4 years later...
(Rei POV)
Chaos exploded through the halls the moment the last bell rang, as if the building itself was glad to be free of students. Chairs scraped, sneakers slapped against the floor, and voices bounced off the walls like rubber balls.
I stayed in my seat, sliding my math book into my backpack.
"Yo, Rei!" Two of my classmates popped up beside my desk. One leaned on the back of my chair, the other tossed a pencil into the air. "Wanna hang out? My parents are outta town tonight. We've got snacks, movies, the whole deal."
I paused, hand hovering over my zipper. It sounded fun. It really did.
But then I shook my head, not even looking up. "Sorry. Can't make it."
"Agh, come on," the other one groaned, nudging my arm. "You training again? Can't you skip it just this once?"
I zipped my backpack shut and slung it over my shoulder. "If I skipped every time someone asked me to hang out, I'd still be stuck on step one."
They both blinked at me.
I shrugged. "Besides, Dad would totally kill me."
They laughed, but I could tell they didn't really get it.
"It's not that serious," one of them muttered as they walked off.
Maybe not for them. But for me… it kinda is.
I waited until the hallway emptied out a little before stepping outside. The schoolyard buzzed with kids heading home, soccer balls bouncing, bikes rolling. Everyone had their own thing.
My thing was waiting for me at home. And it was getting stronger every day.
The walk home felt as nice as ever. The summer breeze brushed against my face, cool and soft, way better than the stuffy classrooms that always smelled like old paper and pencil shavings. My shoes crunched a bit on the gravel as I cut across the park path—something about walking home like this always made me feel calm.
A mom passed by with her toddler, the little kid holding an ice cream cone that was way too big for her tiny hands. She was grinning like it was the best thing in the world.
I blinked at it.
Ice cream sounded really good.
Just one wouldn't kill me, right?It's not like Dad's gonna sniff my breath and lecture me about dairy-to-effort ratios.…Probably.
I veered off toward the ice cream stand by the corner, already digging out the crumpled bills from my pocket. The guy behind the counter gave me a nod—he'd seen me before—and handed me a simple vanilla cone.
I turned, heading back on the path toward home—
—and that's when I saw her.
A little girl, maybe five or six, had just dropped her ice cream. It lay on the ground, a sad little splatter of pink goo. Her face scrunched up fast—eyes watering, lip trembling, like her whole day just cracked in half.
I stopped walking.
…Well. There goes my ice cream.
I looked at her. I looked at my cone. Still untouched. Still perfect.
And then I crouched down and held it out to her.
"Here," I said. "You can have mine."
Her eyes went wide like I'd handed her treasure.
I watched the girl run off, clutching the ice cream like it was a golden trophy. She didn't even say thank you.
Not that I cared or anything...
...Okay, maybe a tiny part of me wanted her to turn back and smile or something. That's what happens in movies, right? But, whatever. I didn't do it for that. She was sad, and I could help. That's what matters.
Still... I kinda wanted that cone.
I sighed, brushed my hands on my shorts, and turned to head home.
Then I felt it.
Not a sound. Not a touch. Just—something. Like the air itself got heavier. The breeze that had been so nice just... stopped.
My skin prickled.
It was like when you walk into a room and know someone's staring at you. Like something inside me was ringing a tiny bell I didn't understand.
I turned my head—slowly.
Then I stopped walking.
At the corner, near the alley's edge, stood a man. He wasn't moving. His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, and he was dressed too fancy for a park like this. I couldn't see his face—he was standing just far enough that shadows covered everything above his collar.
He wasn't doing anything.
Just watching.
No. Staring.
My heartbeat thudded in my ears.
I blinked.
Still there.
My gut twisted up weird. Like how it did when I first used my quirk by accident. That same strange, crawling pressure.
I shook my head. I'm imagining it. Just some guy. Maybe waiting for someone.
Right?
Just act normal, Rei.
I turned away and kept walking, trying not to look back. My steps were steady—but my fingers clenched tighter around my backpack strap.
Maybe I'll take a longer way home. Y'know... just in case.
By the time I reached our neighborhood, the sky had dipped into orange. The wind had come back, but it didn't feel as nice as before. It rustled the leaves harder. Sharper. Like it knew I was still a little freaked out.
I kept looking over my shoulder every few steps.
No one was there. But the weird twisty feeling in my stomach hadn't gone away.
I turned the corner and saw our house up ahead. The porch light was already on. I could smell dinner through the window before I even touched the gate.
I paused at the front step.
What was that guy doing just standing there? Why didn't he move?
More importantly... why did it feel like he was looking straight through me?
I didn't like it. Not one bit.
The door creaked when I opened it, and the warm smell of miso soup hit me full in the face. It felt like a blanket after walking in the cold.
"Rei?" Mom's voice came from the kitchen. "That you?"
"Yeah."
"Shoes off, please. Dinner's almost ready!"
I kicked off my shoes and dropped my backpack by the door. My legs were stiff. I wanted to run upstairs and hide under the blanket and pretend today didn't happen. But my feet moved toward the kitchen on their own.
Mom turned from the stove and smiled. "There you are. You're home a little late."
"Sorry," I mumbled, pulling out a chair. "Took the long way."
She arched a brow, but didn't push. "Long way, huh? You weren't eating ice cream before dinner, were you?"
I opened my mouth, hesitated... and then shook my head. "No."
Technically not a lie. I didn't eat it.
Dad walked in from the backyard, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel. He smelled like sun and grass. "There's my boy," he said, voice bright. "Training today, or rest?"
"Rest," I muttered. Then, after a pause: "Maybe tomorrow."
He gave me a look. Not mad. Just... searching. "Something happen?"
I froze. The kitchen suddenly felt too warm.
I wanted to tell him. About the man. The weird feeling. The way it reminded me of my quirk acting on its own. But the words stayed stuck behind my teeth. What if it really was just some guy? What if I sounded dumb?
"Nah," I said quickly. "Just tired."
Dad nodded slowly. "Alright. But if anything does happen, you tell me. No matter what it is. Got it?"
I nodded.
He clapped a hand on my shoulder and ruffled my hair. "Good man."
We sat down for dinner, and Mom ladled soup into our bowls. I picked at mine more than usual. My hands weren't shaking, but I kept feeling like they might.
After a while, I glanced out the window behind Dad.
The sky had darkened completely. Just our little porch light pushing back against the shadows.
And even though I was safe at home, sitting at the table with both my parents...
That feeling still hadn't left me.
Later that night, I was in my room, sitting on the floor with my back against the bed. The lights were off except for the little lamp on my desk that buzzed a bit when it got too quiet. My textbooks were still in my backpack. I hadn't even touched them.
Instead, I was holding one of the old practice balls Dad gave me when we first started training—just rolling it in small circles on the floor with my palm.
It used to be bright red. Now it was kind of scuffed up and dull. Like it had been through a lot.
Kind of like me.
I looked at the corner of the room. The shadows were normal. Just... shadows. Not people. Not monsters. Nothing strange.
I sighed and hugged the ball to my chest.
What was that guy doing there? Why didn't he say anything? Or move? Who stands still like that for no reason?
I pressed the ball harder against my chest.
"Stupid," I whispered. "You didn't even do anything. Just walked away like a chicken."
But that wasn't true.
My quirk had started reacting again. Not fully—but that weird twitchy pressure inside my chest had definitely stirred when I saw the man.
It was like... the same feeling from when I caught the ball during training. Or when I caught Dad that one time.
It only ever did that when something was really wrong.
I set the ball down and crawled up onto my bed, lying on my back. The ceiling looked farther away than usual.
"Should've told Dad," I muttered.
But I didn't want to sound dumb. Or scared. Or both.
My hand drifted to my side. The ghost hands never came out unless they had to. They were quiet unless there was something loud to answer.
I wished they could talk. Like real words. Maybe they'd explain stuff better than my own thoughts.
After a while, I reached over and grabbed the notebook I kept under my pillow. It wasn't for homework. It was where I kept stuff I didn't really want to say out loud. I flipped past the pages with sketches—drawings of ghost hands, some comic-style "hero" stuff—and turned to a blank one.
I picked up a pencil and started writing:
Saw someone weird today.
Didn't move.
Didn't talk.
Just watched. Maybe. I think?
Felt cold. Like my stomach went upside down.
I didn't tell Dad. I don't know why.
It felt like the time my quirk acted on its own.
I stared at the words for a long time before underlining the last sentence twice.
Then I shut the notebook and shoved it back under my pillow.
I turned off the lamp, rolled over, and pulled the blanket over my head.
But sleep didn't come for a while.
Because in the quiet of my room... I still felt like someone was watching me.
Even though I knew they couldn't be.
Right?