The apartment was small but functional—definitely a step down from the house in Japan. Hikaru dropped his bag by the door and surveyed the space. One bedroom, a cramped kitchen, a living area that doubled as a dining room. The only real selling point was the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked Jump City's downtown skyline.
He moved to the bedroom, unlocking a drawer in the dresser that Kimiyo had stocked before his arrival. Inside, wrapped in protective cloth, was his costume.
Hikaru laid it out carefully across the bed. Black tactical suit with reinforced padding, gold chest armor catching the afternoon light, white accents running along the arms and legs. A white hood sat folded beside the ensemble. Simple, functional, not too flashy—though the gold probably pushed that last point.
Back in Japan, he'd just worn black cargo pants, a black hoodie, and a face mask. Nothing special. He'd relied on speed and staying out of sight. Hikari no Yūrei didn't need a costume when nobody ever got a clear look at him.
But this was different. The Teen Titans operated in broad daylight. They had public identities—well, public hero identities. If he was going to work with them, he needed something that looked the part.
Kimiyo had gotten it made at the same place she commissioned her own costume. Professional grade, reinforced materials, designed to complement his powerset. She'd been surprisingly enthusiastic about the whole thing, even if she'd tried to hide it.
Hikaru reached for the suit, then paused.
How did I even get here?
The thought hit him harder than expected. His hand hovered over the black fabric as the weight of the past few years crashed down all at once.
FLASHBACK
Growing up, Hikaru never knew his father.
Kimiyo refused to talk about him. Every time young Hikaru asked—"Where's Dad?" "Who is he?" "Why isn't he here?"—she'd deflect or change the subject. Eventually, he stopped asking.
Most of the time, he was alone.
Kimiyo split her life between her job as an astronomer and her responsibilities as Dr. Light. She tried to make time for him, but there were always emergencies, always some crisis that needed her attention. Hikaru learned early how to take care of himself. Learned how to be independent.
He told himself it didn't bother him.
Then, around age ten, the wings started growing.
Tiny nubs at first, barely noticeable under his shirt. But they hurt—a constant ache between his shoulder blades that got worse every day. When they finally broke through the skin, Hikaru nearly fainted.
He hid them as long as he could. Wore oversized hoodies, avoided gym class, changed in bathroom stalls instead of locker rooms. But when they kept growing—white feathers starting to sprout, bones extending further down his back—he couldn't hide it anymore.
Kimiyo found out when she walked into his room unannounced and saw him standing shirtless in front of the mirror, trying desperately to figure out how to fold the wings flat enough to conceal them.
That was the night she finally told him.
"Your father is an angel."
Not a metaphor. Not a joke. An actual angel.
She didn't elaborate much beyond that, but it was enough to explain the wings, at least. Hikaru spent the next two years learning to retract them, hide them, pretend he was normal.
Then at twelve, his powers manifested.
He was walking home from school when a stray beam of sunlight hit his palm and—absorbed. Just like that. He could feel the light, pull it in, shape it. By the time he got home, he was grinning like an idiot, shooting tiny bursts of light between his fingers.
Light Manipulation. Similar to his mom.
For a while, that was enough. He practiced in secret, got better at controlling it. Started thinking maybe he could be a hero too, someday.
Then he turned thirteen, and everything changed.
He'd been walking home late when he saw the robbery—some guy in a mask holding up a convenience store clerk. Without thinking, Hikaru stepped in. Used his light to blind the guy, then to disarm him.
What he didn't realize until too late was that there was a second robber.
The blow to the back of his head sent him crashing into a shelf. Everything went dark.
He woke up in the hospital three days later.
And he remembered everything.
Not just this life—his other life. The one before. It came flooding back like a movie playing on fast-forward, vivid and overwhelming.
An abusive household. A father whose fists came faster than his words. Learning to fight just to survive, to protect himself when no one else would.
Comics, manga, anime, novels—anything to escape. He'd devoured stories, lost himself in worlds where people had power, where they could fight back.
He remembered his last year of high school. Remembered seeing a classmate cornered by a stalker in the parking lot after a late study session. Remembered stepping in, letting the girl run while he held the guy off.
He remembered the gun.
Remembered thinking, I miscalculated.
Remembered dying.
And now he was here. In a world he'd only ever seen on pages and screens. The DC Universe.
He was still processing that revelation when a man appeared in his hospital room.
Tall, handsome, blonde hair and golden eyes that matched Hikaru's exactly. Impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, hands in his pockets, looking completely out of place in the sterile white room.
"Hello, Hikaru," the man said smoothly. "I'm your father."
Hikaru blinked. "...Lucifer."
The man's smile widened. "So you have remembered. Fascinating."
"What—" Hikaru's head was still spinning. "How do you—"
"You were born without a soul," Lucifer said casually, like he was discussing the weather. "Incompatible genetics—half-angel, half-metahuman. The body formed, but there was nothing inside. Then, by some absolutely miraculous sequence of events, a soul from another reality found its way in." He tilted his head, looking genuinely amused. "I was there when it happened. Quite possibly the most unlikely thing I've ever witnessed. Naturally, I chose not to interfere."
Hikaru stared at him. "So I... possessed a dead baby's body."
"Soulless, technically. But yes." Lucifer leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You're taking this remarkably well."
"I'm too tired to panic," Hikaru muttered. Part angel. Part metahuman. Fully confused. "So... what now?"
"Now?" Lucifer's smile turned sharp. "Now you live. You've been given a second chance in a rather interesting universe. What you do with it is entirely up to you." He pushed off the wall, heading for the door. "Oh, and Hikaru? Free will is a beautiful thing. Don't waste it."
And then he was gone.
Over the next three years, Hikaru trained.
He mastered his light manipulation, learned to fly with his wings, pushed his body to its limits. At fourteen, he started patrolling at night—just small stuff at first. Stopping muggings, breaking up fights. He stayed fast, stayed hidden. Hikari no Yūrei, they started calling him. The Light Spirit.
Occasionally, Lucifer would show up unannounced. Sometimes to spar, sometimes just to talk. He taught Hikaru swordsmanship—classical, elegant, deadly. Never stayed long, but always left an impression.
Then Kimiyo found out.
Hikaru's work had gotten too high-profile. Too many people talking about the mysterious vigilante in Tokyo. She'd connected the dots faster than he'd expected.
The argument that followed was... intense.
"You could have been killed!"
"I can take care of myself!"
"You're a teenager!"
"And I've been taking care of myself since ten!"
It ended with a compromise.
If he wanted to keep doing this, he'd do it properly. He'd go to the U.S. He'd join the Teen Titans. He'd have a team, backup, people who knew what they were doing.
Hikaru had agreed.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he saw the fear in his mother's eyes, and for once, he couldn't argue with it.
PRESENT
Hikaru snapped out of the memory, blinking hard.
His hand was still hovering over the costume.
He exhaled slowly, then grabbed the suit and started changing.
The tactical pants went on first, then the reinforced shirt. The gold chest armor clicked into place, and he fastened the belt around his waist. Boots next. Finally, the hood—white, designed to be pulled low enough to conceal most of his face.
He retracted his wings temporarily to get everything on properly, then let them unfold again. They stretched wide, white feathers catching the fading sunlight from the window.
Hikaru moved to the windowsill, perching on the edge. The city sprawled out below him, lights starting to flicker on as the sun dipped toward the horizon.
He pulled the hood up, shadows falling across his face. His eyes glowed white beneath it—enough to obscure his features, enough to make him unrecognizable.
First night in Jump City. Time to see what I'm working with.
He stepped off the ledge and dropped into the open air.
Then his wings caught the wind, and he soared.