(Rei POV)
The waiting room smelled like disinfectant and old paper. The chairs were cold, the cushions stiff like no one had dared to sit in them too long.
Mom sat next to me, flipping through a magazine without really reading it, her eyes flicking to the hallway every few seconds. Dad was standing near the front desk, talking in a low voice with the receptionist. His arms were crossed, and I could see the crease in his brow from where I sat.
I pulled my hoodie sleeve over my hand and rubbed my palm, trying not to look like I was doing anything weird. Just nervous. Just another kid waiting for another check-up.
But it wasn't just a check-up. We all knew that.
"You doing okay?" Mom asked quietly, nudging me with her elbow.
I shrugged. "I guess."
She smiled softly, brushing a wrinkle from my shirt like that would fix something. "They're just going to run some tests. See how your quirk's growing. No need to be nervous."
I nodded, but I wasn't sure if I believed it.
Before I could say anything else, the door opened and a nurse stepped out. "Kageyama Rei?"
Dad turned immediately, motioning for us to come. Mom stood first, then offered me her hand. I took it, even if I felt a little too old for that now.
We followed the nurse down a narrow hallway lit by buzzing ceiling lights. I counted the doors as we passed—three, four, five—until she finally stopped and opened one. "Go ahead and have a seat. The doctor will be with you shortly."
The room was too white. White walls, white chairs, white table with a stack of pamphlets I couldn't focus on. I sat down on the exam bench, my legs swinging slightly because they didn't quite reach the floor.
Dad stayed standing, arms crossed again, eyes scanning everything like he was waiting for danger to walk in.
We didn't wait long. A few minutes later, the door opened again and a man in a lab coat stepped inside. He looked maybe in his 40s, with dark eyes, neatly combed hair, and a long tablet in his hand. A pair of glasses sat perched low on his nose.
"Good afternoon. I'm Dr. Iwai. You must be Rei." He offered a small, calm smile.
I gave a tiny nod.
He walked over and crouched a little to my level. "I've read your file and the notes your parents sent ahead. Sounds like your quirk's been a bit... active lately?"
I hesitated, then nodded again. "It's been coming out when I'm not trying to use it. And it hurts sometimes."
He nodded, tapping his tablet. "Alright. We're going to run a few scans—don't worry, nothing painful. Just a check on how your energy is flowing, and if your quirk's developing like we expect."
Takashi stepped forward. "We've trained for years. His control was strong. This started out of nowhere."
"We'll get to the bottom of it," Dr. Iwai assured. "Sometimes quirks go through growing pains—especially if they're complex or tied to emotion."
I flinched slightly at the word emotion. Did he know something?
The doctor stood. "If you'll come with me, Rei, we'll start with a resonance scan. After that, we'll move to observation testing."
I slid off the bench and followed him, my parents trailing behind. My heart thumped a little harder with each step.
I didn't know what they'd find. But I was starting to worry that something inside me was slipping.
Something even I didn't understand.
The first test was simple. I stood in the middle of a tall cylindrical scanner that hummed with quiet energy. Blue lights crawled over my body from head to toe. It didn't hurt, but it made my skin crawl — like something invisible was brushing against me.
Dr. Iwai stood behind a glass screen with another technician, watching carefully. "Just stay still, Rei," his voice echoed through the speaker. "We're measuring your internal quirk flow."
I did my best not to fidget. The tingling in my chest had started again — the one that usually came before the ghost hands acted up. I tried to push the feeling down. Not here. Not now.
After a few minutes, the lights flickered off.
The door hissed open.
"Good job," said the technician as she handed me a bottle of water. "We'll move on to observation."
They led me to a small room with padded walls and a floor that felt like a gym mat. There was a glass window on one side, with my parents watching from the other side. A different doctor stood with a clipboard beside me — not Iwai, but someone younger, maybe a student-in-training.
"Okay, Rei," the man said gently. "We just want to see your quirk in action. Nothing big. Just summon one hand — as far as you can without pain."
I nodded.
I focused.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The tingling returned, crawling up my spine and into my shoulders. I extended my hand forward. For a moment — nothing.
Then, with a sharp zap under my ribs — fwip — a ghostly, pale limb burst from my side.
It flickered and wavered, trembling in the air like a candle flame in the wind. Not smooth. Not stable.
I winced as a dull ache radiated through my chest.
"Good," the doctor said, though his tone didn't sound entirely calm. "Now let's see if you can retract it."
I nodded again and clenched my fists.
The hand vanished a moment later, dissolving into thin air.
The ache remained.
I lowered my real hand and swallowed hard. "It doesn't always hurt," I muttered. "Only lately."
"I see," the doctor murmured, scribbling something down. "Do you notice it when you're resting? Or only during use?"
I paused. "…Both."
He exchanged a brief glance with someone behind the glass. "Alright. We'll take a short break. The next scan will check for nerve stress and energy feedback."
As I walked back to the prep room, I caught a glimpse of Mom's worried eyes through the glass. Dad looked serious, like he was trying to solve a problem in his head. I didn't want them to worry.
But deep down, I knew something was wrong.
Not with the tests.
With me.
Something the doctors hadn't figured out yet — something I wasn't sure I even wanted to know.
The results came in three days later.
I sat on the same chair I had during the first consultation. The room smelled like clean paper and hand sanitizer, and the ticking clock above the door wouldn't stop reminding me how long this was taking.
Takashi sat beside me with his arms crossed, tapping his foot just a little. Mom was quiet, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Dr. Iwai finally entered with a stack of folders, glasses low on his nose.
"We've finished our analysis," he said calmly, sitting across from us. "There's no sign of injury, mutation, or outside interference with Rei's quirk. Biologically, everything is stable."
"Then what was it?" my mom asked immediately. "He's been in pain. His quirk's been going off without him even thinking about it."
Dr. Iwai nodded. "It took time to narrow it down, but our conclusion is this: Rei's quirk is reacting to stress."
I blinked. "…Stress?"
"Quirk energy is directly linked to the nervous system," he explained. "In children especially, the connection is sensitive. Emotional strain, anxiety, and even subtle fear can cause feedback. That's what was causing the erratic flickers and discomfort. Your body was trying to prepare for something… even if you didn't know what."
My dad leaned forward. "So, it's mental?"
"In part. It's like a reflex you can't control—your quirk trying to defend you from a threat it doesn't fully understand." He turned to me. "Have you been feeling tense lately, Rei? Not just physically — but like you're always watching something? Waiting?"
I hesitated.
I thought of the shadow on the street. Of how it seemed to follow me in dreams. Of the way the air sometimes grew thick for no reason.
"…Maybe," I said quietly.
That was enough for them.
They gave me some breathing exercises. A light routine to help "ground" my senses when the tingling started. I was told to ease up on training for now — just a bit.
And slowly, it started to work.
The next week, the flickers came less often.
The week after, I could summon the ghost hands again without the ache.
By the third week, it felt normal.
The house was quieter, too. No late-night pacing from my dad. No hovering from Mom while I tried to do homework.
We had family dinners without whispering in the kitchen first. My room felt safer again — not like something was hiding just outside my window.
Life began to stretch itself back out. Like a rubber band that had been pulled too tight and was finally let go.
I even hung out with my classmates once after school — just to kick a ball around.
Things were better.
And I almost believed they'd stay that way.