Kimiko's mahogany eyes locked onto the television screen, her breath catching in her throat as the news anchor's voice filled their cramped apartment.
"—amateur footage captured by a bystander shows the young man working alongside Mt. Lady to apprehend the criminal. The unidentified individual appears to be using some form of energy-based Quirk—"
The remote slipped from her trembling fingers, clattering onto the coffee table scattered with her textbooks and job applications. The white-haired figure on screen moved like liquid shadow, coins spinning through the air before erupting in purple light. Each explosion made her flinch, not from the sound but from recognition.
That's him. That's Yu-yu.
Her little brother—her reckless, brilliant, impossible little brother—had saved someone. Had used his Quirk not for training or showing off, but to protect a stranger in danger.
But then the footage switched to an older clip—Mt. Lady during a villain attack three years ago. The same kind of attack. The smile vanished from her face. The air in the cramped apartment grew thin, the cheap floral freshener suddenly cloying. Her stomach clenched into a cold, sharp knot
I should be happy. This is what we've been working toward. This is his dream.
So why did she feel like she was drowning?
The apartment door flew open, the wood shuddering in its cheap frame. Yukio strode in, bringing the cool night air with him. His face was flushed, his violet eyes blazing with a triumph that seemed too big for their small living room.
"Kimi-nee, you're not going to believe what just—"
He stopped mid-sentence, his expression shifting from elation to confusion as he took in her face. Those sharp eyes of his, the ones that had always been too knowing for his age, swept over her tear-stained cheeks and trembling hands.
"Kimi? What's wrong?"
The simple question shattered whatever control she'd been clinging to. A sob escaped her throat, surprising them both. All the emotions she'd been trying to sort through—the pride, the terror, the memories of their parents' funeral, the image of him facing down criminals in dark alleys—tangled together into something too big for words.
She launched herself forward, burying her face against his chest as the tears came freely. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, holding on like he might disappear if she let go.
For a heartbeat, he stood frozen. Then his arms came around her, pulling her close with a strength and certainty that made her breath hitch for an entirely different reason.
This wasn't the familiar, gangly embrace of her little brother. The hug felt solid, protective—like being wrapped in a shield rather than seeking comfort from someone she needed to protect.
His heartbeat thrummed steady and calm against her ear, the rhythm slowly anchoring her spinning thoughts. When had this happened? When had he grown into this confident stranger wearing her brother's face? The past two weeks, he'd seemed different somehow. More focused, more sure of himself. She'd attributed it to pre-exam nerves, but this...
"Hey," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest. "I'm here. I'm safe."
"I saw the news," she whispered against his shirt. "I saw and all I could think about was—" Her voice cracked. "What if I lost you too?"
His arms tightened around her. "You won't. I promise you won't."
"You can't promise that. Not in this line of work. Not when you're throwing yourself at criminals in back alleys like some kind of—"
"Like some kind of hero?" His tone carried a gentle tease, but underneath it lay something harder. More resolved.
"Kimi, look at me."
She did, her hands still fisted in his shirt. The violet depths held none of the reckless bravado she'd expected. Instead, she saw a cold, unwavering purpose.
"This," he said, "is why I have to do this. So we're never weak again. So you're never scared again."
He reached up, brushing a tear from her cheek. "So you never have to work three jobs while some agency tells you you're not good enough."
"You've got it all figured out, don't you?" she whispered, searching his face for any trace of the uncertain boy who used to crawl into her bed during thunderstorms.
"I've got the important parts figured out." His lips quirked into that familiar smirk, but it carried new weight now. "The rest is just details."
The trembling in her hands began to subside. The cold knot in her stomach loosened, replaced by something warmer. Safer.
She leaned back in his arms, wiping her eyes but not stepping away from the circle of his embrace. A watery smile tugged at her lips as her usual personality began to resurface, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
"Okay," she said, her voice still thick but steadier now. "Okay, hero."
She tilted her head, studying his face with renewed interest. The confident set of his jaw, the way his hair caught the lamplight, the easy way he held himself like he owned whatever space he occupied. When had her gangly little brother become so...
"So," she said, letting a teasing note creep into her voice. "About your new partner, Mt. Lady..."
His smirk widened into something positively wicked. "Partner might be overstating it."
"Mm-hmm." Kimiko's smile turned into a real grin, mischief sparkling in her mahogany eyes. "She seemed very hands-on in that footage. Very... touchy."
"You could say that."
"And very beautiful."
"Also true."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me the truth, Yu-yu. Is her ass really as great as it looks on TV?"
Yukio threw his head back and laughed—a deep, genuine sound that filled their tiny apartment and chased away the last shadows clinging to the corners. The laugh was different too, richer and more confident than the chuckles she remembered from before.
"You're terrible," he said, still grinning.
"I'm curious!" She swatted his chest playfully. "My little brother just got personally recruited by one of the most gorgeous heroes in Japan. I think I'm entitled to some details."
"She gave me her business card."
"Of course she did." Kimiko rolled her eyes. "Probably pressed it right into your palm with some comment about your 'potential,' am I right?"
"Something like that."
She studied his expression, noting the way his eyes danced with amusement and something else—something that looked suspiciously like calculation. Her brother had always been clever, but this was different. This was the look of someone who saw opportunities where others saw complications.
"You're planning something," she said, not quite a question.
"I'm always planning something."
"This is different." She poked his chest with one finger. "This is your 'I'm about to do something that will either be brilliant or get me killed' face."
"Have a little faith in your hero brother." He caught her hand, pressing it flat against his chest where she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "I told you—I've got the important parts figured out."
Looking at him now, really looking, she could see it wasn't just his body that had changed. There was something in his eyes, something sharp and hungry and utterly fearless. The boy she'd been protecting was gone, replaced by a man who looked like he could protect the world if he set his mind to it.
Her partner.
She settled more comfortably against him, the solid beat of his heart under her ear a comforting, terrifying promise. A door closed on old fears, and she found herself leaning into the new ones.
"Alright, hero," she murmured, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. "Let's get to work."