Lena walked with heavy, weary steps towards her home, her body aching, her mind still reeling from the day's events. She couldn't wait to finally collapse onto her bed and sleep like a log, losing herself in the depths of unconsciousness for the rest of the day. This particular day had been as profoundly awful as if someone had filled her entire house with a sickening amount of excrement for April Fool's Day. It was, in every conceivable sense of the word, truly horrible.
On top of the general exhaustion and emotional turmoil, her head still spun slightly, a persistent dizziness from the sudden, violent surge of power she had experienced at the USJ. When she had eventually woken up in the U.A. medical wing, groggy and disoriented, she had seriously wondered how she had ended up there. Then, with a chilling jolt, she remembered: a bloody shotgun had blown half her head off. In retrospect, it was undoubtedly one of the stupidest, most impulsive decisions she had ever made in her entire life.
In her defense... there was no defense. It was a reckless, almost suicidal act driven by pure, unadulterated instinct and a desperate need to protect.
Lena frowned as she remained lost in her own complicated thoughts, replaying fragments of the traumatic event. She still vividly remembered the strange, exhilarating, yet terrifying feeling of 'Recoil' coursing through her body; it had felt distinctly different from all the other 'Recoils' she had executed previously. This was possibly due to the Slipstream device being severely damaged, forcing her to push its limits and her own Quirk's capabilities far beyond their safe parameters to maintain her 'Acceleration' state for longer than advisable.
It was in that part, the chaotic, blurry segment of her memory, where she recalled pushing away a girl who looked just like Kyoka. But for some inexplicable reason, she didn't feel it was her Kyoka, the Kyoka she knew and fought alongside. It felt like someone else, a stranger, yet agonizingly familiar. The memory was too blurred, too indistinct, like it was tantalizingly on the tip of her tongue but she just couldn't quite articulate it, couldn't bring it into sharp focus.
Anyway, after that inexplicable moment, she got shot in the head. And then... then she remembered talking to a carbon copy of herself. Well, not exactly a carbon copy; more like a slightly altered, stone-like replica, due to the few, subtle differences they had.
That particular part was strangely fresh in her memory, remarkably vivid and detailed, as if she had lived that conversation over and over again, in an endless, looping cycle. It was a strange, unsettling feeling, like deja vu but constant, a persistent echo in her mind.
Weird. Absolutely weird.
After that mind-bending encounter, she only remembered waking up in the U.A. infirmary, without any explanation. When Lena had subsequently asked Kyoka what exactly had happened and why there was a significant, frustratingly blurred part of her memory, Kyoka had simply avoided the topic, deflecting her questions and leaving Lena suspicious. However, from the grimace Kyoka had subtly made, Lena knew it was nothing good, nothing she would want to hear.
Lena let out an exhausted sigh as she leaned her head back, her gaze falling remorsefully upon the damaged Slipstream device attached to her chest.
For the very first time in her life, she felt the Slipstream not as a tool for her profound freedom, but more like a burdensome chain. Sure, technically, it was a chain that paradoxically allowed her to live in freedom, anchoring her to a stable reality. But she had finally, terrifyingly, reached the end of that chain. Lena realized, with a sobering clarity, that the Slipstream was not a fantastic device that magically cured her of her debilitating problem, her temporal instability.
It was merely a device that offered an alternative to her problem, a temporary solution, but not a definitive, permanent cure.
If she truly wanted a cure... she had to make it herself. She had to find a way to stabilize her Quirk, to control its chaotic nature, without relying on external mechanisms.
Lena stood still for a moment, staring intently at the Slipstream, contemplating its complex nature and her intrinsic connection to it. Oddly enough, even though the Slipstream was still damaged, Lena didn't feel like she was completely unanchored from the present, adrift in the currents of time. Her energy was still connected to the device, a vital link, but the bond between the two felt subtly, undeniably... weaker. It was as if the tether was fraying, losing some of its potency.
"Agh! I'm not going to break my head thinking about things I don't understand, things that are beyond my current grasp..." Lena shouted in frustration, before letting out a big, exasperated sigh. She thought about everything that had happened in a single, chaotic day, the sheer volume of trauma and inexplicable phenomena. She could only desperately hope this was the last time something like this happened to her while she was still a student.
Finally seeing her house in the distance, a beacon of normalcy, she walked towards the door with a weak, weary smile, thinking about how incredibly comfortable her bed would feel, a luxurious haven after the ordeal. Although, she doubted she would easily fall asleep after everything that had transpired today, her mind too stimulated, too haunted.
She entered the house with a sigh of profound relief, only to be immediately greeted by her father, Winston, who was looking at her with an intensely serious and worried expression in his eyes. His body had undergone a significant, alarming change: part of his formerly human physique was now visibly covered with thick, dark hair, his mouth revealed large, formidable fangs, and he had gained quite a bit of height, his frame noticeably more imposing. His Quirk, 'Hyper-Evolution,' clearly had a dramatic, physical manifestation.
Lena had to admit that she was quite intimidated at this moment, a rare sensation for her.
"Hello, Father..." Lena spoke weakly, her voice barely a whisper, as she carefully closed the door behind her, sealing out the lingering chaos of the outside world. "How... how have you been, today?"
Winston simply closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath, before opening them again. This time, his gaze was filled with a profound weariness, a deep exhaustion that echoed her own. "We have a lot to talk about, Lena, a great deal... but first, let's eat something substantial."
Winston moved towards the kitchen, bending his now-taller frame a bit to navigate the doorway.
"..." Lena simply froze for a moment at the solemn, uncharacteristic tone in her father's voice, a chilling gravity that she rarely heard. She then quietly followed him, moving as silently as possible, her apprehension mounting.
Lena found her father already seated at the kitchen table, his large form filling the space. He motioned for Lena to sit across from him. She vaguely noticed that the kitchen's automated systems were already in motion, preparing their meal, a mundane detail amidst the brewing tension.
Lena unconsciously swallowed, a dry gulp, as she sat at the table, carefully avoiding her father's intense, unwavering eyes.
A heavy, oppressive silence reigned in the house, broken only by the faint hum of the kitchen appliances. The tense air slowly, suffocatingly, began to choke Lena. She felt as if she were sitting in front of the police after robbing a bank or something equally scandalous, a profound sense of guilt and apprehension settling over her.
We sat there, staring at each other. Well, more accurately, he was staring intently at me, and I was trying my absolute best not to look guilty for some inexplicable reason. 'Why do I feel so... bad about all of this?' I wondered, a surge of internal frustration. 'I haven't done anything wrong, have I?!'
"A few hours ago, Lena, I received a report about the Slipstream device. It said it had been..." Winston took a deep, shaky breath, his voice trembling, the words difficult to articulate. "Deactivated... not long after that, I got an overload alarm, a critical system warning..."
I tried desperately to speak, to offer an explanation, but my mouth felt strangely dry, and I quickly closed it as I realized the words simply would not come out. My heart sank a little, and a strange, cold feeling washed over me, a chilling premonition.
"Not long after that, I received another report, confirming its reactivation and... and then another overload, Lena..." Winston folded his massive arms, his gaze averting for the first time, looking somewhat vulnerable despite his recent physical transformation due to his Quirk. He looked strangely small, almost lost. "I called U.A. immediately to find out what in the world was going on, but... they didn't answer. The communication lines were completely jammed, inoperable..."
"That..." I tried to speak again, a desperate attempt to find my voice, but I simply couldn't. I averted my gaze as a profound sense of sadness slowly washed over me, mingling with the guilt. "I—"
"Not long ago, I finally received a message from the U.A. director, informing us about the critical situation at the USJ," Papa said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes tiredly before putting them back on, his voice filled with an overwhelming weariness. "I... I honestly don't know what to think, Lena."
"W-what do you mean, Papa?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, a knot of fear tightening in my stomach.
"TO EVERYTHING!" The sudden shout, a guttural roar, made me jump a little in my chair, startled by his raw emotion. Turning to look at my father, I saw him staring at me, his eyes wide and filled with an almost agonizing exhaustion. "I mean everything, Lena... this... this entire situation..."
"D-Dad... are you okay? Are you truly alright?" I stammered, my voice laced with genuine concern, seeing the raw vulnerability in his usually strong demeanor.
"NO! I'M NOT OKAY!" Winston exclaimed, his voice suddenly becoming brittle, cracking with raw emotion, as he collapsed back into his chair, his shoulders slumping. "I-I don't know what to do, Lena. I just don't know..."
Before I fully comprehended my own actions, I had risen from my chair and swiftly moved to his side, wrapping my arms around him in a desperate attempt to comfort him... or perhaps, I realized, to comfort myself. He hugged me back fiercely, and I felt small, warm tears welling up in his eyes, falling onto my shoulder, soaking into my clothes.
"When I read that message, Lena, the one about... about the deactivation of your Slipstream... it was like the world itself abruptly stopped," Winston spoke between sobs, his voice thick with raw emotion, as he quickly wiped away the small tears that streamed down his face. "I... I honestly thought I had lost you, Lena... that you had died... and that I— I couldn't do anything about it. I felt utterly useless, completely powerless..."
My vision slowly began to blur as fresh tears, hot and stinging, began to flood my vision, obscuring his face.
Finally, everything that had happened all day, every terrifying moment, every agonizing detail, came rushing back into my head, a tidal wave of trauma, making me fully realize how incredibly close I had come to truly dying, to losing absolutely everything.
My family, my new friends, my home... everything I held dear.
"I-I'm so sorry, Papa..." I burst into uncontrollable tears, the raw realization of my near-death experience, and the pain I had caused him, overwhelming me. In a moment, my father gently sat me back in the chair, pulling me close as he hugged me fiercely and comforted me like I was a frightened little girl once more. "I'm... so, so sorry..."
All of us could have died, or we could have been kidnapped by the villains, who knows what unspeakable things they might have done to us.
I realized that behind all the brave fights and the playful jokes, I was absolutely terrified by the fear of what might happen to us, to my new friends, to my family.
I was terrified of the very possibility of death.
In fact, I died.
Even my head, my logical, analytical mind, couldn't quite process that horrifying, undeniable fact. The profound, chilling reality that I, Lena Oxton, had actually died.
I don't think I'll ever be able to fully process that fact.
No, it's not that I can't process it.
It's that I don't want to process it.
I don't want to think about it.
I want to forget about it. To erase it from my mind, as if it never happened.
I realized, with a heavy heart, that my death, however brief, affected not only me, but deeply impacted everyone around me, especially my father.
A fact that only made me feel worse, a profound sense of guilt.
"I'm here, dear, I'm here..." Winston whispered, his voice soothing, as he gently stroked my head, his fingers running through my hair. Finally, my tears had calmed down a bit, subsiding into muffled sobs, but they were still coming in large, uncontrollable droves. "Do you want to talk about it, Lena? About what happened?"
Unable to speak, my throat choked with emotion, I simply nodded slightly, my father still holding me close, hugging me without a care in the world, his embrace a sanctuary.
At this point, I was no longer Lena Oxton, the Aspiring Hero, the confident, witty, fast-moving student.
I was just, me. Lena Oxton, a fifteen-year-old teenager who had spent a significant part of her young life locked in a suffocating capsule, burdened by her own guilt and the weight of an uncontrollable Quirk. Now, I was a teenager who just wanted her father's warm embrace to comfort her, to provide solace from the raw terror of death.
A teenager who faced death, who crossed the threshold of mortality, to save others.
Because that's what Heroes do.
Even if it terrifies us inside, down to our very souls.