Chapter 44: The Melting Point
The Sunday evening air inside the backroom of the Chill Vibes Agency was thick with the scent of melted cheese, pepperoni, and success.
The cramped break room, illuminated by a single buzzing fluorescent light, felt warmer than usual. Around the small, scratched table, four men were squeezed in, laughing loudly.
Tadashi was there, stripped of his banana suit, wearing a worn gray t-shirt and sweatpants. His hair was messy, and his face was flushed with the relaxation that comes after a week of grueling work. Next to him were three young men—university students looking for extra cash—who had spent the day sweating inside the White, Pink, and Gray cat costumes.
The mascot heads were lined up on top of a filing cabinet like hunting trophies. On the table, three extra-large pizza boxes lay open, already half-devastated.
"I'm telling you," one of the 'cats' laughed, gesturing with a pizza crust. "That kid pulled my tail! I almost fell into the strawberry topping!"
"It adds character to the flavor," Tadashi joked, taking a swig of cola. "Strawberry and Polyester blend."
The room erupted in laughter again.
Click.
The back door opened softly.
The laughter died down slightly as Aokiji stepped in. He was dressed in his civilian clothes: dark trousers, a loose-fitting shirt, and his canvas backpack slung over one shoulder. In his hand, he held a neatly folded document.
He looked at the scene—the grease-stained boxes, the soda cans, the tired but happy faces.
"Pizza for dinner again?" Aokiji drawled, leaning against the doorframe. "Are your stomachs really okay with this dinner every night?"
The group looked at him, their smiles widening.
"Kuzan-kun!" the 'White Cat' cheered.
"Yo! Come grab a slice, there's still some supreme left!"
They shifted their chairs, making space for him. It was a natural, welcoming gesture. A space for a friend.
Aokiji didn't move from the doorway. He offered a small, barely perceptible smile, but his eyes remained distant.
"About that," he said quietly.
Tadashi lowered his soda can. He looked at Aokiji, then at the backpack, and finally at the paper in Aokiji's hand. The realization washed over him. The smile on his face softened, turning into something bittersweet.
"Ah," Tadashi let out a long breath of understanding. "I see."
He stood up slowly, the chair scraping against the linoleum floor. He walked over to Aokiji, wiping his hands on his sweatpants.
"The week flew by," Tadashi said, his voice dropping so the others wouldn't interrupt. "It went so fast, I actually started thinking you were going to stay here forever."
"Everything has an end," Aokiji replied simply. "Even if we don't necessarily want it to."
Tadashi reached out and placed a hand on Aokiji's shoulder. It wasn't the grip of a Pro Hero to a subordinate, but of an older brother to a younger one.
"I owe you a lot, kid," Tadashi said earnestly. "This place... it came alive because of you. You saved my business. You saved my dream, really."
Aokiji looked away, shifting his weight. "I didn't do much. Just made some snow."
"You did," Tadashi insisted firmly. "You did plenty."
He looked down at the paper in Aokiji's hand. "You need the signature, right?"
Aokiji nodded and held it out. "Evaluation form."
"Does anyone have a pen?" Tadashi called out to the table.
"Catch!" The 'Pink Cat' tossed a cheap ballpoint pen through the air. Tadashi caught it with surprising dexterity.
He leaned the paper against the wall and scribbled his signature in the box marked Supervisor. He filled in the grade—a perfect score—and some notes, then handed the paper back to Aokiji.
"I hope you enjoyed your short vacation here," Tadashi said, capping the pen. "But now, it's time to go back to the real world. Back to U.A. Work hard, okay?"
Aokiji took the paper. He looked at the signature, then back at the Ice cream hero.
"It seems my decision to choose this place was correct after all," Aokiji said softly.
He slipped the paper into his bag and turned toward the door leading to the alley.
"Take care of yourselves, guys."
"Visit us sometime!" Tadashi called out. "You have a lifetime supply of free soft-serve!"
"I'll try," Aokiji murmured.
He opened the door and stepped out.
The cool night air of Kamakura hit him instantly, a sharp contrast to the stuffy warmth of the pizza party. The heavy metal door clicked shut behind him, cutting off the sound of laughter.
Aokiji stood alone in the dark alley. Above him, the stars were visible, clear and bright, free from the light pollution of the big city.
He adjusted his backpack straps, took a deep breath of the salty air, and began to walk.
The train ride back to Tokyo was a transition between worlds.
The rhythmic clack-clack of the wheels on the tracks served as a countdown. With every station they passed, the crowd in the carriage grew denser. The air became heavier. The vibrant blue ocean outside the window was replaced by endless gray concrete and neon lights.
By the time Aokiji hailed a taxi at Tokyo Station, the relaxed "Chill Vibes" atmosphere felt like a distant dream.
The taxi wound its way through the upscale suburbs of Tokyo, finally slowing down as it approached the heavy iron gates of the Kuzan Estate.
Aokiji paid the driver and stepped out.
The wind here didn't smell like salt. It smelled of manicured lawns and cold stone. He stood on the pavement as the taxi drove away, its taillights fading into the darkness.
"I'm back," he whispered to the empty street.
His eyes, usually sleepy, sharpened as he scanned the perimeter.
"Sayuri wasn't exaggerating," he noted.
Shadows moved along the high walls. Private security guards, dressed in dark suits, were patrolling with professional precision. The estate wasn't just a home anymore; it was a fortress. Or perhaps, a prison.
Aokiji walked toward the main gate. The guards didn't stop him; they didn't even speak. They simply nodded in recognition, their faces grim. The biometric scanner beeped as it recognized his face, and the smaller pedestrian gate clicked open.
He stepped inside.
The silence of the house was absolute.
It wasn't the peaceful silence of the ice cream shop at night. This was a heavy, suffocating silence. The kind that presses against your eardrums. There were no sounds of servants moving, no television, no conversation echoing from the living room.
Aokiji walked down the main hallway, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.
As he neared the kitchen, a faint sound broke the stillness. A soft laugh.
He paused, then turned the corner.
The kitchen was bathed in warm yellow light. Sitting at the small island counter were his grandmother and Sayuri.
"And then," Sayuri was saying, giggling, "the dog actually stole her shoe and ran into the lake!"
Grandma chuckled, stirring a pot on the stove. "That sounds like a disaster.
He took some steps inside. As his Grandma was the first to notice his presence.
"Welcome back," She said.
Sayuri spun on her stool. Her face lit up. "Aokiji! You're finally back? So the internship over.."
"Yeah," Aokiji said, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thanks."
He walked over and pulled out a stool, sitting opposite them.
"Where's Grandpa?" he asked.
"Asleep," Grandma said, placing a bowl of hot stew in front of him. "We got used to the Hokkaido schedule. Early to bed, early to rise."
"Grandma, please stay with us," Sayuri pleaded, leaning her chin on her hand. "Don't go back after the reconstruction is done."
Grandma smiled wistfully. "I'm not sure about that, dear. Tokyo feels... a bit suffocating compared to the north."
Sayuri pouted, looking down at the counter.
A silence settled over the kitchen. Aokiji ate quietly, savoring the home-cooked meal that wasn't pizza.
"So," He said after a few minutes, breaking the tension. "The two of them are in separate rooms now?"
Grandma sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "The business is in turmoil this week. Your father and mother's deputies don't seem capable of handling the administrative issues. Without the heads of the family communicating, things are stalling."
"Well," Aokiji said dryly, staring at his stew. "If we're talking about expertise and dedication to work, no one is better than them."
He raised his eyes, the irises cold.
"And they are also undisputed champions at neglecting their children."
The air in the kitchen dropped a few degrees. Sayuri looked uncomfortable.
"Grandma," Aokiji asked directly. "Do you really think... that my Quirk alone is the cause of this breakdown?"
"What do you mean?" Sayuri asked.
"I mean," Aokiji gestured with his spoon, "our family business is already successful. Dad has you, Sayuri. You're the perfect successor for the administrative and commercial side. Even if I lost my Quirk and my chance to be a hero, I don't think Dad and Mom would be this depressed. They aren't the type to mourn a lost asset so deeply."
Grandma looked at him, her eyes sharp and knowing. "I see. You're implying that what is troubling them is something other than just your utility."
"It's just an assumption," Aokiji shrugged. "Doesn't mean I'm right."
"Aokiji," Grandma said softly. "How do you feel about your parents right now?"
Aokiji paused. He leaned back, looking at the ceiling.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm used to seeing them confident. Sharp. Their eyes were always so cold. But... I'm not used to seeing that ice crack like this. Is this pity?"
"The nature of ice, my dear, is that it can break," Grandma said gently. "And it can also melt if the heat is high enough. Being a 'Father' and a 'Mother' isn't just about titles. They understand nothing about life or raising children. They are learning. This is human nature—we learn through mistakes. But the essential thing is what they will do after the mistake."
She leaned forward. "I say this is the first scorching obstacle their frozen hearts have ever collided with. Will it be enough to melt them? I don't know. But the fact that they are experiencing emotions entirely new to them... that is worth paying attention to. Why don't you talk to them?"
Aokiji remained silent for a long time.
"I don't think I will," he said finally. "Not tonight."
Sayuri looked at him, sadness pooling in her crystal eyes. "With you going back to U.A.... it means you're back in that villain's crosshairs. The game starts again."
Aokiji reached out and ruffled her hair, messing up her bangs. "Frowning doesn't suit you."
He stood up. "Thanks for the food. I have to wake up early tomorrow. I'm going to bed."
"Goodnight," they chorused.
"Don't stay up too late, Sayuri. You have school too," Aokiji added.
"Yes, yes."
Aokiji walked out of the kitchen and into the dark corridor. The house felt even bigger now.
His room was on the second floor, past the master suite and his father's study. He walked quietly, his footsteps silent on the wood.
He had no intention of eavesdropping. He just wanted to sleep.
But as he passed the heavy oak door of his father's study, he heard a voice. It wasn't the shouting voice Sayuri had described. It was low, strained, and desperate.
"...does this 'All For One' truly keep his promises?"
Aokiji froze mid-step. He stood in the shadows of the hallway, his breath catching in his throat.
There was a silence on the other end of the line. Aokiji couldn't hear the reply, but he could hear his father's heavy breathing through the wood.
"He won't touch my son after the Quirk is extracted? Is that the guarantee?"
Aokiji's eyes widened.
"I understand," his father's voice came again, sounding exhausted, stripped of all its usual arrogance. "Thank you for acting as the intermediary. Please... protect Aokiji."
Aokiji.
Not "the asset." Not "the boy." Not "the successor." And absolutely, Not "Kuzan..."
Aokiji.
It was the first time in sixteen years that Aokiji had heard his father say his given name with anything other than disdain or command. There was fear in that voice. A genuine, terrifying fear for his son's life.
Aokiji stood there, rooted to the spot. The hallway seemed to spin slightly.
He had built a wall of indifference. He had prepared himself to hate them, to leave them, to accept that he was nothing more than a product to them. That was easier. That was simple.
But this? This was complicated.
Aokiji clenched his jaw so hard his teeth creaked. His hand gripped the strap of his backpack until his knuckles turned white.
Crackle.
A thin layer of white frost spread rapidly across his cheekbone and up to his forehead, responding to the chaotic surge of emotion.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Give me a break..." he whispered into the darkness, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and confusion.
He pushed himself away from the door and walked quickly toward his room, leaving the sound of his father's desperation behind him, but carrying the weight of it in his heart.
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