I nodded like this made perfect sense. "And that's useful for hero work because...?"
"Because you can turn anything into a weapon or a tool." Her voice warmed as she talked, the stress lines around her eyes softening. "Remember when you were twelve and accidentally put a hole through the apartment wall? You'd charged a marble and forgot about it, then threw it at the wall during a baseball game."
No, I didn't remember. But I could picture it—a younger version of this body, frustrated at a bad call, hurling a small object that exploded like a grenade.
"Mom was so mad," Kimiko continued. "But Dad just laughed and said you'd be the first hero who could level a building with pocket change."
Mom. Dad.
In the borrowed memories, I could see them—a woman with Kimiko's eyes and a man with my stubborn jawline. They were laughing about something, maybe that same marble incident. Then the images shifted, became darker. News reports. A villain attack. Flowers at a funeral.
"They'd be proud of you," Kimiko said softly. "Getting into U.A. was always their dream for you."
Their dream. My dreams had been simpler: a stack of cash big enough to make me a ghost, and a bed no one could kick me out of. I didn't care about their dreams. They were dead. I was the one stuck here.
I looked at Kimiko, really looked at her. At the faint lines of exhaustion she couldn't hide with makeup, at the quiet determination in her posture. This wasn't about their dead parents' dream.
This was about her.
She was betting everything on this horse—her brother. Me.
In my old life, you never let someone else's bet ruin you. But as she stood there, holding it all together with nothing but sheer will, I recognized the look of a gambler on their last chip.
And I was her only play. It wasn't responsibility I felt. It was the cold, heavy weight of a debt I never agreed to take on.
The problem was, I wasn't a hero.
"What if I don't get in?" I asked.
"You will." The certainty in her voice was absolute. "You're smart, you're strong, and your Quirk is more versatile than most people realize. Plus..." She grinned and nudged my shoulder. "You've got me in your corner. And I don't lose."
I don't lose.
"Besides," she continued, standing up to check on dinner, "even if the worst happens, we'll figure something out. We always do."
I looked down at the U.A. application again. The whole thing felt surreal. In my previous life, the idea of applying to become a professional do-gooder would have been laughable. Heroes were fiction. The real world was run by people who understood that everything had a price.
But this wasn't my previous life.
I flipped to a section labeled "Personal Statement" and read the prompt: "Describe why you want to become a professional hero and how you plan to use your abilities to help others."
A playing card fluttered to the floor. I bent to pick it up—a standard playing card, the kind you'd find in any casino. The ace of spades.
Where did this come from?
I turned the card over in my hands. It felt normal enough—cheap cardstock, slightly worn edges. But as my fingers traced the spade symbol, something strange happened.
The card began to glow.
Not metaphorically. Not in my imagination. It actually started glowing with a brilliant purple light that made the air around it hum like a live wire.
"What the hell—"
A jolt shot up my arm—not pain, but pure potential. It was the feeling of a loaded spring, of a bowstring drawn taut to its breaking
I dropped it like it was on fire.
The card hit the coffee table and lay there, looking perfectly normal again. No glow. No humming. Just a regular ace of spades.
"Yuki?" Kimiko's voice came from the kitchen. "Everything okay?"
I stared at the card. My hands were shaking.
"Yeah," I called back. "Just... dropped something."
I charged it. I actually charged it.
I picked up the card again, more carefully this time. Nothing happened. It felt like ordinary cardstock.
But when I concentrated, when I focused on that strange sensation I'd felt before, the purple light began to build again. Slowly this time, like filling a glass with water. The energy was there, waiting for me to shape it.
Kinetic Charge.
I'd always been good at cards. In my old life, I could shuffle, cut, and deal like a magician. I knew every trick in the book—false cuts, second deals, bottom stock. Cards were tools, and I was an expert at using them.
But this? This was different. This was power.
Real, honest-to-god superpowers.
I let the charge dissipate and slipped the card into my pocket. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but for the first time since waking up in this strange new world, I felt something other than confusion.
"Dinner's ready," Kimiko announced.
I stood up, the U.A. application still in my hands. The personal statement prompt stared back at me, waiting for an answer.
Why do you want to become a professional hero?
Twenty minutes ago, I would have laughed at the question. Heroes were fairy tales. The real world was about survival, about taking what you could get and holding onto it.
But looking at Kimiko as she set our plates on the small table, seeing the hope in her eyes when she talked about my future, feeling the power humming through that playing card...
Heroes.
I'd been thinking about it all wrong. It wasn't about saving the world. Who gives a damn about the world?
It was about protecting your assets. And right now, Kimiko—and the quiet life she was fighting for—was the only thing in this whole screwed-up reality worth a damn.
I folded the application and set it aside. "Smells good."
"Family recipe," she said, settling into the chair across from me. "Mom used to make it when Dad had a bad day at work."
We ate in comfortable silence. The curry was simple but good, and the rice was perfectly cooked. Normal food in a normal apartment shared with someone who cared about me.
It should have been peaceful.
Instead, all I could think about was the card in my pocket and the purple light that had danced between my fingers.
What else can I charge? How much energy can I store? What happens when I release it?
The questions multiplied like rabbits. But underneath them all was a single, burning thought:
If I'm going to be stuck in this world, I might as well win at it.