Chapter 7: Fault Lines Beneath Us
Winter had given way to the dull grey of early spring. It was the in-between time, when the earth thawed but hadn't bloomed, when the skies hung low with moisture that never quite fell. The sidewalks were stained with leftover salt and watermarks from melting snow, and the air smelled faintly of rusted gutters and morning dew.
Aoi walked the perimeter of the school courtyard, gloved hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. Every step was practiced. Every movement small. His shoes barely scuffed the concrete. It was safer that way.
It had been three days since the alleyway incident.
The gloves he wore now were his backup pair—thinner, slightly loose around the fingers, with a tiny fray along the right thumb seam. His new gloves were still at home. Folded neatly in the drawer beside his bed. He hadn't worn them since that day.
Fragments of that moment still lodged in his thoughts like splinters. The way light had splashed against the brick walls. The sharp, crystalline hum that pulsed under his skin. The way one boy had screamed when a shard of glass cracked past his shoulder. The metallic scent of panic.
Nobody had gotten seriously hurt.
But they could have.
"You sure you're not gonna turn the pavement into glass?"
That was what one of the older students had muttered yesterday as Aoi passed by. Not to his face—just loud enough to sting. It didn't matter that the school had never filed an official report. Or that the three boys involved had been issued warnings for unprovoked harassment. The gossip always filled in the blanks faster than facts ever could.
He hadn't told his parents.
And Dr. Fushimi… well. Their next appointment was scheduled. He could pretend things were fine until then.
Aoi paused beneath the large cherry tree near the back fence. The buds hadn't opened yet, but they would soon. He reached out, careful, and brushed one gloved finger against the gnarled bark.
Solid.
Safe.
No pulse of light. No shimmer of crystal.
He let out a slow breath.
That's when he heard footsteps behind him.
"Hey," came a familiar voice. "You okay?"
It was Nao—the fire Quirk boy from Quirk Studies. Tall, tanned, and always vaguely smelling of charcoal. Aoi didn't know him well. Just enough to nod in passing. But today, Nao wasn't wearing his usual smirk.
Aoi hesitated. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
"Lot of people talking," Nao said, unbothered. "Saying you nearly cut some guy's face off."
Aoi's throat tightened. "It wasn't— I didn't—"
"Relax," Nao interrupted, raising both hands. "I didn't come to start anything."
Aoi blinked.
Nao scratched the back of his head. "I just figured… if I blew a hole in a wall by accident, someone would probably treat me like I was radioactive, too."
There was a long silence.
Then, finally, Aoi looked away. "It's not the same."
"Sure it is," Nao replied. "Your Quirk does something big. Mine does something big. Difference is, people think they understand fire. Nobody understands glass."
Aoi didn't answer right away.
But something in him, something brittle and aching, softened.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
Nao shrugged. "Whatever. Just don't disappear on us. The next Quirk Studies demo's gonna be boring without your weird crystal stuff."
Aoi actually smiled, just a little. "I don't use it during class."
"Maybe you should."
And with that, Nao turned and headed back toward the building, hands in his pockets like nothing ever fazed him.
—
That night, Aoi stood by his window, the city stretching beyond the glass in layered shadows and faint orange light.
He flexed his fingers in the dim room. One glove off. Just one. He stared at his bare palm, the faintest shimmer of pale blue just beneath the skin—almost like frost beneath a windowpane.
"Not now," he whispered.
The glow subsided.
—
They were leaving for the school trip next week. A hiking excursion to the outer prefectures—trails through the hills, visits to historical sites, maybe a bit of wilderness survival training. The teachers had emphasized team building. A break from the classroom.
Aoi wasn't sure if he was looking forward to it.
He hadn't been to the countryside since he was a child. His memories of those places were wrapped in soft smells and quiet mornings. Safer times.
But now?
Now there were layers to every decision. Questions behind every moment.
What if he slipped on a trail and reflexively touched a tree root? What if a kid fell and grabbed his hand? What if something broke and people blamed him?
He stared at the permission form on his desk.
At the bottom was a field labeled Quirk Disclosure: Safety Precautions Required.
His pen hovered over the page for several seconds before he finally wrote:
"Contact-based crystal transmutation. Requires insulated gloves. Avoid sudden startle."
Aoi pressed the pen down harder than he meant to.
**
**
A week later, the buses lined up in front of the school gates.
Aoi stepped on board, gloves secure, his backpack heavy with extra pairs. He had even packed the prototype sleeves Dr. Fushimi once gave him. Just in case.
He took a window seat near the back.
The trees were already greener here. The hills visible beyond the concrete edges of the city. The teachers made announcements. The students chattered, excited.
But Aoi sat still.
Somewhere ahead—days, weeks, maybe just moments—something was going to change.
He didn't know how.
He didn't know when.
But he felt it in the marrow of his bones.
Like a resonance waiting to be struck.
And this time… he had to be ready.