Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Daddy,” little Touya whispered, his small voice trembling with need as he stretched out his arms, tiny fingers reaching for the warmth of a hug. Enji’s heavy footsteps thundered across the room, a rare softness flickering in his stern eyes as he swept his little boy into his broad arms, holding him tight against his chest. Touya’s messy red hair pressed into Enji’s shoulder, a fragile moment of connection between the towering man and his fragile son.

“What about Mommy?” Rei’s gentle voice cut through the quiet, a teasing lilt in her tone as she leaned against the doorway, her pale hair catching the dim light. She smiled, through her eyes held a trace of longing, watching the bond she could never quite touch. 

“No!Daddy only!” Touya’s arms tightened around Enji’s neck, stubborn and possessive, his small body clinging like a lifeline. Rei let out a soft laugh, brushing it off with a wave of her hand, though the sound felt hollow, masking something deeper she wouldn’t name. She looked at her husband, trying to catch his gaze but to her disappointment, her husband ignored her. It reminds her of her parents, she is never quite important, always being left behind, watching them ignore her. She didn't like it quite a bit.

But then everything shifted. The air grew thick, charged with a heat that prickled against their skin. Touya’s grip on Enji tightened, no longer tender but desperate, his small hands trembling as faint wisps of smoke curled from his fingertips. His breath hitched, a spark igniting in his core, threatening to erupt.

“Touya!” Rei’s scream tore through the room, raw and guttural, her composure shattering as she lunged forward. Her firstborn, her fragile, fiery boy, was a bomb on the verge of detonation, his burning fingers digging into Enji’s shoulders, threatening to take them both in a blaze of destruction. Enji grunted, his arms locking around Touya, affection but more desperate, in a futile attempt to contain the inferno swelling within his son.

Touya’s eyes, wide and unseeing, gleamed with something wild, something broken. He never changed. His burning hands, his unrelenting hold on his father, a bond forged in flame that would never let go, even as it consumed them both.

Rei jolted awake, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she bolted upright in bed. Tears streaked her face, hot and relentless, and she scrubbed at them with trembling hands, trying to erase the sleepless haze clinging to her. Her chest heaved, each breath a ragged gasp that echoed in the suffocating silence of her room. The clock on her nightstand glared at her, its red digits bleeding into the darkness—2:00 a.m. a cruel marker of another night lost to torment.

She shifted, the sheets tangling around her legs like restraints, and fumbled toward the edge of the bed. Her fingers, clumsy with exhaustion, scraped against the nightstand until they closed around the small jar of ointment. She unscrewed it with shaking hands, the faint scent of menthol cutting through the stale air, and smeared it across her throbbing temples. The coolness did little to loosen the vise of trauma that clamped around her mind, its grip as unyielding as ever.

Her firstborn, Touya, her wild, broken boy and Enji, her towering, flawed husband, were gone. Dead. The fire that had consumed them left nothing but ashes and a gaping wound in her soul. She pressed her palms against her eyes, as if she could block out the memory of Touya’s burning hands, his desperate hold on Enji, dragging them both into oblivion. Their love had been a selfish, devouring thing beyond measure, beyond reason, leaving her and the shattered remnants of their family to pick up the pieces.

Rei’s breath hitched, a sob clawing its way up her throat. The ointment slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor, and she curled into herself, alone in the dark with the ghosts she couldn’t escape.

She remembered a different choice, a different man. This is a life where she had turned away from Enji’s fire and into softer arms. Was this her punishment? Had marrying another man instead of the man in that distant past condemned her to this endless cycle of loss and pain?

She pressed her palms against her eyes, as if she could block out the images—Touya’s burning hands, Enji’s final roar, and the shadow of that man she’d once loved, fading into the void. She wanted to run, to flee the suffocating weight of it all, but her legs trembled beneath her, and doubt gnawed at her resolve. Did she even have the strength to escape, or was she doomed to drown in this torment forever?

Her children slept soundly down the hall, oblivious to the ghosts that plagued her. None of them carried the burden of their past lives, none remembered the flames, the choices, the lives before. A bitter laugh escaped her, jagged and raw. “It’s great, isn’t it?” she whispered to the quiet room, her voice breaking on the irony. They were free, unscarred by the memories that held her hostage, while she remained trapped, a prisoner of her own mind.

The ointment slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor, and she curled into herself, alone in the dark with the ghosts she couldn’t escape, ghosts of this life, and the one before. Rei curled into herself, a sob shuddering through her. A soft creak broke the silence, her husband stirring beside her. “Rei?” His voice, low and sleep-rough, carried a quiet concern. “What’s wrong?” His hand found her shoulder, warm and steady, grounding her in the dark. She turned, trembling, and pressed herself into his chest, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. Her husband strokes her face lovingly before he tilts her face and kisses her light on her lips. He's a big man who's a softie.

His strong boney hands can be soft as a feather when he's nurturing—just like Enji’s, before he turns away from her and their vow—seeking power and indirectly hurting her. Enji was everything she wanted in her soulmate, before they had their marriage problem. He was perfect but it isn't enough for her to keep him in her next life. The death she keeps seeing in her dream is the truth that has been given by God. She's gifted with this vision that she can drive them away from the hellish dance in hell.

"I had a nightmare," she said between sniffles, "I wanted to forget, but it's…impossible," His arms encircled her, a shelter from the ghosts that clawed at her mind. For a moment, the flames receded, and a fragile hope flickered. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be well. Rei’s breaths slowed, her body softening against his warmth, and she drifted into a fitful sleep, clinging to the fragile thought that this life, this new family, might hold her together

Rei stood at the kitchen window, her fingers curled around a chipped ceramic mug, the warmth of the tea seeping into her palms. The late afternoon sun poured across the modest backyard, gilding the grass in hues of amber and gold. Fuyumi and Natsuo tore through the yard, their laughter sharp and bright as they brandished sticks like swords, weaving through imaginary battles. Mud streaked their shoes, and their pure white hair tangled from the breeze caught the light, a testament to their untamed joy. Nearby, Shoto sat in his highchair, his heterochromatic eyes glinting with curiosity, his face glow. His tiny hands smeared mashed peas across the tray, a soft, contented gurgle rising from his throat. Few mashed peas on his pure white hair. The house hummed with life—unpolished, unpretentious, but achingly alive. Rei’s lips curved faintly, her heart swelling with a quiet truth: they were enough. They were hers, and they were good. The house thrummed with life—simple, vibrant, and untouched by the shadows of her past.

But Rei’s gaze drifted beyond the yard, her mind slipping to another life, another world. She remembered a city ablaze, the air thick with smoke and screams. Her firstborn, Touya, his white hair streaked with soot, had stood beside Enji, their fiery quirks no match for the bomb that tore through their home. The explosion had swallowed them, her son, her husband, her heart, leaving her to drown in grief. That world, where humans wielded quirks like gods, was gone. In this life, she’d woken with those memories etched into her soul and vowed to rewrite her story.

Touya, her firstborn, sat alone at the edge of the porch, a book splayed open in his lap. His dyed dark hair fell over his eyes, shielding the coldness she knew lingered there. He’d always been that way, distant, independent, a quiet shadow moving through their home. Even as a toddler, he’d never sought her warmth, never reached for her the way the others did. Sometimes, she caught a glint of something selfish in him, a disregard for anyone beyond himself, and it pricked at her heart. He was hers, yet so far away. 

“Mom, look!” Fuyumi called, waving a makeshift crown of daisies. Rei smiled faintly, nodding, but her gaze drifted back to Touya. He didn’t look up, didn’t care. He never did.

Inside, Toshinari Yagi’s voice boomed with laughter as he wrestled playfully with Natsuo, who’d barreled in from the yard. Her husband, manager of the local bank, steady and kind, scooped Shoto from the highchair, pressing a kiss to the baby’s forehead. The children adored him. Natsuo and Shoto were his shadows, his “daddy’s boys,” always begging to join him on fishing trips down by the river. Even Fuyumi lit up when he spun her tales of his day. Toshinari was their sun, warm and unwavering, and Rei felt a quiet gratitude for it.

It was funny, wasn’t it? In her past life, Enji had despised this man—Toshinari, the unassuming rival who’d dared to stand in his shadow. Probably, being so petty, she had chosen him, Toshinari as her husband, but time to time he has been so lovable, and wonderful to her. Now, here he's her husband in this life, father to her children, building a family where love didn’t burn. She glanced at Touya again, his stillness a stark contrast to the chaos of his siblings. He didn’t get along with Toshinari—didn’t cling to him the way he once had to Enji in that other, fiery existence. No, Touya wasn’t a daddy’s boy here, and a strange relief settled in her chest at that thought. He was free of that desperate, destructive tether.

Rei sipped her tea, the warmth grounding her. They were a happy family—ordinary, flawed, but whole. Like any other. And yet, as the sun dipped lower and Touya’s silence pressed against the edges of her peace, she wondered if this happiness could ever fully reach him—or if he’d always remain a cold stranger in their midst. 

The dining room glowed under the soft light of a single bulb, plates heaped with steaming rice and grilled fish, the air thick with the scent of soy and laughter. Fuyumi chattered about her school art project, her hands waving like wild birds, while Natsuo butted in, boasting about his soccer goal, his voice loud and reckless. Shoto, propped in his highchair, giggled as he flicked rice grains onto the table, his tiny fingers sticky and gleeful. Toshinari leaned forward, his broad frame steady at the table’s head, soaking in every word. “That’s my girl,” he said to Fuyumi, his smile warm as sunlight, then turned to Natsuo, tossing him a playful grin. “Next time, score two, champ.” His laughter rumbled, wrapping the room in its glow, and Rei felt her heart soften, caught in the happy chaos of her family.

Touya sat at the table’s edge, silent, his dark hair curtaining his face, hiding the cold glint she knew too well. The conversation swirled around him—school, friends, teachers—but he didn’t join in, didn’t even lift his eyes from his untouched plate. Toshinari’s gaze flicked to him, kind but searching. “Touya, want more rice?” he asked, his voice gentle, holding out the bowl. Touya didn’t answer, didn’t move, his silence a heavy blade slicing through the warmth. Then, abruptly, he pushed his chair back, the scrape sharp against the floor, and walked out, leaving his siblings bathed in the happy glow he’d never touch. Rei’s chest tightened, her fingers gripping her chopsticks, the wood biting into her palm.

A sharp knock at the door broke the moment. Touya’s footsteps echoed from the hall, and his voice, low and flat, “It’s for Rei Todoroki. I don't know her, this is Rei Yagi household,”

Rei froze, the name a ghost from a life she’d buried, a spark of fire in her veins. “It’s for me,” she said, her voice trembling as she rose, her legs unsteady. The children didn’t notice, their laughter unbroken, but Toshinari’s eyes locked on her, steady and searching, a quiet question in his gaze. At the door, a deliveryman held a small package, the label stark: Rei Todoroki. Touya stood beside her, his eyes meeting hers, and his eyes—sharp, not like a child’s. “I think it’s the company’s mistake,” he said, his voice soft but piercing. “Oh no, you wrote it yourself. See. ” he pointed.

Rei’s breath caught, her fingers brushing the label. It was true—her handwriting, rushed and careless, from an order she barely recalled. Her heart thudded, the name Todoroki a wound reopening. She wasn’t that woman anymore. She's Rei Yagi now, wife to Toshinari, mother to this family. But Touya’s eyes lingered, cold and unyielding, as if he saw something through this, knew there's something he left behind now. “Right,” she whispered, forcing a nod. “A mistake.” The deliveryman shrugged and left, and Rei clutched the package, her hands trembling, the weight of Touya’s gaze heavy as ash. Her firstborn looked at Toshinari and then his gaze linger and piercing. That boy shakes his head and left immediately, "Whatever," he mumbles. Rei immediately open the package, throwing the name's label on it. 

The house was still, the children tucked into their beds, their soft snores a faint hum down the hall. Rei lay in the dark, the weight of the evening pressing against her chest, Touya’s cold smile and the name Rei Todoroki a thorn she couldn’t pull free. The mattress dipped as Toshinari shifted closer, his warmth cutting through the chill of her thoughts. “Rei,” he murmured, his voice low and tender, a sound that anchored her. His hand found hers under the sheets, calloused fingers tracing her knuckles, slow and careful, as if she were something precious, something he’d never let break.

She turned to him, her breath catching, and his arms opened, pulling her close. His touch was soft, reverent—his palm against her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear she hadn’t realized she’d shed. “Youre just tired, let it be. Past is the past,” he whispered, his breath warm against her hair, and she felt it, the truth of it, the weight of Touya, of Enji, of a name she’d written in haste. But here, in Toshinari’s embrace, she was safe, held, loved. His lips grazed her forehead, a quiet promise, and her body softened, melting into his steady warmth. They were so good together, so right—his heart beating against hers, his hands chasing away the ghosts that haunted her. Toshinari is a lot older than her, she's half his age, but she had adamant to be with him. 

For a moment, the shadows lifted, and Rei let herself believe they could outrun the past. Touya’s smile, Enji’s fire—it couldn’t touch them here, not in this bed, not in this love. Her fingers curled into Toshinari’s shirt, clinging to the man who’d chosen her, who’d built this life with her. Sleep tugged at her, heavy and warm, and as she drifted off, she thought, We’re good. We’re enough. But even in that tender haze, a flicker of doubt remained—Touya’s cold eyes, watching from the edges, a stranger she couldn’t reach.

The mattress dipped as Toshinari shifted closer, his warmth cutting through the chill of her thoughts. His presence was a comforting balm, a sanctuary from the storms that raged within her.

“Rei,” he murmured, his voice low and tender, a sound that anchored her to the present. His hand found hers under the sheets, calloused fingers tracing her knuckles with a slow, careful rhythm, as if she were something precious, something he’d never let break.

She turned to him, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the gentle pressure of his touch. His arms opened, inviting her in, and she melted into his embrace. His touch was soft, reverent—his palm against her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear she hadn’t realized she’d shed. The sensation was electric, a jolt of warmth that spread through her, chasing away the cold.

“You’re carrying too much,” he whispered, his breath warm against her hair. She felt it, the truth of his words, the weight of Touya, of Enji, of a name she’d written in haste. But here, in Toshinari’s embrace, she was safe, held, loved. His lips grazed her forehead, a quiet promise, and her body softened, melting into his steady warmth.

Their hearts beat in sync, a rhythmic lullaby that soothed her frayed nerves. His hands moved with a gentle precision, chasing away the ghosts that haunted her. He started to trace the line of her jaw, his touch feather-light, sending shivers down her spine. His fingers lingered at the nape of her neck, massaging the tension away, his thumbs working in slow, circular motions.

Rei’s eyes fluttered closed, her senses heightened by his touch. She could feel every point of contact, every whisper of his breath against her skin. His hands moved lower, tracing the curve of her shoulder, the slope of her arm, each touch a silent vow of his love and devotion. She felt cherished, adored, as if she were the most precious thing in the world to him.

His lips found hers in a soft, tender kiss, a gentle exploration that deepened with each passing moment. She could taste the salt of her tears on his lips, a bitter reminder of the pain she’d been carrying. But his kiss was sweet, a balm that healed the wounds of her heart. She kissed him back, pouring all her emotions into the exchange, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

Toshinari’s body pressed against hers, his warmth enveloping her, shielding her from the world outside. His hands roamed her back, tracing the lines of her spine, each touch a whisper of love and longing. She could feel his heart beating against hers, a steady rhythm that grounded her, anchored her to the present.

“Toshinari,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. “I need you inside of me.”

His response was a soft groan, his lips moving to her neck, planting gentle kisses that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her. His hands slid lower, cupping her hips, pulling her closer, until there was no space between them. She could feel his desire, a throbbing heat that matched her own.

Their movements were slow, deliberate, a dance of love and longing. Each touch, each kiss, each whispered word was a proof to their connection, a bond that transcended the pain and turmoil of their past. In this moment, they were one, their hearts beating as one, their souls intertwined in a dance of love and redemption.

The room was filled with the soft sounds of their breaths, the gentle rustle of sheets, and the occasional muffled moan. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in their own private paradise. The weight of the evening lifted, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment. Here, in Toshinari’s arms, Rei found solace, found love.

"This time around, give me a blonde boy, Yagi," and her husband chuckled. "I love that they're mini you, not even an ounce of my genetic," he kiss her light, she chuckles, her chest rumble. "I love you," she said, didn't know why she desperately needs to say it but she did. He looked into her eyes and smiles, "I love you too," 

She’d chosen Toshinori Yagi—All Might, a man of warmth and unwavering kindness—over the aloof and cold ambition of Enji Todoroki, a man she’d never met in this timeline. Toshinori’s laughter filled their home, his gentle strength a balm to her fractured past. Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shoto, and Touya were his children now, their lives unmarred by flames or expectations. Yet, as Rei watched Touya, his shoulders hunched and his turquoise eyes shadowed, she felt a familiar ache. 

Chapter Text

Rei stood in the kitchen, the soft hum of the fridge a constant undercurrent in the stillness of their small-town home. Sunlight filtered through lace curtains, casting delicate, web-like patterns across the worn linoleum floor, a quiet comfort in a neighborhood where kids pedaled bikes down cracked sidewalks and neighbors waved from sagging porches. The Yagi house, with its chipped white paint and creaky front steps, was a haven of routine—until Touya split it open like a fault line.

She glanced at the fridge, where Touya’s perfect A’s from middle school clung, faded but proud, beside Shoto’s crumpled drawing of a lopsided bird. Those A’s belonged to a younger Touya, a boy who’d sprawl on the living room rug with 'The Penguin’s Club books', their pages dog-eared from his sharp, restless mind. That Touya was quiet, not out of shyness but calculation, his stormy blue eyes always observing, always measuring. He’d never been close to Rei or Toshinori, never a family boy, always addressing Toshinori as “sir” in a tone that built walls faster than words could tear them down. Their conversations were brief, strained, like strangers brushing past in the narrow hallway of their own home. Beneath his silence burned a fierce, unspoken anger, a distance that set him apart from Fuyumi’s warmth, Shoto’s innocence, Natsuo’s easygoing chatter. Rei saw it in the way he’d sit alone on the back porch, staring at the gnarled oak tree where sparrows nested, his fingers tracing the spine of a book but his mind lost in a private storm. He was a shadow in their home, slipping through their fingers, his presence as elusive as smoke. The neighborhood, with its picket fences and potluck dinners, didn’t know this Touya—not yet.

Trouble started at school, a low brick building where kids traded comic books and whispered secrets. Touya, thirteen and wiry, had thrown himself into a science class project, tending to a pair of sparrows with a gentleness that startled his teacher, Ms. Aiza, who’d once called him “a puzzle wrapped in a scowl.” He’d named the birds—No.1 and No.2—and watched them flutter in their cage, their tiny wings a fragile trust he guarded with a ferocity no one expected. He’d built a chart tracking their feeding habits, scribbling precise notes in a spiral notebook, his handwriting sharp as his gaze. But one afternoon, a group of delinquent kids—older boys with sneers and scuffed sneakers—snatched the cage during lunch. In the alley behind the school, hidden by a chain-link fence and overgrown weeds, they tore the birds apart, snapping their necks and laughing as feathers fell like ash. Touya found them too late, his face draining to a ghostly white, then flushing red, then hardening into a mask of rage. He lunged, fists flying, no hesitation, no warning. One boy, a lanky kid named Ryo with a reputation for starting fights he couldn’t finish, hit the ground hard, his arm twisted at a sickening angle, bone broken. The others scattered, their taunts replaced by fear, their sneakers pounding pavement. Word spread fast: the quiet Yagi’s eldest son was a delinquent. He broke Ryo’s arm and chase the rest of the gang to pummel his fist through their bone. 

That evening, Rei and Toshinori sat Touya down in the living room, the couch sagging under years of family movie nights. The air smelled of Toshinori’s black coffee and Rei’s lavender hand cream, a faint comfort against the weight of their worry. Shoto, six and oblivious, stacked wooden blocks in the corner, humming softly. Fuyumi, eleven and soft-hearted, lingered by the door, her braid swinging as she shifted nervously. Natsuo was at a friend’s, spared the tension. Tenko, Touya’s friend from down the street, hovered nearby, his messy black hair falling over bruised eyes. He lived in a rundown house with peeling paint, his father a drunk who worked with Toshinori at the bank. Tenko sneaked over often, drawn to the Yagi’s warmth like a moth to a porch light. Fuyumi had been slipping him plates of rice and grilled fish until Touya caught them one night, his voice sharp but not cruel. “She’s feeding him, Mom. He’s eating our food.” Rei hadn’t scolded Fuyumi; she’d just started making extra portions, and Tenko’s father never came looking.

“Tell us what happened, Touya,” Rei said, her voice gentle but strained, her hands clasped to hide their trembling. “Were those boys bullying you?”

Touya slouched in the armchair, his knuckles bruised, his eyes cold as winter slate. “They weren’t bullying me. They killed my birds. Broke their necks—they pissed me off. They had it coming.” His words were clipped, precise, each one a stone dropped into still water, rippling with barely contained fury.

Toshinori leaned forward, his broad shoulders tense, his voice steady but firm. “You can’t just fight, Touya. You sent that boy to the hospital. His parents are talking about pressing charges. You’re a good kid—we’ll work this out, but you need to talk to us.”

Touya’s lip curled, his voice flat, cutting. “If that makes it better.” The word was a blade, slicing warmth from the room. His eyes flicked to the window, where dusk painted the sky in bruises of purple and gray.

Rei’s heart sank, her fingers twisting in her lap. “Touya, why didn’t you tell a teacher? Why fight?”

He shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Teachers don’t do anything. They’d say it’s just birds. It’s not just birds.” His voice dipped, almost a whisper, but carried a weight, a glimpse of the fire beneath his silence. “They were mine.”

Tenko shifted, his sneakers scuffing the floor. “They were jerks, Mrs. Yagi,” he mumbled, barely audible. “Ryo’s always picking on kids. Touya just… stopped him.” 

Rei glanced at Tenko, her heart aching for the boy who carried bruises like secrets. She wanted to ask about his father, but now wasn’t the time. Toshinori sighed, rubbing his temples. “We’ll talk to the school, Touya. But no more fighting. You hear me?”

Touya’s eyes flicked to Toshinori, then away, dismissive. “Sure, sir.”

A week later, trouble found Touya again, this time in public. The town’s summer fair sprawled across the park, a chaotic swirl of cotton candy stalls, ring-toss games, and kids shrieking with laughter. The air smelled of popcorn and sunscreen, the sun blazing overhead. Rei was at the lemonade stand, chatting with a neighbor, when she heard the commotion near the dunk tank. A stocky boy with a shaved head, Kenta, a known troublemaker from the high school, was taunting Touya, his voice carrying over the crowd. “Think you’re tough, Yagi? Broke Ryo’s arm, huh? Let’s see you try that with me.”

Touya stood still, hands in his pockets, his face blank but his eyes sharp, scanning Kenta like a chess player studying a board. “I’m not Yagi,” he said, his voice low, venomous. Kenta laughed, shoving him hard. The crowd parted, sensing trouble, and Rei’s heart stopped as Touya moved.

His rage erupted like a storm, precise and relentless. He dodged Kenta’s wild swing with a fluid sidestep, his lean frame weaving like a shadow, then struck—fast, hard, a flurry of punches that landed with surgical accuracy. Kenta hit the dirt, nose bleeding, gasping, as Touya stood over him, his breathing steady, his knuckles red but his face calm, almost detached. The crowd murmured, stunned. Rei pushed through, her hands shaking, the lemonade cup forgotten. The way Touya moved—sharp, controlled, like a blade slicing through chaos—felt wrong, like a memory she couldn’t place, a ghost from another life. His rage was a tempest, untamed yet eerily familiar, and it chilled her.

That night, in the living room, the air heavy with the scent of rain from an open window, Rei and Toshinori pressed him. Shoto was asleep upstairs, Fuyumi was washing dishes, and Natsuo sprawled on the couch, pretending to read a comic but listening intently. Tenko sat cross-legged on the floor, picking at a loose thread on his jeans, his presence a quiet constant.

“Touya, where’d you learn to fight like that?” Rei asked, her voice soft but urgent, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

Touya shrugged, picking at a scab on his knuckle, his movements deliberate, almost bored. “I watch boxing sometimes. On TV. It’s not a big deal.”

Toshinori’s eyes lit up, a rare smile breaking through. “Boxing? I was in that sport in college. Loved it.” He leaned back, memories softening his voice. “You’ve got a knack for it, kid. That kind of footwork, that precision—it’s not just TV. You’ve got instinct.”

Touya’s expression stayed blank, unimpressed, his fingers stilling on the scab. “Whatever.” His eyes flicked to Toshinori for a split second, calculating, as if weighing whether this sudden interest was a trap.

Shoto, woken by the voices, padded downstairs in his pajamas, climbing onto Toshinori’s lap. “I wanna be like Daddy! Punch like you!” His small fists swung at the air, and Rei forced a smile, though her worry gnawed deeper, a cold knot in her chest.

“Touya’s better than Daddy,” Natsuo piped up from the couch, smirking. “He knocked Kenta flat in, like, ten seconds.”

Touya’s eyes narrowed, his voice sharp. “Don’t talk about it, Natsuo. You weren’t there.”

Natsuo flinched, sinking back into the couch, and Rei’s heart twisted. Touya’s words weren’t cruel, but they were precise, cutting off any attempt to glorify his actions. She exchanged a glance with Toshinori, who leaned forward, undeterred.

“Listen, Touya,” Toshinori said, his voice earnest. “Fighting in the street’s one thing, but boxing’s different. It’s discipline, control. You could be good at it—really good. What do you say we check out the gym? I know some folks who could show you the ropes.”

Touya’s gaze flicked to the floor, then back to Toshinori, his expression unreadable. “I don’t need a babysitter, sir. I’m fine.”

“It’s not about babysitting,” Toshinori pressed, his voice softening. “It’s about giving that fire in you a place to go. You’re strong, Touya. Let’s use it right.”

Touya’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into a fist. “You don’t get it. I don’t want your help.” He stood abruptly, chair scraping, and headed for the stairs. “I’m going to my room.”

Rei reached out, her voice trembling. “Touya, please—”

He paused, not turning, his voice low. “I’m not your project, Mom. Just… leave it.” He disappeared upstairs, the door clicking shut with a finality that echoed in Rei’s chest.

Tenko looked up, his voice barely a whisper. “He’s not mad at you, Mr and Mrs. Yagi. He’s just… Touya.”

Toshinori saw a chance to reach Touya, a fragile thread to pull him closer. The next day, he called his old friends from the boxing club—Best Jeanist, a lean man with a flashy grin who’d represented Japan, and Mirko, a fierce young woman with a laugh that shook rooms. Rei watched them interact at the local gym, a squat building that smelled of sweat and leather, and felt a pang of jealousy she wouldn’t admit. Mirko’s youth, her easy camaraderie with Toshinori, stung in a way Rei couldn’t shake. Touya stood by the ring, arms crossed, his disinterest a shield. Tenko tagged along, his scrawny frame hunched, bruises fading under his sleeves. He was always getting beaten up at home, so he stuck close to Touya, finding safety in the Yagi house. Shoto bounced excitedly, tugging at Toshinori’s hand, starry-eyed at the idea of his dad’s sport.

“My daddy’s gonna fight!” Shoto chirped, his eyes wide.

Best Jeanist clapped Touya’s shoulder, his grin wide. “Your dad says you’ve got fire, kid. Wanna try the ring?”

Touya’s eyes flicked to Jeanist, then away, his voice flat. “Whatever.”

Mirko laughed, her voice booming. “That’s the spirit! Let’s see what you got, tough guy.” She tossed him a pair of gloves, her eyes gleaming with challenge.

Touya caught them, his movements precise, but didn’t put them on. He leaned against the ropes, watching Jeanist and Mirko spar, his gaze sharp, dissecting every move—the angle of a jab, the shift of weight, the flicker of a feint. Rei noticed how his fingers twitched, as if mapping the patterns in his mind, but his face stayed blank, giving nothing away.

Tenko, though, was entranced, his bruised eyes wide as Mirko landed a heavy punch on a bag. “She’s so cool,” he whispered to Touya, who snorted softly.

“She’s loud,” Touya muttered, but there was no malice in it, just observation. He glanced at Tenko, his voice low. “You don’t need to stare like that. You wanna learn, watch their feet, not their fists.”

Tenko nodded, his awe shifting to focus, mimicking Touya’s sharp attention. Rei watched them, her heart torn. She wanted to believe boxing could channel Touya’s fire, but that fire—the same relentless spark she’d seen when he fought—felt too wild, too close to something she couldn’t name.

“Touya,” she said softly, stepping closer, “do you want to try? Just once?”

He didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the ring. “I don’t need to play pretend with them, Mom. I’m not Shoto.”

The words stung, but before she could respond, Mirko called out, “Hey, quiet kid! You gonna stand there all day or show us something?”

Touya’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Not today.” He turned, heading for the door, Tenko trailing behind like a shadow. “Let’s go,” he muttered to his friend, and they were gone, leaving Rei with a sinking feeling that the gym, like the house, was just another place Touya would slip through.

That night, Rei found Touya on the back porch, sitting cross-legged under the oak tree, a flashlight illuminating the pages of a book. The irony wasn’t lost on her. The air was thick with the scent of damp grass, crickets chirping in the dark. She sat beside him, careful not to crowd him.

“Touya,” she said quietly, “I know you’re angry. I see it. But I don’t know how to help you.”

He didn’t look up, his finger pausing on a page. “I don’t need help, Mom. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” she said, her voice cracking. “You’re fighting, you’re pulling away. I want to understand you.”

He closed the book, his movements deliberate, and finally met her eyes, his gaze cold but not cruel. “You want to understand? Then stop trying to fix me. I’m not broken. I’m just… me.” He stood, brushing grass from his jeans. “And I’m not him. I’m not,”

Rei’s breath caught as he walked away, his words lingering like smoke. She wanted to believe boxing could reach him, that Toshinori’s hope wasn’t misplaced, but the fire in Touya’s eyes wasn’t just anger—it was a plan, a strategy, a storm he was building in silence. And she didn’t know how to stop it.

The next week, at school, whispers followed Touya like a shadow. Kids stared, some with awe, others with fear. Ryo’s arm was in a cast, and Kenta’s nose was still bruised. Touya didn’t care, but he noticed everything—the glances, the hushed tones, the way teachers watched him now. He sat alone at lunch, his notebook open, sketching diagrams of sparrow wings, his pencil moving with the same precision as his fists. Tenko sat nearby, picking at a sandwich Fuyumi had packed. The three of them eat in silence 

“You think they’ll come after you again?” Tenko asked, his voice low.

Touya didn’t look up, his pencil scratching. “Let them. They’ll learn.”

Fuyumi hesitated, then leaned closer. “You’re not scared of anything, are you?”

Touya’s hand paused, his eyes flicking to Tenko, sharp and unreadable. “I’m not scared. I’m ready.” He closed the notebook, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And next time, I won’t just break an arm.”

The rest of the kids in the class stiffen, the air filled with tensions. The words hung between them, a promise or a threat, and Tenko shivered, not from fear but from the weight of Touya’s certainty. Rei didn’t hear it, but she felt it—the storm growing in her son, quiet, calculative, and unstoppable.