The air smelled like sun-warmed laundry and freshly watered plants.
It was one of those rare, perfect afternoons—quiet, gentle, the kind of day that lives in memory even before it's over. Nothing felt out of place. Everything felt… settled.
Arata stretched out on the tatami floor, a pencil dangling loosely between his teeth, eyes tracing the spinning fan above. Warm sunlight filtered through the window, casting golden rectangles across the wood floor. A breeze danced through the open balcony door, stirring the curtains like lazy ghosts.
In the kitchen, his mother was humming.
She always hummed when she cooked—not any particular song, just whatever tune came to her. It drifted through the house, light and aimless, the sound of someone entirely at peace.
"Arata," Riku called. "Are you actually doing your homework or chewing on it?"
He flopped over dramatically, limbs spread like a fallen starfish. "I'm absorbing the answers through osmosis."
Riku peeked around the corner with a smirk and a plate of sliced apples. "Then that must be why your grades smell like pencil lead."
He snorted and sat up. "Not my fault kanji looks like chicken scratches."
She laughed and flopped down beside him, handing him the plate. "Excuses, excuses."
He popped a slice in his mouth, letting the crisp sweetness wake him up. "You're off work early."
"Half-day," she said, stretching out. "Took the rest of it off. Figured we could waste the afternoon together."
"You call this wasting?"
She poked his side. "I'm talking about the part where I let you beat me at the park later."
Arata grinned. "You let me?"
She raised a brow. "You think you're faster than me now?"
He shrugged. "Old age slows you down."
She gasped, dramatically offended. "Eight years old and already fearless."
"I get it from you."
She leaned back on her hands and tilted her head at him. "You really do."
---
Later that afternoon, they went out together. Haruto was in the garage, buried under wires, blueprints, and at least one busted toaster, so they let him be.
The two of them took the scenic route to the park.
Past the bakery that always smelled too good to ignore.
Past the community center where a group of seniors played shogi under a faded awning.
Past the alley where neighborhood cats held secret meetings.
They walked side by side. Riku's steps were light. Not rushed, not dragging—just… airy. Every so often, Arata noticed her feet lifted a little too high off the ground. Not jumping. Not obvious.
Just enough to make him wonder if she even needed the ground to walk.
"You're floating again," he said.
Riku smiled, not slowing. "Don't tell anyone. They'll make me put on shoes."
They reached the hilltop at the edge of the park, where the sun lit the grass in hues of orange and gold. She dropped her cloth bag and stretched.
"Race you to the tree and back?"
"No quirks," Arata warned.
"No promises," she said, already taking off.
He chased after her, laughing.
She let him win, but just barely.
---
They sat under the big tree, catching their breath, watching the sky shift toward dusk.
"Hey, Mom?" Arata said quietly.
"Mm?"
"Why don't you use your quirk more?"
Riku looked up at the branches above. The leaves rustled like whispers.
"I don't need to," she said. "Not anymore."
"But it's cool. You could totally show off."
She smiled. "There was a time when I did. A long time ago. But now? I use it for balloons. And occasionally escaping laundry."
He tilted his head. "That's it?"
She looked down at him. "Your dad fell in love with me before I ever jumped into the sky. Your grandpa raised me like a normal kid. Nobody ever loved me because I could step through the air. They loved me because I didn't need to."
Arata blinked.
Then looked away, cheeks warm.
"I still think it's cool."
"Then maybe someday, you'll walk where I walked."
She stood, brushing off her jeans. "Come on. Let's get home before your dad builds something that can cook and do taxes."
---
That night, dinner was simple—miso soup, grilled fish, and rice. The three of them sat around the low table, Haruto occasionally zoning out between bites, still thinking in wires and circuits.
Riku and Arata carried the conversation.
She told stories about neighbors' dogs chasing mail carriers.
He talked about how a kid at school accidentally set his shoes on fire.
Haruto nodded occasionally. Smiled faintly. They didn't mind. That was just him.
After dinner, while his father returned to the garage, Arata sat beside his mother in the living room. She folded laundry with practiced speed, stacking shirts with the precision of a ninja.
"Help me or keep me company," she said without looking up.
He handed her socks one by one.
"You think Dad used to be cool?" he asked suddenly.
She raised a brow. "Used to be?"
He grinned. "I mean like… before spreadsheets."
She chuckled. "He's always been cool. Just quietly."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Arata asked, "Were you ever scared? You know, when you were a hero?"
She paused mid-fold.
"Only when I had something to lose."
He didn't understand it completely. But he remembered the weight of those words.
---
Later, she stood, brushing off her lap.
"I forgot something from the store," she said, tying her hair up quickly. "You and your dad inhaled all the fruit jellies again."
"I didn't touch them!"
"You inhaled the box and denied its existence."
She picked up her cloth bag from the hook near the door.
"I'll come too," Arata said, standing.
"Nope." She leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "Stay and finish your worksheet. You owe me one jelly per wrong answer."
He groaned. "That's like… twelve jellies!"
"Then consider this motivation."
He followed her to the door.
"Be back in twenty," she said, slipping on her sandals.
And then—
Just like that—
She stepped out.
The door clicked shut behind her.
---
The sun hadn't set yet.
The fan still spun.
And that ordinary day continued… for everyone except her.