At the Hospital
A soft glow pulsed through the room as the healer worked.
Gentle waves of warmth spread across Aiko's skin, easing bruises and closing shallow cuts as if time itself had reversed. The faint shimmer of a medical quirk lingered in the air, steady and controlled, guided by practiced hands.
After a few moments, the healer withdrew.
"Nothing serious," the doctor said with a reassuring smile as he closed his kit. "She'll recover fully. Just make sure she gets proper rest and a nutritious diet for the next few weeks."
But Aiko barely heard him.
Her thoughts had already moved elsewhere.
"What about Takeshi?" she asked quickly, her voice tight with worry. "Is he alright?"
Her hands twisted together in her lap, unable to stay still. The fear in her eyes ran deeper than the situation itself—it was the fear of losing what little light she had left.
Haruto gently placed his hand over hers, stilling her trembling fingers.
"He's fine," he said softly, his voice calm enough to anchor her. "The doctor said he just overexerted himself. He only needs rest."
Aiko exhaled shakily, her shoulders loosening as relief settled in.
"…That's good," she whispered.
But Haruto didn't share that peace.
Earlier That Day
The doctor's office had felt too small.
Too quiet.
The blinds were half-drawn, casting narrow bands of light across the floor. The faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, sharp and clinical.
"Mr. Moriyama," the doctor began, his tone measured but serious, "your son has awakened an exceptional quirk."
Haruto said nothing.
He simply waited.
"But it comes with a risk."
That was all it took.
The words settled heavily, pulling the air from the room.
"Right now, what you saw—his exhaustion, the strain—that's only the beginning," the doctor continued. "His body isn't developed enough to handle that level of output. If he continues to push himself without control…"
He paused.
"…the damage could be permanent."
Haruto's jaw tightened.
"For himself," the doctor added, "and potentially for others."
Silence followed.
Heavy. Unavoidable.
Haruto lowered his gaze slightly, his thoughts already racing ahead—toward Aiko.
Her fragile peace.
Her tendency to carry every worry until it broke her.
No.
She couldn't bear this.
Not yet.
By the time Haruto stepped out of that office, his decision had already been made.
That Evening
The house was quiet after dinner.
Aiko had gone to rest, her body still recovering, leaving the room dim and still. Haruto stood near the doorway for a moment before calling out.
"Takeshi."
The boy turned immediately.
There was a flicker of expectation in his eyes—something hopeful.
It faded the moment he saw his father's expression.
Serious.
Unyielding.
Haruto crouched down until they were eye level.
"From now on," he said, his voice firm but controlled, "you're not to use your quirk recklessly. Not with other children. Not anywhere."
Takeshi blinked, confusion crossing his face.
"But why, Dad—"
"Because it's dangerous."
The interruption was calm—but absolute.
Haruto held his gaze.
"Your quirk is powerful. Too powerful for you to control right now. And power without control…" he paused briefly, "…is a risk. To you. And to everyone around you."
Takeshi went quiet.
Unlike other children, he didn't argue further.
The memories of another life—of mistakes, of loss, of regret—still lingered within him. He understood more than he let on.
"You want to become a hero, don't you?" Haruto asked.
Takeshi nodded immediately.
"Yes."
"Then strength alone won't be enough," Haruto continued. "You'll need discipline. Precision. Control."
He placed a hand on Takeshi's shoulder.
"That's why you'll start helping me in the workshop."
Takeshi blinked again.
"…Workshop?"
"Woodcarving," Haruto said. "If you can learn to shape something delicate without breaking it… then you'll learn how to control your strength."
For a moment, Takeshi said nothing.
Then he let out a quiet sigh.
"…Alright, Dad."
Haruto squeezed his shoulder once, firmly.
Pride and worry clashed within him—but he kept both hidden.
He could only hope this would be enough.
Later That Night
The room was dim.
Aiko sat beside the bed, gently tucking the blanket around Takeshi as she always did. Her movements were careful, her touch soft—lingering just a little longer than necessary.
"Rest well," she whispered.
Takeshi nodded.
"Goodnight, Mom."
When she left, silence returned.
But his thoughts didn't.
Takeshi raised his hands, staring at them in the faint light. There was still a subtle tingling beneath his skin—a reminder of what he had felt earlier.
That power.
That overwhelming strength.
For a moment…
It had felt like nothing could stop him.
But now—
His father's words echoed clearly.
Power without control is dangerous.
Takeshi slowly curled his fingers into a fist.
If that was true…
Then strength alone wasn't enough.
If I really want to become a hero…
His grip tightened.
Then I need to learn how to control it.
And so, Takeshi Moriyama's path truly began—
Not with glory.
Not with recognition.
But with quiet discipline.
With splintered wood, failed attempts, and countless broken carvings scattered across a workshop floor.
And a father—
Determined to teach his son how to wield power…
Before it destroyed him.
End of Chapter 5