Shigaraki’s voice?”
Mirko’s shoulders gave the slightest tremor. She let out a shaky breath and nodded.
“…Yeah.”
Her gaze dropped slowly to the floor.
“There was a time—when the hallucinations hit hard. After that… they stopped. No voices, no visions.”
A quiet pause followed. Mirko laced her fingers together and went on.
“So I thought… I was fine. But after this mission—”
She hesitated.
“No… it started during the mission itself.”
Her head bowed, as if the words themselves were too heavy.
“They’re getting more vivid. Stronger.”
Kendo’s eyes wavered. “…What is he saying?”
Mirko’s lips tightened.
“That I lost,” she said quietly. “He keeps laughing at me.”
Her fingers brushed the edge of her ear, as if trying to catch the whisper itself.
“He keeps whispering it… right next to my ear.”
Kendo caught her breath. The air in the room settled heavy around them.
Mirko slowly rolled up both sleeves. The muscle beneath flushed with red as it caught the light—arms perfectly restored. Yet her eyes looked at them as though they weren’t hers anymore.
“That voice…” Her tone trembled low. “It tells me… to turn my arms back into prosthetics. To make my legs… mechanical again.”
Her fingers closed around nothing. Her rabbit ears gave a faint shiver.
“These arms, these legs… it feels like they’re going cold again—just like back then.”
She lowered her head. Her hands fell slowly onto her knees. Kendo held her breath. Mirko’s pupils quivered faintly.
“I know this isn’t real,” she whispered. “But… I can still feel it. Like I’m trapped there, even now.”
Kendo reached out a hand. But between them lay a wound made of memory—one she still couldn’t touch.
Mirko let out a thin laugh—one without any strength.
“When I first lost my limbs, I didn’t think much of it,” she said. “I told myself… it was just part of being a hero.”
Her gaze drifted far away, as if chasing something she’d already lost.
“As soon as I recovered, I went back into the field—hunting down the remnants of All For One.”
A shaky breath escaped her, followed by a dry chuckle.
“The whole world cheered for me. ‘Bunny the Weapon.’ That nickname… I wore it like a badge of pride.”
She slowly raised both hands. Her fingertips trembled faintly.
“The latest prosthetics made me even stronger. Cannons, vulcan cannons, railguns… I kept switching combinations and kept fighting.”
Silence held for a moment.
“It didn’t hurt back then…” Her voice grew lower and lower. “But now, standing here again in this whole body… why does it—”
The words trailed off. Her lips parted, then closed again. Mirko let out a quiet, bitter laugh. Only the corners of her mouth lifted; her eyes stayed heavy and still.
“The residue of that bastard still inside me… it’s what’s breaking me now.”
She lowered her head.
“When he was alive… I wasn’t afraid. Not even once.”
A short, breathless laugh slipped out.
“He’s been dead for so long… and yet he’s still dragging me down.”
Her rabbit ears gave a slow tremor. Kendo caught her breath. Mirko’s voice fell lower, carrying a weariness deeper than any battle.
“Ridiculous, isn’t it…? He’s gone, and yet I’m still trapped here.”
Mirko turned slowly toward the corner of the room, where the training bench stood. The steel frame caught the fading sunset in a cold gleam. She tapped the edge lightly—tap, tap—with the tips of her fingers.
“If the enemy were something I could see… I’d just beat it down.”
A small laugh slipped out. It wasn’t mockery, nor surrender—just a sound to keep herself steady. She set her hands down on the bench. Her fingers tightened, then slackened.
“…I don’t even know how to fight this.”
“No… I don’t even know if I can.”
Kendo said nothing. From behind, she watched the back before her—and the hollow resolve that lingered beyond it.
Mirko kept her hands on the bench, letting out a short, hollow laugh.
“To think I’ve become… this weak.”
Her voice was low, drained of anger or sorrow—only the kind of empty sigh that comes from someone who’s endured too long.
The light outside faded completely; darkness filled the room.
Kendo watched her in silence. That silence—it spoke more than any words could. She moved slowly, step by step, until she stood beside Mirko by the training bench. Then, carefully, she reached out and laid her hand gently over Mirko’s hand, resting on the cold metal.
Kendo drew in a quiet breath before speaking.
“…You haven’t weakened. You’ve become human.”
Her voice was low, but steady.
“All this time, you endured like a weapon built to fight. What you’re feeling now… it means you’re alive.”
Mirko turned her head slowly. Outside, the moon was rising. Its pale light touched her eyes, flickering once before settling into stillness.
Kendo stepped closer.
“You’re not weaker,” she said softly. “You’ve just come close enough… to feel pain again.”
A gentle smile touched Kendo’s lips.
“You’re still a hero. That’s never changed, not once.”
Her words faded into the quiet. Moonlight filled the room. In that glow, Mirko looked like a moon rabbit—bathed in silver light.
Her eyes closed slowly. Her breathing came calm and deep. And for the first time in a long while, she exhaled—softly.
Kendo drew a steady breath, then spoke carefully.
“Would you like to talk with Shiozaki Ibara?”
Mirko’s gaze shifted slowly to the side. “…Vine?”
Kendo nodded.
“Yes. She’s working in counseling support now. She’s sincere and compassionate, and heroes with heavy hearts often go to her.”
She paused for a moment, then added quietly.
“She has a way of easing people’s hearts.”
Mirko said nothing. She only lifted her head, looking at the night sky beyond the window. Moonlight slid down the ends of her white hair.
After a long silence, her shoulders sank—just slightly.
That small movement was an answer in itself. Even in the cold night air, there was the faintest hint of a path beginning to open through the long darkness she’d carried.
(The AI cover depiction may differ from descriptions in the story and the original work.)
Rabbit Runs Again
[Chapter 19 - Beneath]
<Late Afternoon, Hospital within the HPSC>
Kendo stopped at the end of the white corridor, standing before the hospital room door.
A faint mechanical beeping leaked from beyond it. The doctor’s words echoed in her mind.
“She wishes to meet alone. But she’s in a very unstable mental state. If the patient shows any abnormal reaction, please contact us immediately.”
Kendo’s fingers curled slightly. The hand resting on the doorknob felt cold.
“Mirko… it’s Kendo.”
She paused.
“May I come in?”
No answer.
Silence seeped out from the room, stretching down the corridor. Kendo steadied her breath and slowly pushed the door open. A faint creak broke the stillness. Her footfalls were light, deliberate.
“Excuse me…”
The door closed softly behind her, sealing her inside with the silence.
Inside, the room was perfectly arranged—every detail prepared for Mirko’s comfort. On one side, soft bedding lay neatly folded. Across from it stood a refrigerator stocked with carrots, protein drinks, and all the foods she used to love.
By the window stood rows of flower wreaths and gift baskets, each bearing a bright message:
“Congratulations on the Rabbit Hero’s return.”
They were tokens of genuine care—yet the scene felt strangely still.
In one corner sat a pair of light dumbbells, a stretching band, and a small treadmill. It felt like a space whispering, “You can run again anytime.”
But Mirko stood by the window, gazing at the distant sky.
Her shoulders were stiff, her rabbit ears drooping with a faint tremor. Sunlight streamed through the glass, spilling across the white floor, casting her long shadow within it.
Kendo stood by the door, unable to speak. The hero before her still looked like someone who had never left the battlefield.
Mirko turned slowly to face her.
In her hospital gown, she seemed outwardly fine. Beneath the thin fabric, faint lines of muscle shaped her restored limbs—the physique of a legendary hero, rebuilt to perfection.
But her face told another story.
Her eyes were sunken, heavy with exhaustion, her lips pressed into a tight line. Her ears hung low at her shoulders, trembling softly. The fierce smile that once lit up the battlefield was gone.
In its place was the face of someone who had survived the fight—but hadn’t found her way back yet.
Kendo drew a quiet breath before speaking.
“I heard from President Hawks.”
Mirko gave a slow nod. “Yeah… I know I can trust you.”
A short silence fell between them. Mirko’s gaze drifted somewhere beyond the window.
“Be careful,” she said softly. “There’s a girl out there who’s only just found her happiness again… You’ll protect that, won’t you?”
Kendo lowered her head. Her voice wavered slightly.
“…I will. I promise.”
For a long moment, Mirko couldn’t speak. When she finally did, her voice came out thin and dry—like a breath that hurt just to release.
“Eri…”
Her throat tightened.
“She never wanted me to end up like this… not like this.”
Tears welled in her crimson eyes. She didn’t even lift a hand to wipe them away—just stared into the distance as her voice trembled low.
“When she sees me like this… she’ll blame herself for it, won’t she?”
Her breathing faltered slightly.
“She’s already such a wounded child…”
Her shoulders sank, ever so slightly. Her rabbit ears gave a slow, faint tremor. She couldn’t even cry properly, simply lowering her head in silence.
Kendo steadied her breath and took a slow step closer. Her voice was cautious, yet warm.
“About Eri…”
Mirko’s shoulders stirred, the faintest movement.
“Jiro said she performed at an outdoor concert a few days ago,” Kendo continued softly. “She’s been smiling every single day—brightly.”
A small smile touched Kendo’s lips.
“I saw the pictures too. She was wearing… a cute little rabbit hairpin.”
Silence followed. The tears that had gathered at Mirko’s lashes finally slipped free.
“...Really?”
Kendo nodded. “And she’s been praying—for your happiness, Mirko.”
Mirko couldn’t answer. She only brushed the corner of her eye with her fingertips.
Sunlight crept back into the room through the window. Mirko’s gaze drifted down to Kendo’s hand—to the white bandage wrapped around her knuckles.
“Is your hand okay?”
Kendo let out a small, surprised laugh.
“Oh, this? It’s fine! It’s nothing serious, but the doctor insisted on wrapping it up. Really—such an overreaction, don’t you think?”
She forced a smile, quietly hiding her hand behind her back. Mirko’s eyes followed the movement. Her lips moved with effort.
“…I’m sorry. Because of me.”
Kendo shook her head firmly. “Please don’t say that.”
A soft silence filled the space between them. Then Kendo spoke again, her tone gentle.
“These things happen between heroes. And besides… it’s thanks to that we can talk like this again, isn’t it?”
Mirko didn’t answer, but the tension around her eyes eased just a little. Her rabbit ears gave a faint twitch. She turned toward the window, her voice barely above a whisper.
“The other two… they must’ve been terrified.”
Kendo nodded quietly. “Pony and…”
Mirko’s voice trailed off. She hesitated for a long moment before forcing out the next word.
“…Komori.”
The moment she spoke the name, Mirko’s gaze wavered violently. Her rabbit ears twitched once, then folded back tight against her head. She pressed a hand to her forehead.
“No… no, that’s not it…”
Her breath came out uneven and ragged. Kendo moved closer without a word and gently took her hand, steadying it in her own. Mirko’s fingers trembled faintly, then went still. Her heavy, uneven breaths began to slow. Her rabbit ears unfolded again, little by little.
Kendo didn’t let go. She simply watched her for a moment before speaking, her voice cautious and low.
“Just now… did you hear Shigaraki’s voice?”
Mirko’s shoulders gave the slightest tremor. She let out a shaky breath and nodded.
“…Yeah.”
Her gaze dropped slowly to the floor.
“There was a time—when the hallucinations hit hard. After that… they stopped. No voices, no visions.”
A quiet pause followed. Mirko laced her fingers together and went on.
“So I thought… I was fine. But after this mission—”
She hesitated.
“No… it started during the mission itself.”
Her head bowed, as if the words themselves were too heavy.
“They’re getting more vivid. Stronger.”
Kendo’s eyes wavered. “…What is he saying?”
Mirko’s lips tightened.
“That I lost,” she said quietly. “He keeps laughing at me.”
Her fingers brushed the edge of her ear, as if trying to catch the whisper itself.
“He keeps whispering it… right next to my ear.”
Kendo caught her breath. The air in the room settled heavy around them.
Mirko slowly rolled up both sleeves. The muscle beneath flushed with red as it caught the light—arms perfectly restored. Yet her eyes looked at them as though they weren’t hers anymore.
“That voice…” Her tone trembled low. “It tells me… to turn my arms back into prosthetics. To make my legs… mechanical again.”
Her fingers closed around nothing. Her rabbit ears gave a faint shiver.
“These arms, these legs… it feels like they’re going cold again—just like back then.”
She lowered her head. Her hands fell slowly onto her knees. Kendo held her breath. Mirko’s pupils quivered faintly.
“I know this isn’t real,” she whispered. “But… I can still feel it. Like I’m trapped there, even now.”
Kendo reached out a hand. But between them lay a wound made of memory—one she still couldn’t touch.
Mirko let out a thin laugh—one without any strength.
“When I first lost my limbs, I didn’t think much of it,” she said. “I told myself… it was just part of being a hero.”
Her gaze drifted far away, as if chasing something she’d already lost.
“As soon as I recovered, I went back into the field—hunting down the remnants of All For One.”
A shaky breath escaped her, followed by a dry chuckle.
“The whole world cheered for me. ‘Bunny the Weapon.’ That nickname… I wore it like a badge of pride.”
She slowly raised both hands. Her fingertips trembled faintly.
“The latest prosthetics made me even stronger. Cannons, vulcan cannons, railguns… I kept switching combinations and kept fighting.”
Silence held for a moment.
“It didn’t hurt back then…” Her voice grew lower and lower. “But now, standing here again in this whole body… why does it—”
The words trailed off. Her lips parted, then closed again. Mirko let out a quiet, bitter laugh. Only the corners of her mouth lifted; her eyes stayed heavy and still.
“The residue of that bastard still inside me… it’s what’s breaking me now.”
She lowered her head.
“When he was alive… I wasn’t afraid. Not even once.”
A short, breathless laugh slipped out.
“He’s been dead for so long… and yet he’s still dragging me down.”
Her rabbit ears gave a slow tremor. Kendo caught her breath. Mirko’s voice fell lower, carrying a weariness deeper than any battle.
“Ridiculous, isn’t it…? He’s gone, and yet I’m still trapped here.”
Mirko turned slowly toward the corner of the room, where the training bench stood. The steel frame caught the fading sunset in a cold gleam. She tapped the edge lightly—tap, tap—with the tips of her fingers.
“If the enemy were something I could see… I’d just beat it down.”
A small laugh slipped out. It wasn’t mockery, nor surrender—just a sound to keep herself steady. She set her hands down on the bench. Her fingers tightened, then slackened.
“…I don’t even know how to fight this.”
“No… I don’t even know if I can.”
Kendo said nothing. From behind, she watched the back before her—and the hollow resolve that lingered beyond it.
Mirko kept her hands on the bench, letting out a short, hollow laugh.
“To think I’ve become… this weak.”
Her voice was low, drained of anger or sorrow—only the kind of empty sigh that comes from someone who’s endured too long.
The light outside faded completely; darkness filled the room.
Kendo watched her in silence. That silence—it spoke more than any words could. She moved slowly, step by step, until she stood beside Mirko by the training bench. Then, carefully, she reached out and laid her hand gently over Mirko’s hand, resting on the cold metal.
Kendo drew in a quiet breath before speaking.
“…You haven’t weakened. You’ve become human.”
Her voice was low, but steady.
“All this time, you endured like a weapon built to fight. What you’re feeling now… it means you’re alive.”
Mirko turned her head slowly. Outside, the moon was rising. Its pale light touched her eyes, flickering once before settling into stillness.
Kendo stepped closer.
“You’re not weaker,” she said softly. “You’ve just come close enough… to feel pain again.”
A gentle smile touched Kendo’s lips.
“You’re still a hero. That’s never changed, not once.”
Her words faded into the quiet. Moonlight filled the room. In that glow, Mirko looked like a moon rabbit—bathed in silver light.
Her eyes closed slowly. Her breathing came calm and deep. And for the first time in a long while, she exhaled—softly.
Kendo drew a steady breath, then spoke carefully.
“Would you like to talk with Shiozaki Ibara?”
Mirko’s gaze shifted slowly to the side. “…Vine?”
Kendo nodded.
“Yes. She’s working in counseling support now. She’s sincere and compassionate, and heroes with heavy hearts often go to her.”
She paused for a moment, then added quietly.
“She has a way of easing people’s hearts.”
Mirko said nothing. She only lifted her head, looking at the night sky beyond the window. Moonlight slid down the ends of her white hair.
After a long silence, her shoulders sank—just slightly.
That small movement was an answer in itself. Even in the cold night air, there was the faintest hint of a path beginning to open through the long darkness she’d carried.
The scattered lines of praise read almost like a festival. Mirko—returned as the Rabbit Hero—had completed her comeback mission alongside Battle Fist, Rocketti, and Shemage, capturing every villain with zero casualties. That was how the papers declared it.
On the streets, citizens echoed the same excitement. Even with All For One gone, the world was still haunted by villains lurking in the dark. People exhausted by violence and mistrust longed for good news—and they hung their hope on one name. Her return was hailed as the comeback of hope.
“The world is safe again.” “Because she’s back.”
Those words blanketed the city.
The mission was a success. At least—that was how it looked.
Hero Public Safety Commission — Director’s Office Late morning.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, sliding across the piles of paper on the desk. Even the air seemed reluctant to move.
A soft knock broke the stillness. Kendo stepped inside. Hawks set down his coffee cup and looked up.
“How’s Mirko?”
“She’s undergoing a full examination at the hospital.”
Hawks’ voice was lower than usual—steady, but carrying weight. For a while, quiet lingered between them. From somewhere beyond the glass, the hum of traffic drifted like a memory.
“Your hand—does it still hurt?”
Kendo rotated her wrist lightly and smiled. “I’m fine. Nothing serious.”
Hawks nodded once. “And Komori and Pony?”
Her gaze lowered to the desk. “They were both… shaken. And they're still worrying about Mirko.”
Another pause. The air grew dense again.
The door opened. Best Jeanist and Aizawa entered, their faces drawn with the fatigue of a sleepless night.
Hawks spoke first. “How is she?”
Jeanist lifted his chin slightly before speaking, his tone careful. “We ran another series of tests—but again, nothing abnormal was found.”
Aizawa followed, his voice rough but measured. “As I said before… the doctors believe—”
He stopped mid-sentence, catching Kendo’s eyes. Silence rippled through the room once more.
“...I’m sorry. But please, tell me.”
Kendo drew a quiet breath, steadying her voice.
“At the celebration party, Mirko froze for a moment. Her eyes… it was like she was somewhere else—as if her mind had slipped into another time. Sometimes she seemed to lose her sense of time entirely. It didn’t seem like ordinary fatigue… or trauma.”
Hawks folded his arms, exhaling slowly. He watched Kendo for a moment before speaking.
“As you all know, Battle Fist—Kendo Itsuka—is a thoughtful and steadfast hero.” His tone softened slightly. “Mirko could use someone like that. Someone she can truly rely on.”
Jeanist gave a slow nod. Aizawa remained silent for a while, then finally spoke, his voice low and heavy.
“Mirko’s body…”
“…was restored through Eri’s Rewind.”
The air froze, as though even the dust had stopped drifting. For an instant, it felt as if the whole world had gone quiet.
“Rewind…”
Kendo's lips moved slowly, shaping the word. Her mind slipped back to her school days—to a small shadow in the U.A. dormitory hallway, a girl who always bowed shyly, a tiny horn glinting from her forehead. That little girl had now given life back to another.
Kendo curled her fingers slightly, the light on the desk trembling across the back of her hand.
Jeanist pulled a file from the stack and spoke quietly. “We believe that during the Rewind process, trace fragments of Shigaraki’s cells were also restored.”
His tone was calm, but carried unmistakable weight. “The neural information encoded in those cells is now interfering with Mirko’s own network. That’s what’s causing her fractured sense of time, emotional disorientation, and recurring hallucinations.”
Kendo drew in a breath. “…She’s been enduring all of that?”
“Yes.” Jeanist’s reply was steady, though a faint tremor edged his words. “Her body lives in the present—but her emotions and memories are still trapped in the war.”
Kendo steadied her voice. “When I touched her arm… she reacted violently.”
Her gaze lowered. “It was as if the memory of losing her left arm at Jaku Hospital flared back to life. Rewind restored her body, but the body still remembers the feeling of that loss.”
Jeanist nodded slowly. “Exactly. That memory has been carved into her body itself. Right now, Mirko stands at the threshold—between the body rebuilt, and the one forever broken.”
Kendo’s voice came quiet, hesitant. “How… is Mirko?”
Aizawa answered with his eyes half-closed. “No physical injuries. None that we can find.”
He paused. “But the psychological shock seems severe.”
His tone was low and steady, though a faint hesitation lingered at the edge of it. “She’s been punishing herself for what happened—for turning on you.”
Kendo’s fingertips twitched. “That wasn't her intention...”
Hawks lowered his coffee cup, eyes lifting toward Kendo. “She carries deep guilt—for raising her hand against a comrade. Especially since you were one of the juniors she cared for most.”
A short silence followed, broken only by the sound of breathing. Kendo’s eyes trembled. She bowed her head without a word.
Hawks tried to smile, but it only looked sad. “That’s just who she is—strong as anyone, yet unable to forgive herself.”
Aizawa nodded slowly. “She’s always been her own harshest judge.”
Jeanist adjusted his collar, shifting his gaze directly toward Aizawa. “You mentioned before that Mirko seemed to have something she couldn’t say, didn’t you?”
Aizawa lowered his gaze slightly. A short silence passed.
Jeanist exhaled, then continued, voice measured but heavy. “I’ve seen it too. When Deku or Bakugo come up, her eyes waver—her face tightens, just barely. It was the same look she had when she turned down Nejire and Tamaki’s visit at the hospital.”
Kendo lifted her head, surprise flickering in her eyes.
Hawks set his coffee cup down and spoke quietly. “When I reached for the remote, she caught my hand. She asked me not to turn it on—as if she couldn’t bear to see the news.”
Aizawa spoke, arms folded, his voice low and rough. “Tailman—Ojiro—told me something too. When Mt. Lady’s name came up, Mirko clutched her head and shook it. She steadied her breathing, but no matter how he asked, she wouldn’t say why.”
Silence settled over the room again. Hawks murmured, the words lingering in the air like a thought half-spoken.
“Mirko was open about the hallucinations she saw of Shigaraki,” Hawks said, his voice subdued. “But something made her stop. What could’ve made her hold back like that?”
Jeanist lowered his head slowly. “She’s trying not to cross a certain emotional line.”
Aizawa closed his eye, then added in a low rasp, “As if she knows—once she does, she’ll break.”
Hawks leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh. “The stronger they are, the deeper they hide the parts that hurt.”
Jeanist said nothing, only closing the file beneath his hand. “That’s why we have to understand—before it’s too late.”
Kendo stayed silent for a long time before lifting her head. “Should we tell Komori and Pony the truth?”
All three turned to her at once. Her voice stayed firm, though a tremor slipped through it.
“They’re trustworthy. I’ll vouch for them.”
Aizawa spoke with his arms folded, voice low. “Too many people knowing about Eri—and Rewind—would be dangerous.”
Kendo clasped her hands over her knees. “Please, Mr. Aizawa. She can’t hold out alone. To help her stand again… she’ll need all of us.”
A brief silence fell. Hawks closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He lifted his coffee cup halfway, then set it back down.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But remember this.”
His voice was low and unwavering. “A young girl’s life is at stake.”
Kendo bowed her head deeply. “I won’t forget.”
As the meeting drew to a close, Kendo’s gaze moved across the three men in turn. She hesitated, then spoke softly.
“And… what if she tried counseling?”
Her voice was hushed, tentative but sincere.
Hawks gave a quiet, knowing smile. “If it’s her, then… yeah. We can trust her.”
Aizawa and Jeanist both nodded in silence.
The tension in the room eased at last. The papers on the table rustled faintly, and the afternoon light spread gently across the desk.
The scattered lines of praise read almost like a festival. Mirko—returned as the Rabbit Hero—had completed her comeback mission alongside Battle Fist, Rocketti, and Shemage, capturing every villain with zero casualties. That was how the papers declared it.
On the streets, citizens echoed the same excitement. Even with All For One gone, the world was still haunted by villains lurking in the dark. People exhausted by violence and mistrust longed for good news—and they hung their hope on one name. Her return was hailed as the comeback of hope.
“The world is safe again.” “Because she’s back.”
Those words blanketed the city.
The mission was a success. At least—that was how it looked.
Hero Public Safety Commission — Director’s Office Late morning.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, sliding across the piles of paper on the desk. Even the air seemed reluctant to move.
A soft knock broke the stillness. Kendo stepped inside. Hawks set down his coffee cup and looked up.
“How’s Mirko?”
“She’s undergoing a full examination at the hospital.”
Hawks’ voice was lower than usual—steady, but carrying weight. For a while, quiet lingered between them. From somewhere beyond the glass, the hum of traffic drifted like a memory.
“Your hand—does it still hurt?”
Kendo rotated her wrist lightly and smiled. “I’m fine. Nothing serious.”
Hawks nodded once. “And Komori and Pony?”
Her gaze lowered to the desk. “They were both… shaken. And they're still worrying about Mirko.”
Another pause. The air grew dense again.
The door opened. Best Jeanist and Aizawa entered, their faces drawn with the fatigue of a sleepless night.
Hawks spoke first. “How is she?”
Jeanist lifted his chin slightly before speaking, his tone careful. “We ran another series of tests—but again, nothing abnormal was found.”
Aizawa followed, his voice rough but measured. “As I said before… the doctors believe—”
He stopped mid-sentence, catching Kendo’s eyes. Silence rippled through the room once more.
“...I’m sorry. But please, tell me.”
Kendo drew a quiet breath, steadying her voice.
“At the celebration party, Mirko froze for a moment. Her eyes… it was like she was somewhere else—as if her mind had slipped into another time. Sometimes she seemed to lose her sense of time entirely. It didn’t seem like ordinary fatigue… or trauma.”
Hawks folded his arms, exhaling slowly. He watched Kendo for a moment before speaking.
“As you all know, Battle Fist—Kendo Itsuka—is a thoughtful and steadfast hero.” His tone softened slightly. “Mirko could use someone like that. Someone she can truly rely on.”
Jeanist gave a slow nod. Aizawa remained silent for a while, then finally spoke, his voice low and heavy.
“Mirko’s body…”
“…was restored through Eri’s Rewind.”
The air froze, as though even the dust had stopped drifting. For an instant, it felt as if the whole world had gone quiet.
“Rewind…”
Kendo's lips moved slowly, shaping the word. Her mind slipped back to her school days—to a small shadow in the U.A. dormitory hallway, a girl who always bowed shyly, a tiny horn glinting from her forehead. That little girl had now given life back to another.
Kendo curled her fingers slightly, the light on the desk trembling across the back of her hand.
Jeanist pulled a file from the stack and spoke quietly. “We believe that during the Rewind process, trace fragments of Shigaraki’s cells were also restored.”
His tone was calm, but carried unmistakable weight. “The neural information encoded in those cells is now interfering with Mirko’s own network. That’s what’s causing her fractured sense of time, emotional disorientation, and recurring hallucinations.”
Kendo drew in a breath. “…She’s been enduring all of that?”
“Yes.” Jeanist’s reply was steady, though a faint tremor edged his words. “Her body lives in the present—but her emotions and memories are still trapped in the war.”
Kendo steadied her voice. “When I touched her arm… she reacted violently.”
Her gaze lowered. “It was as if the memory of losing her left arm at Jaku Hospital flared back to life. Rewind restored her body, but the body still remembers the feeling of that loss.”
Jeanist nodded slowly. “Exactly. That memory has been carved into her body itself. Right now, Mirko stands at the threshold—between the body rebuilt, and the one forever broken.”
Kendo’s voice came quiet, hesitant. “How… is Mirko?”
Aizawa answered with his eyes half-closed. “No physical injuries. None that we can find.”
He paused. “But the psychological shock seems severe.”
His tone was low and steady, though a faint hesitation lingered at the edge of it. “She’s been punishing herself for what happened—for turning on you.”
Kendo’s fingertips twitched. “That wasn't her intention...”
Hawks lowered his coffee cup, eyes lifting toward Kendo. “She carries deep guilt—for raising her hand against a comrade. Especially since you were one of the juniors she cared for most.”
A short silence followed, broken only by the sound of breathing. Kendo’s eyes trembled. She bowed her head without a word.
Hawks tried to smile, but it only looked sad. “That’s just who she is—strong as anyone, yet unable to forgive herself.”
Aizawa nodded slowly. “She’s always been her own harshest judge.”
Jeanist adjusted his collar, shifting his gaze directly toward Aizawa. “You mentioned before that Mirko seemed to have something she couldn’t say, didn’t you?”
Aizawa lowered his gaze slightly. A short silence passed.
Jeanist exhaled, then continued, voice measured but heavy. “I’ve seen it too. When Deku or Bakugo come up, her eyes waver—her face tightens, just barely. It was the same look she had when she turned down Nejire and Tamaki’s visit at the hospital.”
Kendo lifted her head, surprise flickering in her eyes.
Hawks set his coffee cup down and spoke quietly. “When I reached for the remote, she caught my hand. She asked me not to turn it on—as if she couldn’t bear to see the news.”
Aizawa spoke, arms folded, his voice low and rough. “Tailman—Ojiro—told me something too. When Mt. Lady’s name came up, Mirko clutched her head and shook it. She steadied her breathing, but no matter how he asked, she wouldn’t say why.”
Silence settled over the room again. Hawks murmured, the words lingering in the air like a thought half-spoken.
“Mirko was open about the hallucinations she saw of Shigaraki,” Hawks said, his voice subdued. “But something made her stop. What could’ve made her hold back like that?”
Jeanist lowered his head slowly. “She’s trying not to cross a certain emotional line.”
Aizawa closed his eye, then added in a low rasp, “As if she knows—once she does, she’ll break.”
Hawks leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh. “The stronger they are, the deeper they hide the parts that hurt.”
Jeanist said nothing, only closing the file beneath his hand. “That’s why we have to understand—before it’s too late.”
Kendo stayed silent for a long time before lifting her head. “Should we tell Komori and Pony the truth?”
All three turned to her at once. Her voice stayed firm, though a tremor slipped through it.
“They’re trustworthy. I’ll vouch for them.”
Aizawa spoke with his arms folded, voice low. “Too many people knowing about Eri—and Rewind—would be dangerous.”
Kendo clasped her hands over her knees. “Please, Mr. Aizawa. She can’t hold out alone. To help her stand again… she’ll need all of us.”
A brief silence fell. Hawks closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He lifted his coffee cup halfway, then set it back down.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But remember this.”
His voice was low and unwavering. “A young girl’s life is at stake.”
Kendo bowed her head deeply. “I won’t forget.”
As the meeting drew to a close, Kendo’s gaze moved across the three men in turn. She hesitated, then spoke softly.
“And… what if she tried counseling?”
Her voice was hushed, tentative but sincere.
Hawks gave a quiet, knowing smile. “If it’s her, then… yeah. We can trust her.”
Aizawa and Jeanist both nodded in silence.
The tension in the room eased at last. The papers on the table rustled faintly, and the afternoon light spread gently across the desk.
The scattered lines of praise read almost like a festival. Mirko—returned as the Rabbit Hero—had completed her comeback mission alongside Battle Fist, Rocketti, and Shemage, capturing every villain with zero casualties. That was how the papers declared it.
On the streets, citizens echoed the same excitement. Even with All For One gone, the world was still haunted by villains lurking in the dark. People exhausted by violence and mistrust longed for good news—and they hung their hope on one name. Her return was hailed as the comeback of hope.
“The world is safe again.” “Because she’s back.”
Those words blanketed the city.
The mission was a success. At least—that was how it looked.
Hero Public Safety Commission — Director’s Office Late morning.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, sliding across the piles of paper on the desk. Even the air seemed reluctant to move.
A soft knock broke the stillness. Kendo stepped inside. Hawks set down his coffee cup and looked up.
“How’s Mirko?”
“She’s undergoing a full examination at the hospital.”
Hawks’ voice was lower than usual—steady, but carrying weight. For a while, quiet lingered between them. From somewhere beyond the glass, the hum of traffic drifted like a memory.
“Your hand—does it still hurt?”
Kendo rotated her wrist lightly and smiled. “I’m fine. Nothing serious.”
Hawks nodded once. “And Komori and Pony?”
Her gaze lowered to the desk. “They were both… shaken. And they're still worrying about Mirko.”
Another pause. The air grew dense again.
The door opened. Best Jeanist and Aizawa entered, their faces drawn with the fatigue of a sleepless night.
Hawks spoke first. “How is she?”
Jeanist lifted his chin slightly before speaking, his tone careful. “We ran another series of tests—but again, nothing abnormal was found.”
Aizawa followed, his voice rough but measured. “As I said before… the doctors believe—”
He stopped mid-sentence, catching Kendo’s eyes. Silence rippled through the room once more.
“...I’m sorry. But please, tell me.”
Kendo drew a quiet breath, steadying her voice.
“At the celebration party, Mirko froze for a moment. Her eyes… it was like she was somewhere else—as if her mind had slipped into another time. Sometimes she seemed to lose her sense of time entirely. It didn’t seem like ordinary fatigue… or trauma.”
Hawks folded his arms, exhaling slowly. He watched Kendo for a moment before speaking.
“As you all know, Battle Fist—Kendo Itsuka—is a thoughtful and steadfast hero.” His tone softened slightly. “Mirko could use someone like that. Someone she can truly rely on.”
Jeanist gave a slow nod. Aizawa remained silent for a while, then finally spoke, his voice low and heavy.
“Mirko’s body…”
“…was restored through Eri’s Rewind.”
The air froze, as though even the dust had stopped drifting. For an instant, it felt as if the whole world had gone quiet.
“Rewind…”
Kendo's lips moved slowly, shaping the word. Her mind slipped back to her school days—to a small shadow in the U.A. dormitory hallway, a girl who always bowed shyly, a tiny horn glinting from her forehead. That little girl had now given life back to another.
Kendo curled her fingers slightly, the light on the desk trembling across the back of her hand.
Jeanist pulled a file from the stack and spoke quietly. “We believe that during the Rewind process, trace fragments of Shigaraki’s cells were also restored.”
His tone was calm, but carried unmistakable weight. “The neural information encoded in those cells is now interfering with Mirko’s own network. That’s what’s causing her fractured sense of time, emotional disorientation, and recurring hallucinations.”
Kendo drew in a breath. “…She’s been enduring all of that?”
“Yes.” Jeanist’s reply was steady, though a faint tremor edged his words. “Her body lives in the present—but her emotions and memories are still trapped in the war.”
Kendo steadied her voice. “When I touched her arm… she reacted violently.”
Her gaze lowered. “It was as if the memory of losing her left arm at Jaku Hospital flared back to life. Rewind restored her body, but the body still remembers the feeling of that loss.”
Jeanist nodded slowly. “Exactly. That memory has been carved into her body itself. Right now, Mirko stands at the threshold—between the body rebuilt, and the one forever broken.”
Kendo’s voice came quiet, hesitant. “How… is Mirko?”
Aizawa answered with his eyes half-closed. “No physical injuries. None that we can find.”
He paused. “But the psychological shock seems severe.”
His tone was low and steady, though a faint hesitation lingered at the edge of it. “She’s been punishing herself for what happened—for turning on you.”
Kendo’s fingertips twitched. “That wasn't her intention...”
Hawks lowered his coffee cup, eyes lifting toward Kendo. “She carries deep guilt—for raising her hand against a comrade. Especially since you were one of the juniors she cared for most.”
A short silence followed, broken only by the sound of breathing. Kendo’s eyes trembled. She bowed her head without a word.
Hawks tried to smile, but it only looked sad. “That’s just who she is—strong as anyone, yet unable to forgive herself.”
Aizawa nodded slowly. “She’s always been her own harshest judge.”
Jeanist adjusted his collar, shifting his gaze directly toward Aizawa. “You mentioned before that Mirko seemed to have something she couldn’t say, didn’t you?”
Aizawa lowered his gaze slightly. A short silence passed.
Jeanist exhaled, then continued, voice measured but heavy. “I’ve seen it too. When Deku or Bakugo come up, her eyes waver—her face tightens, just barely. It was the same look she had when she turned down Nejire and Tamaki’s visit at the hospital.”
Kendo lifted her head, surprise flickering in her eyes.
Hawks set his coffee cup down and spoke quietly. “When I reached for the remote, she caught my hand. She asked me not to turn it on—as if she couldn’t bear to see the news.”
Aizawa spoke, arms folded, his voice low and rough. “Tailman—Ojiro—told me something too. When Mt. Lady’s name came up, Mirko clutched her head and shook it. She steadied her breathing, but no matter how he asked, she wouldn’t say why.”
Silence settled over the room again. Hawks murmured, the words lingering in the air like a thought half-spoken.
“Mirko was open about the hallucinations she saw of Shigaraki,” Hawks said, his voice subdued. “But something made her stop. What could’ve made her hold back like that?”
Jeanist lowered his head slowly. “She’s trying not to cross a certain emotional line.”
Aizawa closed his eye, then added in a low rasp, “As if she knows—once she does, she’ll break.”
Hawks leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh. “The stronger they are, the deeper they hide the parts that hurt.”
Jeanist said nothing, only closing the file beneath his hand. “That’s why we have to understand—before it’s too late.”
Kendo stayed silent for a long time before lifting her head. “Should we tell Komori and Pony the truth?”
All three turned to her at once. Her voice stayed firm, though a tremor slipped through it.
“They’re trustworthy. I’ll vouch for them.”
Aizawa spoke with his arms folded, voice low. “Too many people knowing about Eri—and Rewind—would be dangerous.”
Kendo clasped her hands over her knees. “Please, Mr. Aizawa. She can’t hold out alone. To help her stand again… she’ll need all of us.”
A brief silence fell. Hawks closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He lifted his coffee cup halfway, then set it back down.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But remember this.”
His voice was low and unwavering. “A young girl’s life is at stake.”
Kendo bowed her head deeply. “I won’t forget.”
As the meeting drew to a close, Kendo’s gaze moved across the three men in turn. She hesitated, then spoke softly.
“And… what if she tried counseling?”
Her voice was hushed, tentative but sincere.
Hawks gave a quiet, knowing smile. “If it’s her, then… yeah. We can trust her.”
Aizawa and Jeanist both nodded in silence.
The tension in the room eased at last. The papers on the table rustled faintly, and the afternoon light spread gently across the desk.
(The AI cover depiction may differ from descriptions in the story and the original work.)
Rabbit Runs Again
[Chapter 17 - Trauma]
[Mountaintop Hideout — Onishi Syndicate Base]
Deep in the mountains, a concrete compound loomed in the darkness, hidden by the dense forest. Two guards stood by the rear entrance, the glow of their cigarettes flickering in the gloom.
Suddenly—
Zip.
Denim threads shot from the shadows like living snakes. Before the guards could even gasp, the fibers wrapped tight around their mouths and limbs.
“Mmph—!”
In a split second, they were hoisted into the air and pinned silently against the tree trunks. Best Jeanist adjusted his collar, retracting the excess threads with a sharp tug.
“Guards neutralized.”
A crackle came through the earpiece. Hawks’ voice followed, clear and relaxed.
“Nice timing. Perimeter is clear. No heat signatures detected outside.”
Jeanist nodded, turning to the four heroes standing silently behind him—Mirko, Kendo, Komori, and Pony.
“I will monitor the situation from the outside and maintain a direct line with Hawks.”
He straightened his posture, his green eyes steady.
“The inside is up to you. Good luck.”
The four heroes didn't speak. They simply nodded, their eyes sharp and ready in the dark. Mirko cracked her neck lightly, a confident smirk touching her lips. Then, she signaled the team.
They moved toward the door like shadows.
[Onishi Syndicate Hideout — First Floor]
Komori loosened the sprayer at her waist and carefully pulled the trigger.
“Shroom… spore dispersion, start.”
White spores drifted through the air, catching the fluorescent light—shimmering like silver smoke. Moments later, the villains inside began coughing violently.
“Cough— cough! What the hell— why can’t I breathe?!”
“Damn it! Turn on the vents! Get upstairs— hurry!”
As they scrambled toward the elevator—
Pony kicked off the floor with a shout.
“Horn Cannon!”
In an instant, four horns shot out in all directions. Two curved along the walls to block the elevator doors, while the other two speared forward, sealing off the corridor.
“No one’s getting out of here!”
The villains stumbled, tripping over each other—and that was when Kendo’s massive hand swept through the air like a wall.
“Escape blocked!!”
Then Mirko charged in right behind her.
“Luna Ring!”
A flash of white light ripped through the air before anyone could blink. Three villains slammed into the wall at once and collapsed. The metal door rattled. Silence followed.
A crackle came through the comm. Best Jeanist’s voice followed,
“First floor secure. Good work.”
He drew a short breath before continuing.
“But the key members are on the third floor. Resistance will get tougher the higher you climb. Keep every escape route sealed.”
Mirko nodded, tightening her fist.
“Got it. I’ll punch through to the top.”
[Onishi Syndicate Hideout — Second Floor]
Komori took a deep breath and pulled the trigger of her sprayer.
“Shroom… spreading now.”
White spores burst into the air, flashing under the lights like silver smoke. One of the villains rubbed at his face with a panicked yell.
“Ugh—what the hell? There’s mushrooms on my face!”
Pony stepped back, thrusting both arms forward.
“Horn Dash Hammer!”
Her horns shot out like lightning—hooking for a split second onto Kendo’s and Mirko’s shoulders, then whipping forward again to the center of the floor, sealing off the corridor.
“Hold the line!” Kendo barked, lowering her stance. “Front and back—clear them both at once!”
Mirko gave a short laugh, stomping the ground.
“Good. Come at me.”
Their rhythm clicked instantly. Kendo’s enormous hand slammed the door shut, and Mirko’s rapid kicks filled every gap. The villains stumbled over each other—and within seconds, the floor was cleared.
Mirko gestured toward Komori.
“Komori! Secure this floor!”
Komori’s mushroom-cap eyes widened; she nodded quickly.
“Shroom… understood.”
Mirko spun on her heel and sprinted toward the stairs.
“I’ll take the third floor and block their escape!”
Kendo started after her but stopped short.
“Wait—let us go with you!”
Mirko shook her head.
“No time! The bosses are already on the run. I’ll hunt them down—you hit the front!”
Then she launched herself up the stairway. A white streak flashed up the stairs as she vanished into the next floor.
[Onishi Syndicate Hideout — Third Floor]
Red emergency lights pulsed, sirens low and distant. The ceiling vents rattled, metal groaning with every rotation. The air trembled—so tense that even a breath echoed.
“Stop her! Whatever it takes!”
The Onishi brothers, clutching a crate of Trigger vials, bolted toward the emergency exit. Behind them, several lieutenants yanked syringes from their belts and jammed them into their arms.
“Forget running! We finish this here!”
Before the door could open—
KRAAANG!
Mirko’s kick smashed through the steel emergency door, crushing it inward. Sparks flew; the metal twisted like paper.
“No exits,” she growled. “The rabbit just sealed the burrow.”
She lunged forward. Her first punch shattered a jaw; her second kick sent another flying into the wall. But the remaining thugs plunged their Trigger ampoules all at once.
“Krrrrr—!”
Their skin flared red as if set ablaze, veins crawling up to their eyes. Their pupils shrank to feral slits. Some screamed as their arms twisted and hardened into metal.
Mirko gritted her teeth and shouted into the comm.
“Kendo! Pony! Komori—get up here, now! I’ll take the Onishi brothers!”
She rolled her shoulders, fist tightening. Muscles surged beneath her skin.
“All right… let’s do this for real.”
She stepped forward. The metal floor split beneath her heel. The elder Onishi lunged, swinging hard—but Mirko slipped past and snapped out a kick.
“Luna Arc!”
Her foot carved a crimson arc through the air, the shockwave rattling the walls as his body folded and crashed to the ground.
“Damn it!”
The younger Onishi lunged—
“Luna Ring!”
Mirko’s kick slammed him into the wall. Metal shrieked as Trigger syringes clattered across the floor.
Breathing hard, she threw both arms up.
“Good. Mission complete.”
A short, cocky smile crossed her lips.
“My body’s back to full—”
Then—
The air warped, faintly twisting as if reality itself had buckled.
“…Be careful…”
The familiar, hollow voice broke apart in the air like dust. Her rabbit ears twitched.
At that instant, a berserk villain lunged from behind. His hair shot out in tendrils, wrapping tight around Mirko’s left arm.
“Kh—!”
The pressure bit into her skin like steel wire. Her bones groaned, screaming under the strain. Then—Shigaraki’s voice echoed again.
“Just like back then… your arm might twist again.”
Mirko’s vision warped. Light flared. A high, piercing shiiiii— flooded her ears. For a heartbeat, her mind went white.
Not this time!
Her breath caught—her eyes flared red. Her right foot slammed down, recoil snapping through her spine as she spun. She twisted with the pull, caught his neck, and slammed him to the ground.
She paused, panting—
Zzzk.
Something wrapped around her right leg. Her body staggered. Fibrous strands, like hair, dug into her calf, and pain ripped through her skin—bones grinding beneath it.
And then—
“If you get hurt that bad again… you’ll have to cut it off.”
Shigaraki’s voice slid into her ear—cold breath grazing her skin. Her pupils blew wide. Her breath locked. For an instant, the world went still.
What flashed through her mind was pain—a pain that refused to fade.
The right leg that had once been skewered by those black tendrils. The sound of tearing flesh ringing in her ears. The smell of hot blood and iron rising from the severed edge.
“It’ll take months before you can run again.”
Yoshida Ryu’s voice echoed inside her skull. And then—that day when she’d given up on rehabilitation and chosen amputation herself.
No time. I have to get back to the front.
That same resolve returned, frozen and unyielding.
“Stop…!”
Her red eyes flared. The air tore open, silence snapping apart around her.
“Luna Rush!!”
The rabbit’s legs cut through the space, leaving white trails like a storm unleashed.
Kendo, Pony, and Komori had just finished subduing the last of the villains, panting hard. Trigger ampoules rolled across the floor, and the spores faded into the still air.
Kendo wiped the sweat from her brow and shouted,
“Mirko! We’re all clear down here!”
A crash thundered nearby.
Mirko was still fighting. Her legs whipped out like lightning—the wall split apart under the impact. Pony’s eyes went wide.
“Still crazy fast! That’s awesome!”
Komori swallowed hard.
“W-wait…”
All three turned toward Mirko at once.
Her gaze—those red, gleaming pupils, the eyes of a beast stripped of reason. Kendo murmured under her breath.
“…Mirko-san?”
No answer.
Mirko’s leg was still slamming down, again and again. Her expression held no certainty of victory—only a tangle of fear and rage. And at the edge of her ears, the rabbit still trembled at an echo no one else could hear.
The villain’s head slammed into the floor. The air burst with iron and dust, sharp and metallic on her tongue. But Mirko didn’t stop.
Her breath burst out, legs tightening again. Muscles coiled like fire, ready for another leap—this time aimed straight for his skull.
The air itself tensed.
“Luna Fall.”
Just as the air was about to tear—
“Mirko!!”
Kendo’s shout cracked through the room like thunder.
A massive hand caught Mirko’s arm mid-motion. Bone cracked against bone as their forearms collided. At the same time, Komori’s spores burst into a white mist. Vision blurred; the air trembled faintly around them.
“Shroom… please, stop…!”
Pony’s horn shot forward, grazing Mirko’s foot before slamming into the floor. Sparks burst across the narrow room.
“Get out of my way!!” Mirko roared, baring her teeth.
Her eyes were wild—the same eyes that once stared through fire and blood. For a heartbeat, she was pure motion—madness made flesh. Her leg twitched mid-air. One more inch, and the villain’s head would have shattered.
“Mirko-san, stop!”
Kendo’s voice shook. Pony’s face had gone pale, and Komori clung to Mirko’s arm, eyes wet. Only their breathing filled the room.
Mirko’s shoulders rose and fell, heat surging with every inhale, exploding out with every exhale.
Then—slowly—her vision cleared.
Beyond the red haze, the villain was still breathing, faint but alive. The strength drained from her shoulders. The red glow in her eyes began to fade. A long breath slipped out, cooling the heavy air.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Mirko staggered forward a few steps, both hands clutching her head. Her folded rabbit ears trembled.
Kendo stepped forward carefully.
“Are you alr—”
The moment her fingertips brushed Mirko’s left shoulder, the world tore open.
The air buckled; light bent with it. The floor tilted; the walls sagged and melted like wax.
In an instant, the space before her twisted into the underground of Jaku Hospital.
The stench of metal. Blood. The creak of machinery. Somewhere, screams. Breaths thick with pain.
A High-End Nomu reached out its arm. Its hand slowly clenched, and the air itself lurched—bent and shuddering.
And then—
Her left arm twisted. Bone shattered. Muscle ripped. Blood burst out, hot and slick, running down her skin. Her nerves screamed, a surge of fire racing through them like current.
“—!”
Her breath stopped. Light exploded across her vision, painting everything red.
“Let go!!”
Mirko’s scream tore through the silence. Her arm swung on reflex.
“Ah—!”
Kendo staggered back several steps, struck across the wrist. She lost her balance and hit the wall, clutching her arm. Her eyes widened—shock, and a flicker of fear she couldn’t hide.
Pony and Komori froze where they stood, fear flashing through their eyes for a split second. Even the sound of breathing vanished.
The air grew heavy—thick as lead.
Mirko stood frozen.
Her fingertips trembled, breath ragged and uneven. She stared down at her own hand, her eyes clouded with disbelief, fear, and deep confusion. Her ears drooped slowly, hanging limp.
“I’m… sorry.”
Mirko’s voice shook. The violent rhythm of her breathing began to fade, her shoulders sinking little by little. Her voice cracked—what remained inside it was only exhaustion, and guilt.
She lowered her head. hiding her face in the shadow of her hair.
“……”
After a moment, she turned away without a word. Her steps were heavy, measured—as if afraid to stir the air she’d broken. Her metal boots scraped faintly against the floor.
No one stopped her. That silence rang louder than any cry.
At the end of the flickering corridor, her rabbit ears swayed once—and vanished.
Pony opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Komori gripped the brim of her mushroom hat tightly, her head bowed low. Kendo could only steady her breathing, her eyes locked on Mirko’s fading silhouette.
In the absolute stillness, the remaining spores from the battle began to settle.
Drifting down through the red emergency light, they fell slowly, silently—like silver snow covering a battlefield, burying the pain in white dust.
(The AI cover depiction may differ from descriptions in the story and the original work.)
Rabbit Runs Again
[Chapter 17 - Trauma]
[Mountaintop Hideout — Onishi Syndicate Base]
Deep in the mountains, a concrete compound loomed in the darkness, hidden by the dense forest. Two guards stood by the rear entrance, the glow of their cigarettes flickering in the gloom.
Suddenly—
Zip.
Denim threads shot from the shadows like living snakes. Before the guards could even gasp, the fibers wrapped tight around their mouths and limbs.
“Mmph—!”
In a split second, they were hoisted into the air and pinned silently against the tree trunks. Best Jeanist adjusted his collar, retracting the excess threads with a sharp tug.
“Guards neutralized.”
A crackle came through the earpiece. Hawks’ voice followed, clear and relaxed.
“Nice timing. Perimeter is clear. No heat signatures detected outside.”
Jeanist nodded, turning to the four heroes standing silently behind him—Mirko, Kendo, Komori, and Pony.
“I will monitor the situation from the outside and maintain a direct line with Hawks.”
He straightened his posture, his green eyes steady.
“The inside is up to you. Good luck.”
The four heroes didn't speak. They simply nodded, their eyes sharp and ready in the dark. Mirko cracked her neck lightly, a confident smirk touching her lips. Then, she signaled the team.
They moved toward the door like shadows.
[Onishi Syndicate Hideout — First Floor]
Komori loosened the sprayer at her waist and carefully pulled the trigger.
“Shroom… spore dispersion, start.”
White spores drifted through the air, catching the fluorescent light—shimmering like silver smoke. Moments later, the villains inside began coughing violently.
“Cough— cough! What the hell— why can’t I breathe?!”
“Damn it! Turn on the vents! Get upstairs— hurry!”
As they scrambled toward the elevator—
Pony kicked off the floor with a shout.
“Horn Cannon!”
In an instant, four horns shot out in all directions. Two curved along the walls to block the elevator doors, while the other two speared forward, sealing off the corridor.
“No one’s getting out of here!”
The villains stumbled, tripping over each other—and that was when Kendo’s massive hand swept through the air like a wall.
“Escape blocked!!”
Then Mirko charged in right behind her.
“Luna Ring!”
A flash of white light ripped through the air before anyone could blink. Three villains slammed into the wall at once and collapsed. The metal door rattled. Silence followed.
A crackle came through the comm. Best Jeanist’s voice followed,
“First floor secure. Good work.”
He drew a short breath before continuing.
“But the key members are on the third floor. Resistance will get tougher the higher you climb. Keep every escape route sealed.”
Mirko nodded, tightening her fist.
“Got it. I’ll punch through to the top.”
[Onishi Syndicate Hideout — Second Floor]
Komori took a deep breath and pulled the trigger of her sprayer.
“Shroom… spreading now.”
White spores burst into the air, flashing under the lights like silver smoke. One of the villains rubbed at his face with a panicked yell.
“Ugh—what the hell? There’s mushrooms on my face!”
Pony stepped back, thrusting both arms forward.
“Horn Dash Hammer!”
Her horns shot out like lightning—hooking for a split second onto Kendo’s and Mirko’s shoulders, then whipping forward again to the center of the floor, sealing off the corridor.
“Hold the line!” Kendo barked, lowering her stance. “Front and back—clear them both at once!”
Mirko gave a short laugh, stomping the ground.
“Good. Come at me.”
Their rhythm clicked instantly. Kendo’s enormous hand slammed the door shut, and Mirko’s rapid kicks filled every gap. The villains stumbled over each other—and within seconds, the floor was cleared.
Mirko gestured toward Komori.
“Komori! Secure this floor!”
Komori’s mushroom-cap eyes widened; she nodded quickly.
“Shroom… understood.”
Mirko spun on her heel and sprinted toward the stairs.
“I’ll take the third floor and block their escape!”
Kendo started after her but stopped short.
“Wait—let us go with you!”
Mirko shook her head.
“No time! The bosses are already on the run. I’ll hunt them down—you hit the front!”
Then she launched herself up the stairway. A white streak flashed up the stairs as she vanished into the next floor.
[Onishi Syndicate Hideout — Third Floor]
Red emergency lights pulsed, sirens low and distant. The ceiling vents rattled, metal groaning with every rotation. The air trembled—so tense that even a breath echoed.
“Stop her! Whatever it takes!”
The Onishi brothers, clutching a crate of Trigger vials, bolted toward the emergency exit. Behind them, several lieutenants yanked syringes from their belts and jammed them into their arms.
“Forget running! We finish this here!”
Before the door could open—
KRAAANG!
Mirko’s kick smashed through the steel emergency door, crushing it inward. Sparks flew; the metal twisted like paper.
“No exits,” she growled. “The rabbit just sealed the burrow.”
She lunged forward. Her first punch shattered a jaw; her second kick sent another flying into the wall. But the remaining thugs plunged their Trigger ampoules all at once.
“Krrrrr—!”
Their skin flared red as if set ablaze, veins crawling up to their eyes. Their pupils shrank to feral slits. Some screamed as their arms twisted and hardened into metal.
Mirko gritted her teeth and shouted into the comm.
“Kendo! Pony! Komori—get up here, now! I’ll take the Onishi brothers!”
She rolled her shoulders, fist tightening. Muscles surged beneath her skin.
“All right… let’s do this for real.”
She stepped forward. The metal floor split beneath her heel. The elder Onishi lunged, swinging hard—but Mirko slipped past and snapped out a kick.
“Luna Arc!”
Her foot carved a crimson arc through the air, the shockwave rattling the walls as his body folded and crashed to the ground.
“Damn it!”
The younger Onishi lunged—
“Luna Ring!”
Mirko’s kick slammed him into the wall. Metal shrieked as Trigger syringes clattered across the floor.
Breathing hard, she threw both arms up.
“Good. Mission complete.”
A short, cocky smile crossed her lips.
“My body’s back to full—”
Then—
The air warped, faintly twisting as if reality itself had buckled.
“…Be careful…”
The familiar, hollow voice broke apart in the air like dust. Her rabbit ears twitched.
At that instant, a berserk villain lunged from behind. His hair shot out in tendrils, wrapping tight around Mirko’s left arm.
“Kh—!”
The pressure bit into her skin like steel wire. Her bones groaned, screaming under the strain. Then—Shigaraki’s voice echoed again.
“Just like back then… your arm might twist again.”
Mirko’s vision warped. Light flared. A high, piercing shiiiii— flooded her ears. For a heartbeat, her mind went white.
Not this time!
Her breath caught—her eyes flared red. Her right foot slammed down, recoil snapping through her spine as she spun. She twisted with the pull, caught his neck, and slammed him to the ground.
She paused, panting—
Zzzk.
Something wrapped around her right leg. Her body staggered. Fibrous strands, like hair, dug into her calf, and pain ripped through her skin—bones grinding beneath it.
And then—
“If you get hurt that bad again… you’ll have to cut it off.”
Shigaraki’s voice slid into her ear—cold breath grazing her skin. Her pupils blew wide. Her breath locked. For an instant, the world went still.
What flashed through her mind was pain—a pain that refused to fade.
The right leg that had once been skewered by those black tendrils. The sound of tearing flesh ringing in her ears. The smell of hot blood and iron rising from the severed edge.
“It’ll take months before you can run again.”
Yoshida Ryu’s voice echoed inside her skull. And then—that day when she’d given up on rehabilitation and chosen amputation herself.
No time. I have to get back to the front.
That same resolve returned, frozen and unyielding.
“Stop…!”
Her red eyes flared. The air tore open, silence snapping apart around her.
“Luna Rush!!”
The rabbit’s legs cut through the space, leaving white trails like a storm unleashed.
Kendo, Pony, and Komori had just finished subduing the last of the villains, panting hard. Trigger ampoules rolled across the floor, and the spores faded into the still air.
Kendo wiped the sweat from her brow and shouted,
“Mirko! We’re all clear down here!”
A crash thundered nearby.
Mirko was still fighting. Her legs whipped out like lightning—the wall split apart under the impact. Pony’s eyes went wide.
“Still crazy fast! That’s awesome!”
Komori swallowed hard.
“W-wait…”
All three turned toward Mirko at once.
Her gaze—those red, gleaming pupils, the eyes of a beast stripped of reason. Kendo murmured under her breath.
“…Mirko-san?”
No answer.
Mirko’s leg was still slamming down, again and again. Her expression held no certainty of victory—only a tangle of fear and rage. And at the edge of her ears, the rabbit still trembled at an echo no one else could hear.
The villain’s head slammed into the floor. The air burst with iron and dust, sharp and metallic on her tongue. But Mirko didn’t stop.
Her breath burst out, legs tightening again. Muscles coiled like fire, ready for another leap—this time aimed straight for his skull.
The air itself tensed.
“Luna Fall.”
Just as the air was about to tear—
“Mirko!!”
Kendo’s shout cracked through the room like thunder.
A massive hand caught Mirko’s arm mid-motion. Bone cracked against bone as their forearms collided. At the same time, Komori’s spores burst into a white mist. Vision blurred; the air trembled faintly around them.
“Shroom… please, stop…!”
Pony’s horn shot forward, grazing Mirko’s foot before slamming into the floor. Sparks burst across the narrow room.
“Get out of my way!!” Mirko roared, baring her teeth.
Her eyes were wild—the same eyes that once stared through fire and blood. For a heartbeat, she was pure motion—madness made flesh. Her leg twitched mid-air. One more inch, and the villain’s head would have shattered.
“Mirko-san, stop!”
Kendo’s voice shook. Pony’s face had gone pale, and Komori clung to Mirko’s arm, eyes wet. Only their breathing filled the room.
Mirko’s shoulders rose and fell, heat surging with every inhale, exploding out with every exhale.
Then—slowly—her vision cleared.
Beyond the red haze, the villain was still breathing, faint but alive. The strength drained from her shoulders. The red glow in her eyes began to fade. A long breath slipped out, cooling the heavy air.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Mirko staggered forward a few steps, both hands clutching her head. Her folded rabbit ears trembled.
Kendo stepped forward carefully.
“Are you alr—”
The moment her fingertips brushed Mirko’s left shoulder, the world tore open.
The air buckled; light bent with it. The floor tilted; the walls sagged and melted like wax.
In an instant, the space before her twisted into the underground of Jaku Hospital.
The stench of metal. Blood. The creak of machinery. Somewhere, screams. Breaths thick with pain.
A High-End Nomu reached out its arm. Its hand slowly clenched, and the air itself lurched—bent and shuddering.
And then—
Her left arm twisted. Bone shattered. Muscle ripped. Blood burst out, hot and slick, running down her skin. Her nerves screamed, a surge of fire racing through them like current.
“—!”
Her breath stopped. Light exploded across her vision, painting everything red.
“Let go!!”
Mirko’s scream tore through the silence. Her arm swung on reflex.
“Ah—!”
Kendo staggered back several steps, struck across the wrist. She lost her balance and hit the wall, clutching her arm. Her eyes widened—shock, and a flicker of fear she couldn’t hide.
Pony and Komori froze where they stood, fear flashing through their eyes for a split second. Even the sound of breathing vanished.
The air grew heavy—thick as lead.
Mirko stood frozen.
Her fingertips trembled, breath ragged and uneven. She stared down at her own hand, her eyes clouded with disbelief, fear, and deep confusion. Her ears drooped slowly, hanging limp.
“I’m… sorry.”
Mirko’s voice shook. The violent rhythm of her breathing began to fade, her shoulders sinking little by little. Her voice cracked—what remained inside it was only exhaustion, and guilt.
She lowered her head. hiding her face in the shadow of her hair.
“……”
After a moment, she turned away without a word. Her steps were heavy, measured—as if afraid to stir the air she’d broken. Her metal boots scraped faintly against the floor.
No one stopped her. That silence rang louder than any cry.
At the end of the flickering corridor, her rabbit ears swayed once—and vanished.
Pony opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Komori gripped the brim of her mushroom hat tightly, her head bowed low. Kendo could only steady her breathing, her eyes locked on Mirko’s fading silhouette.
In the absolute stillness, the remaining spores from the battle began to settle.
Drifting down through the red emergency light, they fell slowly, silently—like silver snow covering a battlefield, burying the pain in white dust.
The door clicked open—and three familiar figures stepped inside.
Leading the group was Itsuka Kendo—Battle Fist—her signature side-ponytail gleaming orange in the light. Behind her came Kinoko Komori (Shemage), half-hidden beneath her mushroom-patterned cap, and the bright blonde Pony Tsunotori (Rocketti), her twin horns catching the sunlight.
"Mirko!"
Kendo waved brightly, stepping forward with confident strides. "It’s been forever since we worked together!"
Komori gave a small, bashful wave from behind Kendo. "It’s such an honor! Shroom! Nice to see you again!"
Pony beamed, throwing both hands up. "Let’s run with us!"
For a moment, the air seemed to pause.
Mirko looked at their faces—young, eager, and strong. She slowly smiled. "The perfect lineup for a comeback match."
Hawks crossed his arms, leaning against his desk with a satisfied grin. "Good. I’ve been waiting to hear that."
He pushed himself upright, flashing a brief smile as he gestured toward the door. "Let's head to the briefing room. There's a lot to explain."
Inside the adjacent tactical room, Best Jeanist stood waiting, his posture as rigid and composed as ever. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the curtains, warm but fleeting.
As the group entered, Best Jeanist stepped toward the central tactical table. With a sharp, practiced flick of his wrist, he spread a holographic map across the surface. Red pins blinked into existence, marking hypothetical hotspots.
He exhaled, his voice steady but grave.
"All For One’s gone, but the world’s still noisy. Villains are crawling out of the shadows again, feeding off the chaos of rebuilding society."
He tapped one of the pins on the map with a gloved fingertip. "Trigger smuggling, Quirk experiments, underground drug trades—they're getting slicker than ever."
Mirko crossed her arms, giving a sharp grin. "So the foxes are playing king while the tiger’s away, huh?"
Hawks raised an eyebrow. "Guess it takes a rabbit to keep the foxes in check."
Mirko’s smile deepened. "Makes me miss the old days—chasing villains from city to city."
"It's rougher than back then," Hawks warned.
"Good," she shot back without hesitation. "That’s what makes the run worth it."
Best Jeanist closed his folder and spoke, his voice steady. "All right. The target is the Onishi Syndicate—a violent organization responsible for spreading Trigger and escalating casualties in the Kanto region."
His gaze turned toward the tactical display.
"Shemage leads with spore deployment to induce respiratory distress and neutralize hostiles. Rocketti provides ranged support and mobility. Mirko and Battle Fist will take the front for direct engagement."
He paused, meeting their eyes with a serious expression.
"However, precise coordination is required. We will conduct a joint training session before the operation begins."
Hawks glanced toward Kendo, Komori, and Pony in turn. "You’ve worked with these three before, haven’t you?"
Mirko lifted the corner of her mouth. "Yeah. The perfect team to start running again."
Kendo smiled, bowing her head slightly. "It’s an honor to join the Rabbit Hero’s comeback mission!"
Pony pumped her fist. "Hell yeah! We’re the first hitters up to bat!"
All eyes turned toward her. Her eyes went wide before she broke into a huge, innocent grin. "Let’s wreck ’em! Smash their asses!!"
Kendo pressed a hand to her forehead, groaning. "Monoma’s been teaching her bad words again…"
Komori fiddled with the rim of her mushroom hat before speaking carefully. "Shroom… Mirko, do you remember the time we infiltrated that idol event together?"
Mirko arched an eyebrow, then burst into laughter. "Of course I do! We took down the whole ‘Realist’ gang back then."
'The Realist'—a villain who used his Quirk to force idols into spilling their darkest secrets before the crowd. The concert hall had erupted into chaos, cheers turning into screams. But after a covert infiltration by disguised heroes, he was captured in minutes.
Mirko had led the team that day—Kendo, Pony, and Komori at her side.
"Told you not to tug my tail, remember?" Mirko said, shooting Kendo a sideways grin.
Kendo just shrugged. "And I warned you I’d be the one hanging on for dear life."
Mirko laughed. "You haven’t changed at all." She turned to the group, eyes sparkling with nostalgia. "Remember that show? First time I’d worn my old 'Tiger Bunny' suit in years. You and I went head-to-head in that ‘martial-arts idol’ bit!"
Kendo planted her hands on her hips, proud and loud. "I showed everyone idols can do more than just sing and dance!"
Pony threw her hands up, laughing. "I was the foreign idol! Cute and strong!"
Komori adjusted her mushroom hat and raised a timid fist. "I was the mushroom idol! Shroom!"
The room burst into laughter. Even Best Jeanist couldn’t hide a faint smile behind his collar.
Komori hesitated, then clasped her hands tightly. The laughter faded as she spoke softly. "I’ve always dreamed of being an idol hero," she said. "That day was the first time I ever had fans who called me their favorite. I could actually feel my heart pounding."
Her voice trembled slightly. "But my special move… it spreads splitgill shroom spores into an opponent’s lungs to stop their breathing. It’s… scary."
She lowered her gaze. "Right before I used it on the Realist, I was terrified—that my fans wouldn’t think I was cute anymore. That they’d just see a monster. Shroom…"
She looked up slowly, meeting Mirko’s crimson eyes. "But then… I saw you, Mirko."
Stage lights flashed overhead as Mirko sprinted across the floor. "You’re not getting away from me!"
The Realist glanced back with a grimace. "Such a vicious face for a hero—"
Mirko bared her teeth, shouting, "Yeah, and what about it?!"
In that instant, Komori’s eyes lit up.
(Yeah… I’m a hero too. One who protects everyone.)
Her sprayer burst open—spores erupting into a shimmering cloud.
Back in the present, Komori smiled softly. "That day, I realized… being myself was enough."
She nodded, her voice gaining quiet strength. "My fans said, ‘You’re cute and strong.’ That meant everything. That’s when I knew—I could be an idol hero. Shroom!"
Mirko chuckled warmly. "Yeah, you really are cute." Her eyes narrowed, teasing. "No wonder Kuroiro’s head over heels for you."
"S-Shroom…!"
Komori’s face turned bright red in an instant, steam practically rising from her mushroom cap. Kendo burst into laughter, and Pony clapped her hands, bouncing with joy.
"Vantablack is busted! Busted!"
Hawks leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and grinning. "Huh. Guess I picked my partners well."
Mirko smirked, standing tall. "With this lineup, we could crush anything in our way."
Kendo clenched her fist, determination shining in her eyes. "Our teamwork’s already perfect."
Pony threw a fist into the air. "Crush time! Let’s roll!"
Komori smiled shyly and nodded, adjusting her hat one last time. "Shroom… I’ll do my best."
Best Jeanist lifted his gaze, looking at each of them in turn.
"Excellent. Let’s tighten up those loose threads. Training begins immediately."
The air tightened at once. The laughter faded, replaced by cold focus.
One by one, their eyes met, sharing the same resolve. The air itself felt solid—quiet, steady, unshakable.
The door clicked open—and three familiar figures stepped inside.
Leading the group was Itsuka Kendo—Battle Fist—her signature side-ponytail gleaming orange in the light. Behind her came Kinoko Komori (Shemage), half-hidden beneath her mushroom-patterned cap, and the bright blonde Pony Tsunotori (Rocketti), her twin horns catching the sunlight.
"Mirko!"
Kendo waved brightly, stepping forward with confident strides. "It’s been forever since we worked together!"
Komori gave a small, bashful wave from behind Kendo. "It’s such an honor! Shroom! Nice to see you again!"
Pony beamed, throwing both hands up. "Let’s run with us!"
For a moment, the air seemed to pause.
Mirko looked at their faces—young, eager, and strong. She slowly smiled. "The perfect lineup for a comeback match."
Hawks crossed his arms, leaning against his desk with a satisfied grin. "Good. I’ve been waiting to hear that."
He pushed himself upright, flashing a brief smile as he gestured toward the door. "Let's head to the briefing room. There's a lot to explain."
Inside the adjacent tactical room, Best Jeanist stood waiting, his posture as rigid and composed as ever. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the curtains, warm but fleeting.
As the group entered, Best Jeanist stepped toward the central tactical table. With a sharp, practiced flick of his wrist, he spread a holographic map across the surface. Red pins blinked into existence, marking hypothetical hotspots.
He exhaled, his voice steady but grave.
"All For One’s gone, but the world’s still noisy. Villains are crawling out of the shadows again, feeding off the chaos of rebuilding society."
He tapped one of the pins on the map with a gloved fingertip. "Trigger smuggling, Quirk experiments, underground drug trades—they're getting slicker than ever."
Mirko crossed her arms, giving a sharp grin. "So the foxes are playing king while the tiger’s away, huh?"
Hawks raised an eyebrow. "Guess it takes a rabbit to keep the foxes in check."
Mirko’s smile deepened. "Makes me miss the old days—chasing villains from city to city."
"It's rougher than back then," Hawks warned.
"Good," she shot back without hesitation. "That’s what makes the run worth it."
Best Jeanist closed his folder and spoke, his voice steady. "All right. The target is the Onishi Syndicate—a violent organization responsible for spreading Trigger and escalating casualties in the Kanto region."
His gaze turned toward the tactical display.
"Shemage leads with spore deployment to induce respiratory distress and neutralize hostiles. Rocketti provides ranged support and mobility. Mirko and Battle Fist will take the front for direct engagement."
He paused, meeting their eyes with a serious expression.
"However, precise coordination is required. We will conduct a joint training session before the operation begins."
Hawks glanced toward Kendo, Komori, and Pony in turn. "You’ve worked with these three before, haven’t you?"
Mirko lifted the corner of her mouth. "Yeah. The perfect team to start running again."
Kendo smiled, bowing her head slightly. "It’s an honor to join the Rabbit Hero’s comeback mission!"
Pony pumped her fist. "Hell yeah! We’re the first hitters up to bat!"
All eyes turned toward her. Her eyes went wide before she broke into a huge, innocent grin. "Let’s wreck ’em! Smash their asses!!"
Kendo pressed a hand to her forehead, groaning. "Monoma’s been teaching her bad words again…"
Komori fiddled with the rim of her mushroom hat before speaking carefully. "Shroom… Mirko, do you remember the time we infiltrated that idol event together?"
Mirko arched an eyebrow, then burst into laughter. "Of course I do! We took down the whole ‘Realist’ gang back then."
'The Realist'—a villain who used his Quirk to force idols into spilling their darkest secrets before the crowd. The concert hall had erupted into chaos, cheers turning into screams. But after a covert infiltration by disguised heroes, he was captured in minutes.
Mirko had led the team that day—Kendo, Pony, and Komori at her side.
"Told you not to tug my tail, remember?" Mirko said, shooting Kendo a sideways grin.
Kendo just shrugged. "And I warned you I’d be the one hanging on for dear life."
Mirko laughed. "You haven’t changed at all." She turned to the group, eyes sparkling with nostalgia. "Remember that show? First time I’d worn my old 'Tiger Bunny' suit in years. You and I went head-to-head in that ‘martial-arts idol’ bit!"
Kendo planted her hands on her hips, proud and loud. "I showed everyone idols can do more than just sing and dance!"
Pony threw her hands up, laughing. "I was the foreign idol! Cute and strong!"
Komori adjusted her mushroom hat and raised a timid fist. "I was the mushroom idol! Shroom!"
The room burst into laughter. Even Best Jeanist couldn’t hide a faint smile behind his collar.
Komori hesitated, then clasped her hands tightly. The laughter faded as she spoke softly. "I’ve always dreamed of being an idol hero," she said. "That day was the first time I ever had fans who called me their favorite. I could actually feel my heart pounding."
Her voice trembled slightly. "But my special move… it spreads splitgill shroom spores into an opponent’s lungs to stop their breathing. It’s… scary."
She lowered her gaze. "Right before I used it on the Realist, I was terrified—that my fans wouldn’t think I was cute anymore. That they’d just see a monster. Shroom…"
She looked up slowly, meeting Mirko’s crimson eyes. "But then… I saw you, Mirko."
Stage lights flashed overhead as Mirko sprinted across the floor. "You’re not getting away from me!"
The Realist glanced back with a grimace. "Such a vicious face for a hero—"
Mirko bared her teeth, shouting, "Yeah, and what about it?!"
In that instant, Komori’s eyes lit up.
(Yeah… I’m a hero too. One who protects everyone.)
Her sprayer burst open—spores erupting into a shimmering cloud.
Back in the present, Komori smiled softly. "That day, I realized… being myself was enough."
She nodded, her voice gaining quiet strength. "My fans said, ‘You’re cute and strong.’ That meant everything. That’s when I knew—I could be an idol hero. Shroom!"
Mirko chuckled warmly. "Yeah, you really are cute." Her eyes narrowed, teasing. "No wonder Kuroiro’s head over heels for you."
"S-Shroom…!"
Komori’s face turned bright red in an instant, steam practically rising from her mushroom cap. Kendo burst into laughter, and Pony clapped her hands, bouncing with joy.
"Vantablack is busted! Busted!"
Hawks leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and grinning. "Huh. Guess I picked my partners well."
Mirko smirked, standing tall. "With this lineup, we could crush anything in our way."
Kendo clenched her fist, determination shining in her eyes. "Our teamwork’s already perfect."
Pony threw a fist into the air. "Crush time! Let’s roll!"
Komori smiled shyly and nodded, adjusting her hat one last time. "Shroom… I’ll do my best."
Best Jeanist lifted his gaze, looking at each of them in turn.
"Excellent. Let’s tighten up those loose threads. Training begins immediately."
The air tightened at once. The laughter faded, replaced by cold focus.
One by one, their eyes met, sharing the same resolve. The air itself felt solid—quiet, steady, unshakable.
and today’s special guest, the Rabbit Hero, Mirko.
Sero raised the mic high.
“Alright, everyone! Today, we’re not the heroes who fight—”
He paused, letting the crowd hang for a beat, then smiled.
“We’re the heroes who make you smile!”
Applause rippled through the audience.
Bondō stepped up beside him, holding a huge heart-shaped frame crafted from tape and glue.
“Let’s show you the unbreakable bond of our duo—Bond & Tape!”
Laughter broke out across the stands at the clumsy but cute pun.
Then Mirko strode to the center of the stage.
“I might not be funny—”
She spread her arms wide with a grin, her fluffy cotton-tail twitching playfully behind her.
“—but I am good at surprises!”
At her cue, Tsuburaba activated his Quirk.
The air solidified into clear, reflective walls, scattering sunlight in every direction.
Inside that mirrored space, Mirko leapt.
Her white ears cut through the wind as she spun once in midair. Sunlight caught at the tips, tracing a bright arc behind her.
The crowd gasped all at once.
When she landed, the air walls burst apart like glass, scattering light and dust into a giant heart-shaped ring.
Children cheered, their voices rising in one bright, unified “Waaah!”
Sero waved to the crowd with a bright grin.
“Now that’s the power of teamwork, folks!”
Bondō called out as he tidied up the debris.
“A hero’s job isn’t just about fighting—clean-up counts too!”
Mirko turned toward the audience, waving.
“Everyone—try making someone smile today, right where you stand. That’s how a true hero begins.”
White spotlights bloomed over the stage. Balloons burst, and confetti spiraled through the air.
Above them, a flock of pigeons circled gracefully. Under that calm sky, Mirko’s laughter was the first to shine.
[Late Afternoon — A Quiet Street Corner]
Golden dusk filtered between the brick buildings, warming the air of the small plaza.
Children’s laughter and applause mingled softly—an acoustic guitar humming through the air.
Eri finished her street performance. Her fingertips trembled slightly, but her smile was sure.
As the final note drifted away, gentle applause rose around her.
“Nice job, Eri.”
Jiro Kyoka approached, slipping one headphone off.
“You’ve really improved.”
“Thanks, Jiro-nee.”
Eri smiled shyly.
Jiro sat down beside the guitar case.
“Oh, by the way—Deku said he wants to see you play again. He’s coming in person next time.”
Eri’s eyes widened.
“Really?”
“Yep. So you’d better get your next song ready.”
Jiro winked and brushed her fingers over the strings—the soft rhythm drifting into the evening air.
The two of them stayed there, talking and laughing as the evening light faded.
When the crowd had thinned and people drifted away, Eri quietly began packing up her guitar.
Just as she was about to close the case, she spotted a small note tucked into the corner.
A familiar memo, marked with a drawing of a pair of little rabbit ears.
The handwriting was neat and steady.
“Great performance!”
Eri froze for a moment.
The edge of the note fluttered faintly in the sunlight. Her fingers trembled until finally, a quiet smile spread across her face.
She held the note close and whispered to herself. That simple line echoed softly in her heart.
“…Mirko-san.”
The street noise faded away, and the last note drifting into the sunset lingered for a long, long time.
[Night — Residential District Patrol]
The residential district was dead quiet. No villains, no people. Just the humming streetlights and the chirping crickets.
Walking down the empty street, Mirko let out a long, loud groan.
“Tch… seriously? Do we really need to patrol this specific spot?”
She kicked a pebble, watching it bounce harmlessly into the dark.
“This district is famous for having zero crime. It’s safer than a nursery school around here.”
She stretched her arms behind her head, yawning heavily.
“I know this is supposed to be an 'adaptation run' to get me back in the groove... but come on. This is boring. Way too boring.”
After finishing her lap, she headed toward the park bench where the team leader for this area was stationed.
There sat Koda Koji (Anima).
The kid had changed since the war.
His skin was rough like pure bedrock, his jawline square, and two jagged, sharp horns now jutted from his head.
Visually, he looked like a walking fortress. A final boss.
But right now, that “final boss” was sitting on the bench, chin resting in his massive hand, his head bobbing rhythmically.
He was fast asleep.
Mirko stopped and smirked, placing a hand on her hip.
“See? I told you. It’s so boring even the guy in charge is knocking out.”
She crept closer, her footsteps silent as a rabbit’s.
She leaned her upper body down, bringing her face inches away from his, and whispered low and sharp.
“Oi.”
Koda’s eyelids fluttered open, heavy with sleep.
His vision was blurry for a split second. Then, it focused.
Right in front of his nose were two glowing crimson eyes and a toothy, feral grin filling his entire field of view.
“H-HIIIEEEK!!”
He screamed at the top of his lungs, leaping off the bench and snapping into a rigid salute in mid-air.
“I-I wasn’t sleeping!! My animal friends said it’s clear!! Please don’t eat m— I mean!! No anomalies found, ma’am!!”
Silence.
A stray cat on a nearby wall froze, staring at them.
Mirko stood upright, blinking at his reaction with genuine confusion.
(Huh? I thought he liked rabbits...)
She let out a short huff and slapped his rock-hard arm.
“Geez. You look like a villain boss with those horns now, but you still spook easy, huh?”
Koda let out a whimpering breath, clutching his chest as his soul slowly returned to his body.
“I… I thought my heart stopped…”
Mirko chuckled, turning back to the road.
“Relax, big guy. I only bite bad guys. Come on, wake up properly. Let’s finish this shift.”
As they walked away, Koda kept a safe distance of exactly three steps, mentally hugging his fluffy Yuwai-chan for comfort.
(I love rabbits... Yuwai-chan is cute and fluffy...)
(But Mirko-san is scary!!)
(…From now on, I’m definitely sticking to day shifts.)
[Midnight — Inside the Subway]
The subway car rattled through the rain.
Mirko ended the call with Hawks. “Understood. No issues.”
Silence returned. She leaned against the glass door, watching the city blur past.
Suddenly, a massive billboard lit up the dark.
On the screen, Bakugo Katsuki was blasting a villain, moving with explosive freedom.
Mirko’s eyes tracked his movement without blinking.
“Right arm... looks like it healed well.”
A small relief, but it stung.
In the window, her reflection stared back—illuminated by the orange glow of his fire.
Envy and longing mixed in those red eyes.
She pressed her forehead against the cold glass, closing her eyes.
“...I didn't become a hero just to fight.”
The train rushed on, plunging into a tunnel, instantly swallowing her reflection in darkness.
[The Same Time — HPSC Director’s Office]
Hawks ended the call and leaned back in his chair.
Stacks of reports covered his desk, and the pale moonlight stretched long through the window.
“Report’s complete,” he said with a short sigh.
Best Jeanist straightened his collar.
“No issues with Mirko?”
“None,” Hawks replied.
“We’ve seen no signs of hallucinations or trauma responses over the past month. The doctors have cleared her—physically and mentally, she’s fully recovered.”
There was a faint relief in his voice.
Jeanist nodded slowly.
“I’m glad. We were all a bit worried.”
By the window, Aizawa Shota spoke with his arms crossed.
“Even so, we should be cautious with field deployments. She’ll be facing villains head-on again.”
“I know.” Hawks nodded.
“That’s why I’m planning a team-up mission.”
“Team-up?” Jeanist raised a brow.
Hawks tapped his fingers against the armrest, smiling faintly in the dim light.
“Already got a few candidates in mind.”
Aizawa’s tone shifted with quiet curiosity.
“Who?”
Hawks pulled out a file and set it on the desk.
Silence lingered for a moment. Jeanist looked at the cover and smiled.
“Reliable choices.”
Aizawa nodded.
“Yeah. If it’s them… they’ll have her back.”
Cold moonlight leaned across the glass, tracing a faint, silver glow along the window’s edge.
[The Next Day — HPSC Director’s Office]
Soft sunlight streamed through the window.
Papers fluttered faintly in the breeze, and the scent of coffee filled the room.
Hawks closed a file and looked up.
“You’ve been looking a little different lately, Mirko.”
Mirko tilted her head, arms crossed.
“Different?”
“It’s like your combat instincts are itching again.”
Hawks grinned, one brow arched in playful mischief.
Mirko chuckled and turned her head aside.
“…Sharp as ever. Yeah, you’re right.”
Her voice stayed calm, but her eyes flickered with a long-buried thrill.
“Knew it.”
Hawks snapped his fingers.
“That’s why I lined something up for you. Some old friends you’ll be happy to see.”
He turned toward the door.
“Come in.”
The door clicked open.
Mirko turned toward the sound, her crimson eyes widening faintly in surprise.
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