He recalled a moment when the distant blare of a ship’s horn echoed across the horizon.
A myriad of sounds brushed past his ears like fleeting whispers.
The cries of children, the wail of sirens, and the shouts of an unknown stranger.
With those fading echoes behind him, Kirishima felt himself sinking deeper and deeper.
Amid the mingled sensations of buoyancy and descent, a figure appeared before the closed-eyed Kirishima.
It was his former self—Jin Peterson.
"What do you think?"
He let the question hang in the air, as if it needed no explanation.
Rather than demand clarification, Kirishima forced open his heavy eyelids, struggling to stay awake.
"Usually, meeting your inner self is reserved for a protagonist standing at the brink of death. But you’re no protagonist—you’re hardly even badly hurt. Sure, your injuries are serious, but with prompt treatment, they’re nothing you can’t handle. You know that, right?"
"Yeah. I do."
Kirishima answered in a hoarse tone, locking eyes with his other self.
The other Kirishima smiled broadly as he returned the gaze.
When Kirishima noticed that those once-familiar blue eyes now held a strange chill, his other self spoke again.
"I’m just curious."
"Curious about what?"
"To me, you’re utterly fascinating. In that fight earlier, you were undeniably exhilarated—so thrilled even."
"Hmm. I was, indeed."
"You were relishing beating up a murderer, weren’t you? Even as he slashed and stabbed you, you grumbled—and deep down, you enjoyed every moment."
"Did I?"
"Oh, you certainly did."
Finding such certainty in his other self’s tone, Kirishima replied in a resigned murmur.
"Well, if that's what you say. So, what exactly are you curious about?"
"You’re completely insane. Truly, utterly mad. Right? But here's something odd—even though you were intoxicated with the thrill of battle, bleeding profusely and not quite thinking straight, you managed to block every route that villain could have taken toward the kids. Isn’t that strange?"
"Perhaps. But what exactly are you getting at? Stop beating around the bush and speak plainly."
At Kirishima’s unwavering retort, his other self chuckled dismissively.
"Heh. When you get serious, you’re as sharp as a blade. It’s a bit disappointing—you weren’t so stern with the kids."
"If you’re just going to spout nonsense, I’m leaving."
"I’d ask if you even know the way out, but I suppose you’ve figured it out by now. So, let me tell you what truly intrigues me. This is serious—answer earnestly."
"I’ve been serious from the start."
"Then answer me this: What do you really want? Do you wish to keep fighting and winning, or do you want to protect those precious things you discovered only after living life twice? You must have noticed by now that though I’m not exactly you, I’m still you—and yet, I can’t tell which one you truly are."
"What kind of absurd question is that? Obviously, both."
"It can’t be both! You idiot—just decide already."
"No matter what you say, I want to keep fighting and protect my family and everyone around me. Figure it out on your own."
The other him puffed up in anger, but Kirishima remained unmoved.
After a brief period of agitated pacing, the other him fixed an odd look on Kirishima’s face.
"Fine. So even if it costs you your life, it’s both? Understood. I’ll follow your lead—just don’t come crying to me later when it gets hellish."
"Enough with the empty words—send me back."
"I was about to send you back even before you said anything! Farewell, idiot. Perhaps our paths will cross again, once or twice more!"
"Hmph."
Light cascaded into the darkness.
The world suddenly brightened, and the sensation of being enveloped in some mysterious liquid melted away into a liberating release.
Kirishima opened his eyes.
"Mm."
"Eijiro! You’re awake! Honey, Eijiro, wake up!"
"Oh! Eijiro! It’s Mom! Can you recognize me?"
"Too..."
"Yes! What was that?"
"It’s too loud. My ears are ringing—could you speak more softly? And, please, may I have some water?"
A white ceiling came into view.
Kirishima hushed his frantic parents and requested water.
He was terribly thirsty.
"Alright. Here’s some water. How do you feel? Are you okay?"
"My stomach aches a bit, but I don’t think there’s anything seriously wrong."
"That’s a relief..."
His mother hurriedly opened a water bottle, poured some into a paper cup, and handed it to him.
After taking a few deep gulps and exhaling in relief, his mother asked further.
As Kirishima methodically checked himself from head to toe, he replied matter-of-factly.
His mother looked utterly drained, while his father clenched his fists in concern.
"I was so terrified, thinking you were doomed... sob."
"Fortunately, a nearby hero named Quickdraw happened to be around. He said that if he had arrived just a bit later, or if your wounds had been even a little deeper, you might not have made it. I was shocked when I saw Quickdraw carry you in, all bloodied, and your mother nearly fainted. Yet, she held on—resolved to see you get treated no matter what."
"Ah... I’m sorry. But I had no choice. If I’d run away, those kids would have suffered terribly."
"But did you really have to fight? Wasn’t there another way?"
Gazing at his tearful mother, Kirishima felt a heavy ache fill his chest.
Yet, when asked if fighting was necessary, he answered with firm conviction.
"Yes. I’m truly sorry for causing you worry. But there really was no alternative. That madman—excuse my language—was utterly insane. I had only two choices: fight and protect the kids, or abandon them and run away alone."
"Eijiro, you’ve always been mature—from childhood up until now. I’ve always been proud of you, but today you’re a little exasperating. Saying that leaves your mom at a loss for words."
In a soft, trembling voice, his mother replied as she tenderly stroked his hand like it was the most precious thing in the world.
Embarrassed, Kirishima couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
His father watched them with a satisfied smile.
Then the hospital room door opened, and a stern-looking elderly doctor in a white coat stepped in.
He took Kirishima’s temperature and examined his wounds as he remarked, "Are you feeling any better? I’ve already healed your injuries with my Quirk, so there shouldn’t be any major issues. But given the heavy bleeding and the rough treatment you endured, it’s natural to feel exhausted."
"Ah. Thank you for treating me."
"It’s nothing—after all, it’s a paid job. To justify the cost, I have to work hard. Oh, and you’ll have scars on your forehead and side. You recovered fairly quickly, but the wounds were significant."
"That’s fine. But when can I be discharged?"
"Well, the treatment is complete, so you could leave right now if you wished."
"Then I’m leaving now. It’s okay, right? Mom, Dad?"
Stubbornly, Kirishima insisted on being discharged immediately, even though his parents wanted him to stay one more day for observation.
After all, if his injuries had been healed with Quickdraw’s Quirk, there was no reason to linger in the hospital.
Watching the spirited debate among them, the doctor departed, asking them to notify him once they had decided.
As the white coat vanished beyond the door, the seemingly endless quarrel was abruptly interrupted by the high voices of the children.
"Eijiro! Waaah! Eijiro! Are you okay?"
"I’m alright for now. My side still aches a bit, though—could you give me some space?"
"Ah! Sorry, Eijiro..."
Ashido rushed in the moment the door opened, bursting into tears.
Though the knife wound on his side throbbed, Kirishima couldn’t push away the sobbing Ashido, and he spoke in an awkward tone.
Only then, once Ashido had composed herself and apologized sheepishly, did Bakugo, Midoriya, and their families enter the room.
"How are you feeling, Kirishima?"
"You looked in a terrible state when they loaded you into the ambulance, but you seem okay now."
"Thank you. Thank you for protecting our Izuku, Kirishima."
Kirishima was flustered by the sudden flood of concern and gratitude from the adults.
In all his past lives, he had never been the recipient of such attention.
As the adults’ storm of concern finally subsided, it was the children’s turn.
"Hey."
"Yeah. What?"
"Th-the..."
Standing by the bed where Kirishima lay, Bakugo hesitated before speaking, flanked by Midoriya and Ashido.
Kirishima couldn’t help but smile inwardly at the sight.
It was typical for someone as proud as Bakugo to struggle with even a simple "thank you."
Unable to bear the awkwardness any longer, Bakugo’s mother gently pressed his head down.
"Why is it so hard to just say thank you?"
"Gah! I’ll manage it myself, so leave me alone!"
"Haha."
Kirishima burst out laughing at the playful bickering between them.
There was simply no way that Bakugo—proud to a fault—could ever seem submissive.
"Anyway, thank you! There, happy now?"
Bakugo finally managed to choke out his thanks before storming out of the room.
"That kid—he’s my son, after all..."
"That’s just Bakugo for you. Haha. In his own way, he’s kind of adorable."
Leaving behind Bakugo Mitsuki’s odd expression, Kirishima turned his attention to Midoriya.
"Hey, Kirishima. Thank you so much for saving me yesterday. And I’m sorry for running off on my own..."
Kirishima tried to keep his expression neutral.
Bakugo was one thing, but the real Midoriya he saw in person was every bit as earnest as his manga counterpart.
Throwing himself into danger to save someone he barely knew—without harboring any ill will—bordered on madness.
It wasn’t something that reason could control.
Nor could logic dissuade him.
If the same crisis occurred again, Midoriya would undoubtedly risk everything once more.
Whether it was his inherent nature or something he acquired over time was beside the point.
What mattered was that the odds of such a situation repeating were all too high.
Kirishima had much he wished to say to Midoriya, but with his mother nearby, he kept his thoughts to himself.
Instead, he offered simple reassurance.
"Well, I did what I had to, to survive. And there’s no need to apologize so much—things were just too urgent."
"Still..."
Ruffling the head of the bowed Midoriya roughly, Kirishima grinned and said,
"Stop keeping your head down. We’re still young, and we can’t always make the perfect choice. I’m alright, so lift your chin and stand tall. Your mom’s right behind you—don’t act so timid."
"Okay! Got it!"
At the sudden change in Midoriya’s demeanor—as he lifted his chin and spoke with renewed pride—Kirishima couldn’t help but laugh.
Then, laying the foundation for the future, he added,
"Midoriya, you still have the number I gave you, right?"
"Yes, I saved it," Midoriya replied.
"Good. Keep in touch even after you get home. I’m going to put together a training program for you and Bakugo. Follow it to the letter, okay?"
"Huh? T-training?"
Flustered by the prospect of training with Bakugo, Midoriya stammered.
Kirishima met his gaze steadily.
He knew all too well that he was a bit of an oddball himself.
Kirishima would continue to fight time and again, while Midoriya would endlessly risk everything to save those in need.
No amount of reason could change that.
Thus, there was only one solution.
Develop the ability to do what you truly wish to do.
Besides, this kid was destined to inherit All Might’s Quirk someday, so it made sense to prepare in advance.
"I’ll be checking on both of you every day to make sure you don’t skip training, so no slacking off."
"Okay..."
Seeing Midoriya slump once more, Kirishima grinned.
If the world’s protagonist wasn’t acting like one, then he’d simply make him one.
As for Midoriya’s mental fortitude, once he overcame that crippling shyness and low self-esteem, All Might would ensure he received proper training. There was nothing to worry about.
So, Kirishima resolved to first build Midoriya’s body.
Even if it wasn’t as efficient as standing by his side, pairing him with Bakugo would keep them both on their toes and ensure steady progress.
"I want to train with Eijiro too!"
"Well, I was planning to train with Mina as well—even if you hadn’t mentioned it. We haven’t started yet because you’re still young."
"Yeah! That sounds fun—training with Eijiro!"
"Hmm... fun. Alright, let’s make it enjoyable."
Watching Mina pout in what seemed like jealousy, Kirishima chuckled.
Yesterday’s battle—when he bled and fought as if facing death—had led to this moment.
The realization that the children were now safe and sound sank deeply into his heart.
It was a truly uplifting feeling.
Kirishima thought that if being a Hero meant savoring moments like these, then it was worth every hardship.
And so, the unforgettable summer trip of a five-year-old—marked by new insights—came to an end.
Comments (0)
Please log in to leave a comment. Login or Register