The Sports Festival, that fierce event, had finally ended, and a new day had arrived.
Kirishima stood before the mirror, neatly dressed.
Although he wasn’t wearing a tie, the black pants and jacket he wore accentuated his well-trained physique.
He gave himself one last once-over before leaving home.
Soon enough, the taxi he had summoned arrived, and he boarded without hesitation.
In Japan, taxi fares were no trivial matter—but ever since Kirishima had entered middle school, the stocks he had started buying with his childhood pocket money had soared, so ordinary expenses were no longer a worry.
While he wasn’t set up to live off his investments forever, his spending power was such that he could afford to do nothing for about ten years at the rate of an average adult.
Not that he planned on doing nothing at all.
As Kirishima got into the taxi, stated his destination, and planned to browse the internet for a bit, the driver struck up a conversation.
"Aren't you Kirishima Eijiro? The one from the U.A. Sports Festival?"
"Yes, that's me." he replied.
"Oh, I caught you on TV yesterday. You were impressive." the driver continued.
"Ah, thank you," Kirishima responded.
The driver went on non-stop, explaining that he had skipped work just to watch the U.A. Sports Festival, that he’d become a fan after seeing Kirishima in action, and more.
Kirishima did his best to keep up with the conversation, but the endless chatter gradually wore him down.
After what felt like a ride lasting 300 minutes despite taking less than 30, Kirishima finally reached his destination and let out a sigh of relief.
As his excitement grew and his hometown accent surfaced, he couldn’t help but speak before he even tried to hide it. "Kirishima, my friend! How about signing the hood of this ride real big? Do that, and I'll remain your fan—I'm already one!"
"Of course. Haha. I'd be happy to," he replied.
Though he had signed his fair share of autographs in the past, no one had ever asked him to sign a taxi.
Nevertheless, Kirishima obligingly filled the hood with a large, bold signature.
He had intended to keep it modest, but the old man beside him kept urging for something bigger until, before he knew it, the autograph had grown massive.
"Doesn't that seem a bit self-indulgent if someone doesn't know the full story?" he mused silently.
Worried that an uninformed observer might misinterpret the situation, he turned to pay the fare—only to have the driver, already halfway back inside the taxi, wave and shout,
"Hey! Got that signature all right. Don't worry—I’ll keep spreading the word for you!"
"But you haven't taken the fare yet," Kirishima protested.
"Fare? Bah, forget about it! What money would a student have? The autograph covers it! If fate brings us together again, I'll expect you to treat me to a meal!"
"I actually have money... but really, you should take the fare," he argued.
"Study hard! Train hard! And don’t slack off at school. Alright, I’m off!"
Watching the taxi vanish in a flash, Kirishima was, for the first time in a long while, rendered speechless.
In his previous life, he had encountered every type of person imaginable—paparazzi, fans, anti-fans, and countless others—but this was a new kind altogether.
He stared absently at the road where the taxi had disappeared, then snapped back to reality, bought a cake, and set off for his destination.
It was the largest hospital in Mustafu.
Originally, his plan for the day was simple: relax at home and analyze the Sports Festival videos online.
But that plan had been derailed by a message he received on social media the night before when he returned home.
The message explained that the sender was a fan of Kirishima’s, currently hospitalized after losing control of her Quirk, and that she longed to see him once she recovered.
From the ensuing conversation, he learned that the sender was a five-year-old girl whose Quirk had manifested uncontrollably last year, resulting in her isolation.
After contacting her parents to get permission, and obtaining clearance from the hospital, Kirishima agreed to visit her—albeit only after undergoing a test to demonstrate his own resistance to Quirks.
Once he was cleared at the reception desk, he made his way to the child's room in the special ward.
He knocked lightly on the door.
"Come in," came the soft invitation.
"Hello. Hi," greeted a small, tentative voice.
"Huh? Really..." Kirishima murmured in surprise.
Inside, a cute child with neatly trimmed brown hair sat on a bed behind a transparent barrier, accompanied by a woman who seemed to be her mother.
Startled by his presence, the girl struggled to speak. "Oh, it's really you, Kirishima. You’re the one who sent the message, Honoka Naimen?"
"Y-yes... Wow. I never expected you to actually come. Even though Mom said you would, I didn't dare to hope," she replied.
"I promised, didn't I? I always keep my promises," Kirishima said warmly.
"Still, thank you for coming even after yesterday's tournament, Kirishima," added the mother.
"Please, call me by my first name. You're older than me, and if you speak too formally, it makes me uneasy," Kirishima said with a friendly smile.
"But you really came all this way," the mother noted.
"That’s beside the point. By the way, may I call you Honoka and address your mother as ma'am?"
"Yes! Please, just Honoka is fine!"
"Haha, alright then. So, I hear both you and your mother watched the Sports Festival yesterday," he said.
Honoka’s mother hesitated for a moment, then shifted to a more casual tone.
"Yes. Honoka was over the moon—I mean, she already liked you, Kirishima, but yesterday she loved you even more."
"She already liked me? I was just an ordinary guy. How did she know?" Kirishima asked, scratching his chin.
"Your big brother caught a villain at Disneyland last year!"
"Ah... I thought that only circulated in Tokyo and our neighborhood. You really saw that?"
"I just happened to see it. A middle schooler catching a villain—how cool is that?"
Gazing at Honoka’s sparkling eyes, Kirishima couldn’t help but feel both touched and a little bemused by the pure adoration directed his way.
It was far preferable to dealing with the sticky malice that clung to him like gum on a shoe sole.
Clearing his throat, he lifted the cake he had brought. "Hmm. Really? Thanks. Would you like some cake?"
"Huh? Wow! Cake! Mom, can I have some?" Honoka exclaimed.
Distracting the child proved easy enough.
Kirishima sliced the cake while listening intently as someone explained the complications of her Quirk.
According to the explanation, anyone who came into physical contact with her would experience a rapid rise in body temperature, often leading to collapse.
Normally, Quirk users possessed a natural resistance to their own abilities, but Honoka did not—sometimes, even she would succumb to the rising heat.
Kirishima tilted his head in thought. Raising body temperature through contact wasn’t unusual, but the fact that it also affected the person making contact?
After ensuring that Honoka had eaten enough cake, he gently said he wanted to hold her hand.
Although she appeared frightened at first, his reassuring smile eased her nerves.
"I can resist Quirks that affect me. That's actually how I caught that villain at Disneyland last year," he explained.
"Really?" she asked, her voice trembling with wonder.
Once he received the necessary permission, Kirishima took the little girl’s hand.
Sure enough, he sensed a faint surge of warmth emanating from her hand—a sign that her Quirk was resisting him.
Just as he prepared to gradually relax the Hardening from his fingers to better understand the reaction, he noticed that Honoka had begun to cry.
"Huh? I—I don't know why. I'm so happy to be holding your hand, but now I'm crying," she sobbed.
"It's alright. There's nothing strange happening—it's okay to cry," he comforted her.
Even in this delicate moment, Kirishima showed genuine concern for her feelings.
He gently hugged Honoka and patted her back. "I haven't been able to hold anyone for nearly a year—not since I came to the hospital..."
"Once you learn to control your Quirk properly, you'll be able to hug and hold others as much as you want," he assured her.
"Do you really think so?" she asked hopefully.
Looking into her earnest eyes, Kirishima replied firmly, "Of course. When you think about it, a Quirk is simply a way to control your body. Anyone can move their fingers without much thought, right? Quirks work the same way."
"If you say that, big brother, I believe you! Hehe," she giggled through her tears.
Encouraged by her smile, Kirishima continued to offer words of comfort—words he meant sincerely, not empty platitudes.
Truly, he believed Honoka could master her Quirk.
After she calmed down a bit, he released the Hardening from just his fingers once more.
"Now then, shall we hold hands again? I want to check something," he said softly.
"What is it?" she asked, a trace of curiosity in her voice, yet she obediently extended her hand.
It seemed she simply enjoyed holding hands.
Kirishima carefully grasped her hand again.
In that moment, he felt a small pulse course through his body.
'This isn’t ordinary heat,' he thought.
Indeed, the temperature of the area where he had released his Hardening rose slightly.
But that was merely a side effect—not the primary phenomenon.
Instantly, he sensed his own Quirk factor—previously under perfect control—twitch and surge ever so slightly.
Testing further, he released the Hardening from his arm.
That’s when he felt it with absolute clarity:
His Quirk factor was igniting on its own, releasing bursts of energy.
"This isn’t a Quirk that just makes people hot," he murmured.
"Huh? It isn't...? Everyone who touched me got hot—I did too," she observed.
"Hold on. I need to check a bit more," he said.
Kirishima released her hand and flicked his fingers in the air—then repeated the motion with his other hand.
It was a minute difference, one that ordinary people wouldn’t notice, but he could sense it clearly.
Even his finely tuned Quirk factor, which controlled his body down to the last cell, was being affected—and strengthened—without his intent.
"Huh. This is... dangerous," he admitted.
"Dangerous? Is big brother going to get sick too?" she asked, worry lacing her tone.
"Huh? Ah, sorry for making you worry. I'm completely fine, so don't fret," he reassured her.
Seeing her head tilt in puzzled concern, Kirishima forced a relaxed smile onto his face.
Based on what he felt, Honoka’s Quirk not only activated upon contact but also strengthened the Quirk factors of those around her.
If it could boost even his nearly perfect control over his own ability, ordinary people wouldn’t stand a chance against it.
The rise in temperature was merely a side effect of that forced activation.
In his view, the Quirk indiscriminately amplified its user as well, causing her body temperature to rise.
This was a very dangerous Quirk indeed.
For now, its level was low, so the enhancement was minimal—resulting only in a mild fever.
But if it grew stronger, who knew how many people might be overwhelmed by a Quirk that ran amok?
Kirishima patted Honoka’s head and said, "I don't think this is just a Quirk that makes you hot. It's something much greater."
"Really?" she asked softly.
"Yes. Now, I'll speak with your mother and the doctor. It won't take long. Can you wait?"
"Yes! Come back soon!"
Kirishima led Honoka’s bewildered mother out of the room and met with the attending doctor.
He wondered if he really needed to go to all this trouble, but regardless, that Quirk was a rare talent.
Whether it was talent or not, it was only natural for an adult to reach out to a lonely, isolated child.
He explained what he had felt to both the doctor and her mother.
The doctor, animated with interest, tried to verify Kirishima’s observations, while Honoka’s mother grew increasingly worried.
"Only someone who uses their Quirk extensively and is intimately familiar with it—like a Pro Hero—could properly discern that it was being amplified by contact. And even among them, only those particularly attuned to their own body and Quirk..." the doctor explained.
"Doesn't that mean it's even more dangerous?" the mother asked anxiously.
"It won't change drastically right now—but we can't let things be. As Honoka's Quirk continues to develop, she’ll need training to keep it under control," Kirishima explained.
"How do we do that?"
"Since a Quirk is a physical ability, I believe it would be best for her to train with someone who’s free from the effects of her Quirk—like me," he suggested.
The doctor's question was cut off by Kirishima, prompting the mother to glance at him uncertainly.
She seemed eager to ask for his help, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it aloud.
Shrugging, Kirishima said, "For now, I'll visit whenever I have free time."
Kirishima truly believed that Honoka’s Quirk had the potential to become a great power.
Quirks that hurt others or caused status effects were common, but those that bolstered one's strength were rare.
Moreover, a Quirk that directly enhanced other Quirks was an irregularity in itself.
After a brief discussion with the doctor, he promised that he would help Honoka in the future and returned to the child's room.
Honoka, who had been absorbed in her phone, beamed when she saw Kirishima enter.
"Big brother! I was just watching for you!"
"Really? You were looking for me?" he asked, glancing at the screen which was showing his match.
He spent the remainder of his visit playing with Honoka before finally leaving the room.
Noticing the slight disappointment she tried hard to hide, he smiled and said, "I'll be back soon, so don't be too upset. Listen to your mom, okay? You know I always keep my promises."
"Okay. I'll wait. You have to come back!" Honoka insisted.
"Yeah. Hmm, just saying I'll be back soon might leave you anxious, so let me be clear—I’ll be back this weekend. We’re likely to see each other pretty often from now on. Alright, I'm off. If you get bored, just call me," he added.
Kirishima waved goodbye to Honoka before leaving the room.
After soothing her grateful mother, he stepped out of the hospital and spotted a familiar figure.
A person with hair split evenly into white and red was impossible to forget, even if one tried.
It was Todoroki.
Seeing Todoroki pacing stiffly in front of the hospital, Kirishima approached him.
"Todoroki, what are you doing here?"
"Huh? Oh... Kirishima," Todoroki replied, his expression guarded.
"Yeah, it's me. But why are you wandering around?"
With a tightly set expression, Todoroki answered, "It's just a personal matter. Don't worry about it."
"Really? Then I'm off. Nice seeing you—see you at school later."
After a brief goodbye, Kirishima strode away and reached for his phone, planning to call a taxi.
But then, from behind him, a tense voice called out,
"Wait, Kirishima. Sorry to bother you after telling you not to worry, but do you have a minute?"
"Hm? I've got time, but what’s going on?"
"Can we talk for a bit?"
Noticing Todoroki’s usually steely eyes tremble slightly, Kirishima sighed silently.
Why did these kids always make life so complicated?
In that regard, Bakugo—despite his wild personality—was at least straightforward, which was a relief.
His own family situation wasn’t exactly complex either.
He nodded. "Alright, I don't really know what you're getting at, but honestly, the details don't matter. It sounds like you just need to vent, so I'll gladly lend an ear."
"Uh, how did you know?" Todoroki asked.
"I'm a veteran caretaker—I’ve raised a few kids. It's easy to read a child's expression," Kirishima replied with a warm grin.
"Kirishima, are you… married? Or a single dad?" Todoroki probed further.
Kirishima pressed a hand to his forehead. He already had a pretty good idea of how awkward a conversation with someone so oblivious would be—someone who couldn’t take a joke.
Still, kids deserve to be treated kindly, don't they?
Determined to offer as warm advice as possible, he smiled broadly.
From Todoroki’s perspective, Kirishima’s face strangely resembled the one he’d seen in Demon Form, prompting him to step back.
For a moment, Kirishima regretted having initiated the conversation.
But once words are spoken, they can't be taken back—and now he found himself stuck in this uncomfortable, awkward, and utterly miserable exchange.
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