The routine of toddler life settles over me like a warm blanket, but one that's starting to fray at the edges, threads pulling loose where that red energy tugs insistently.
Mornings start with sunlight spilling across the floor, casting long shadows that dance like elusive spirits I can't quite catch. Kenji's the first to stir most days, his crib creaking as he pulls himself up, chubby hands gripping the rails like they're the bars of a tiny prison he can't wait to escape.
"Sa-to! Play!" he demands, voice high and insistent, brown eyes sparkling with that pure, unfiltered joy only kids have.
I roll over in my bed, pretending to groan sleepily even though I've been awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and wrestling with the low burn in my gut. *Another day, another battle with the inner demon. Or is it a upgrade? Truck-kun, you sneaky bastard.* "Coming, bro. Hold on."
Aiko appears in the doorway, her dark hair tousled from sleep, but her smile as bright as ever. She floats a stuffed animal over to Kenji with her telekinesis, making it bob and weave like a playful bird. "Good morning, my energetic duo. Breakfast first, then play?"
Kenji bounces on his mattress. "Pancakes! Fluffy!"
She laughs, scooping him up and planting a kiss on his forehead. The scent of her—lavender soap and something warm, maternal—wafts over as she turns to me. "What about you, Satoru? Pancakes sound good?"
I nod, swinging my legs over the side and toddling after them. "Yes, Mama. With syrup."
In the kitchen, Hiroshi's already at work, flipping pancakes on the griddle, golden bubbles rising on the surface as they cook. The sizzle fills the air, mixing with the sweet aroma that makes my stomach rumble despite the faint red twist nagging at me.
"Morning, team!" he calls, sliding plates onto the table. His hero suit is laid out nearby, ready for another day. "Fuel up—I've got a joint training with some rookies today. Might learn a thing or two."
Aiko sets Kenji in his high chair, floating syrup over. "Be safe, Hiroshi. No showing off too much."
He winks, drizzling syrup on my stack. "Me? Show off? Never. Satoru, dig in—grow those muscles for your quirk."
I poke at the pancakes, the fluffy texture giving way under my fork. "Like Papa's wall?"
"Exactly," he says, beaming. "Strong and unbreakable. Kenji too—maybe you'll both team up with me someday."
Kenji smears syrup on his face, giggling. "Team! Boom!"
We eat amid chatter, the sticky sweetness coating my tongue, but that red hum pulses faintly with each bite, like it's feeding off the warmth. *Chill, red. Family time—no drama.* But it whispers back, faint and mocking: *Hungry.*
After breakfast, Hiroshi heads out with hugs all around. "Back by dinner. Love you all!"
Aiko waves from the door, then turns to us. "Okay, boys. Park today? Weather's perfect."
Kenji cheers. "Swing! High!"
I nod eagerly, but inside, caution flickers. Outings mean more quirks to observe, more chances for the red to spike if something goes wrong. *Bring it. I'm ready-ish.*
The park's a burst of color and noise: green grass underfoot, kids laughing as they chase each other, quirks sparking here and there like fireworks in daylight. Aiko pushes Kenji on the swing, his legs kicking wildly, wind ruffling his white hair.
"Higher, Mama!" he squeals.
She obliges, her telekinesis adding a gentle boost to keep it safe. I sit on the next swing, pumping my legs slowly, feeling the air rush past my face, cool and freeing.
A group of older kids nearby plays tag, one boy's speed quirk blurring him into a streak. Another girl creates illusions—fake butterflies fluttering around them, drawing oohs.
"Look, Satoru!" Aiko calls. "That girl's quirk is pretty. Butterflies!"
"Cool," I say, but my Six Eyes pick up the energy flows: superficial, tied to their bodies. Mine's different—deeper, invisible. *Quirks are toys. Cursed energy's the real deal.*
Kenji points from his swing. "Fly! Me fly?"
Aiko smiles. "Someday, maybe. When your quirk comes."
The red stirs then, hot and sudden, like a spark igniting dry grass. Pain flickers in my chest, visions teasing: slashes cutting through those butterflies, turning pretty to bloody.
I grip the swing chains tighter. *No. Not here. Not with them.*
A ball rolls my way from the tag game, the speed kid chasing it. "Hey, white-hair! Kick it back!"
I hop off, nudging it with my foot—infusing a tiny blue push to send it flying straight. It arcs perfectly, landing in his hands.
"Whoa! Nice kick!" he yells.
Aiko claps. "Good aim, Satoru!"
Kenji mimics. "Aim! Whoa!"
The red recedes a bit, satisfied? *Weird. Like it approves of control.* We play more: sandbox castles, where I steady the walls with Infinity subtly, making Kenji's eyes widen.
"Tall! No fall!" he exclaims.
Aiko ruffles my hair. "You're a builder, huh?"
*Heh, building empires, Mama. One grain at a time.*
Home for lunch: simple onigiri, rice balls packed with tuna, the salty bite grounding me. Kenji munches messily, rice sticking to his cheeks.
"Eat neat, bro," I say, demonstrating.
He tries, failing adorably. "Neat!"
Aiko wipes him clean. "Nap after? You two look tuckered."
Kenji protests. "No nap! Play!"
But she floats him to the room anyway, me following. He crashes fast, thumb in mouth.
I lie down, but sleep evades. Instead, I practice: levitate a pencil from the desk across the room, slow and steady with blue energy. It hovers, trembling, then floats to my hand.
*Progress. Reserves growing—Six Eyes optimizing every drop.* But the red? It watches, waiting.
Afternoon brings quiet play. Aiko reads to us, a hero book with colorful pictures. "The hero raised his shield, blocking the villain's blast!"
Kenji leans in. "Like Papa?"
"Yes," she says, hugging him. "Just like."
I listen, meta-knowledge churning: *Shields break in the end. All Might falls, society crumbles. I'll reinforce it all.*
Hiroshi returns early, bursting in with energy. "Home! And I brought ice cream—reward for a boring patrol."
Kenji races to him. "Ice! Cream!"
We sit on the porch, cones dripping in the warm air. Vanilla melts on my tongue, cold and creamy, contrasting the red's heat.
"How was training, Papa?" I ask, licking a drip.
"Good! Taught some kids about barriers. One had a quirk like mine—silver shields. Tough cookie."
Aiko nods. "Sounds fun. No villains?"
"Nope. Quiet day." He grins. "More time for this."
Kenji smears his face. "Yum! More?"
Laughter fills the air, but as the sun dips, the red builds—subtle at first, then insistent, like flames licking at my edges.
Dinner: stir-fry, veggies crunching, meat tender. Talk turns to quirks.
"When do you think Satoru's will show?" Aiko muses.
Hiroshi shrugs. "Soon. He's sharp—eyes like that? Bet it's something visual."
Kenji bangs his fork. "Sharp! Slash!"
I freeze. *Slash? Does he sense it?* "What, bro?"
He giggles. "Slash! Like sword!"
Aiko laughs it off. "Imagination running wild."
But the red pulses harder, echoing his word. *Slash.*
Bath time: bubbles, splashes. Kenji dives toys under, "Dive! Deep!"
I scrub, but pain flares—red hot, coiling in my belly.
"Satoru? You okay?" Aiko asks, noticing my wince.
"Fine. Bubble in eye."
She buys it, but watches.
Bedtime: Hiroshi's story, voice deep and soothing. "The hero faced the dragon, shield up..."
Kenji dozes mid-tale.
"...and won the day."
He tucks me. "Night, son. No monsters."
Aiko sings softly. "Sleep well."
Darkness descends. Kenji's snores steady.
But the red explodes—violent, unrelenting. Pain rips through me like fire in my veins, body arching off the bed.
Visions crash: four arms wielding cleaves, dismantling foes in sprays of gore, hot blood splattering skin, the copper tang thick in my throat.
*Awaken,* the voice demands, thunderous. *King of Curses. Take the throne.*
Markings burn into my flesh—black tattoos snaking over arms, chest, face. Extra eyes flicker open, seeing layers of reality peel back.
Energy surges red, uncontrollable. My hand slashes out—a dismantle tears through the air, silent but vicious. The window curtain shreds, fabric raining down in precise strips.
*Stop! Not yet!* Blue floods in, Six Eyes directing, Infinity cocooning me. But the red fights savage, another slash escaping—bed frame gouges deep, wood splintering with a crack.
Panic surges. *Control it! Family's here!*
The voice laughs, guttural. *Weak. Vessel. Mine.*
I push harder, blue overwhelming red in a torrent. Markings fade agonizingly, extra eyes closing, pain receding to embers.
I collapse, gasping, sweat drenching my pajamas. The room's a mess: curtain in tatters, bed notched.
*Holy shit. Sukuna. It's him—full force. Why me? Gojo's defense holding it back, but barely.* Thrill battles terror. *Power like that? Definately game-changer. But gory. Violent.*
Kenji whimpers in sleep. "Sa-to... bad dream?"
I crawl over, whispering. "Just noise, bro. Sleep."
He settles, but I lie awake, plotting. *Hide the damage. Train harder. Balance blue and red before it consumes.*
Morning: Aiko gasps at the curtain. "What happened? Wind?"
I shrug. "Dunno. Fell asleep."
She floats scraps away. "Odd. We'll fix it."
Breakfast: normal banter.
"Patrol again?" Aiko asks.
Hiroshi nods. "Short one."
Kenji shares his pancake. "Share! Strong!"
I eat, red quiet but watchful.
Play: forts again.
"King castle!" Kenji declares.
"Yeah," I say. "Our throne."
*One throne, two faces. Coming soon.*
Edges burn, but I endure.