If someone had asked Alfred Watanabe a few years back whether he regretted dedicating his life to the Hero Public Safety Commission, he would have answered without hesitation that no, he hadn't regretted it at all. The work had been necessary. Someone had to make the difficult decisions that kept society functioning, kept people safe.
But nowadays? He wasn't so sure anymore.
The doubt had crept in slowly, like water seeping through cracks in a foundation. Each year, each decision, each compromise had added weight until one day he'd woken up and realized the burden was crushing him. The things he'd done in the name of public safety, the orders he'd signed, the operations he'd approved—they all seemed so justified at the time. Necessary evils for the greater good.
Now they just seemed like evils.
If pressed to name his single greatest regret—and Alfred had accumulated quite the collection over the decades—it would be his decision to retire instead of competing for the president's seat. At the time, it had felt right. He was tired, worn down by years of impossible choices and sleepless nights. All Might had emerged as a symbol, a pillar strong enough to hold up society on his own shoulders. Alfred had thought he could finally rest, pass the torch to someone else, maybe even sleep through the night without nightmares.
That decision haunted him more than any other.
Because the person who'd taken that seat, who'd assumed the presidency of the Commission... they'd done things Alfred could barely comprehend. Things that made his own dark choices look pale in comparison.
When he'd first learned about the new president using Lady Nagant—using Kaina—as an assassin, he'd been conflicted. Part of him had wanted to march into headquarters and voice his objections loudly enough for the entire building to hear. But what face did he have to object? Hadn't he also made hard decisions back when there was no All Might to hold the country together? Hadn't he also ordered operations that lived in moral gray areas, justified them with the same reasoning?
Even now, sitting in his study with afternoon light filtering through the windows, Alfred could still see blood on his hands when he looked down. The stains were invisible to everyone else, but he saw them clearly. Every day. Every night.
Maybe that was why he'd been kind to Kaina. Why he'd gone out of his way to check on her, to offer what little support he could without overstepping. If only to lessen his own guilt, to feel like he was doing something right for once.
He'd never expected that decision to lead to him becoming a grandfather at his age.
Two boys. Twin brothers with matching purple hair and eyes that had seen too much too young. He'd gained two grandsons, even though he'd already lost one of them again. The thought made his chest ache in ways his old injuries never had.
Alfred closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. He still remembered that night with perfect clarity. The night Kaina had come carrying the twins to his house, changing everything.
_________
It's well past midnight, but Alfred isn't asleep. Sleep has become increasingly elusive over the years, replaced by late nights spent reading in his library. The room has become his sanctuary—floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a comfortable leather chair, a small lamp providing just enough light. Most of his days and nights are spent here now, surrounded by the accumulated knowledge of decades.
The crash from the waiting room shatters the quiet.
Alfred is on his feet instantly, old instincts kicking in despite his retirement. His quirk activates automatically, energy flowing to form into a full-body barrier that can withstand most attacks. He grabs the gun from his desk drawer and moves silently toward the source of the noise.
What he finds when he reaches the waiting room makes him freeze.
Kaina is there, but not the composed, professional Kaina he knows. This version is covered in blood—some of it clearly not her own—her costume torn in places, her face pale and drawn with exhaustion and something that looks like barely controlled rage. She's cradling two small boys, maybe four or five years old, both with purple hair and peaceful sleeping faces that contrast sharply with the violence evident in Kaina's appearance.
She's gently laying them on his couch with a care that seems at odds with the blood staining her hands.
"Kaina." Alfred lowers the gun immediately, his barrier fading. "What happened?"
She looks up at him, and the expression in her eyes makes his blood run cold. Fury. Disgust. Horror. All mixed together with something that looks dangerously close to tears, though Kaina would probably shoot anyone who suggested she's capable of crying.
"Those bastards." Her voice is low, shaking with rage she's clearly struggling to control for the sake of the sleeping children. "Those absolute bastards were experimenting on kids, old man."
Alfred feels something cold settle in his stomach. "What?"
"I was on assignment. Standard elimination—some scientist who'd been selling classified research to villain groups." Kaina is speaking quickly now, words tumbling out like she needs to get them all out before she explodes. "The target was eliminated without any problem. But I found files in his safe. Research documents. I thought maybe it was relevant to the Commission, so I looked."
She pauses, jaw clenching.
"And?" Alfred prompts gently.
"The research wasn't being sold to villains. It was from the Commission. From us." Kaina spits the word like poison. "He was a contractor. Working on a project to create children who could handle multiple quirks."
The cold in Alfred's stomach turns to ice. "Multiple quirks."
"Experiments. Human experimentation on children." Kaina's hands clench into fists. "There were dozens of subjects initially. Dozens of babies. These two—" she gestures at the sleeping boys, "—they're the only survivors."
Alfred stares at the children. They look so peaceful, so innocent. How can they be products of...
"I followed the trail to the main research facility," Kaina continues. "Underground lab. Top secret. I confirmed everything was real, then I burned the whole place to the ground. Destroyed every file, every sample, every piece of equipment. The researchers..." Her expression goes dark. "They won't be conducting any more experiments."
"Kaina—"
"Don't." She cuts him off. "Don't tell me I shouldn't have. Don't tell me about protocol or chains of command. I saw what they did to these kids. The records of what they did." Her voice cracks slightly. "Children. They used children."
Alfred says nothing. What can he say? He looks at the boys again, so small and vulnerable on his couch, and feels something twist in his chest.
"I brought them here because I didn't know where else to go," Kaina says quietly. "The facility's destroyed. The researchers are dead. But the files—" she pulls a small drive from her belt, bloody fingerprints staining the metal, "—I grabbed copies. Proof. Evidence of what the Commission has been doing."
She tosses it to him. Alfred catches it automatically, staring at the drive like it might explode.
"Am I not enough?" Kaina's voice suddenly rises, all that controlled rage breaking through. "The commission already uses me to kill heroes who step out of line, who get too close to uncomfortable truths. I've become everything I swore I wouldn't be. And apparently that's not enough? Now they're experimenting on babies? Creating weapons out of children?"
"Kaina—"
"I almost did it." She laughs, a harsh sound with no humor in it. "I almost went straight to the president's office tonight. One bullet. That's all it would take. One bullet and this whole sick operation ends."
Alfred steps forward carefully. "But you didn't."
"No." Kaina looks at the sleeping boys. "Because if I kill the president now, they'll investigate. They'll find the facility destroyed, the research gone, and they'll wonder why. They'll dig deeper. And eventually, they'll figure out that these two survived." She turns back to Alfred, and he sees fear behind the anger for the first time. "They can't know these kids are alive. They can't."
Alfred looks at the drive in his hand, then at the children, then at Kaina. He thinks about his regrets, about the blood on his hands, about all the times he'd chosen pragmatism over principle.
Maybe this is his chance to make a different choice.
"I'll adopt them," he says.
Kaina blinks. "What?"
"Officially. Legally. I'll adopt both boys as my grandsons." Alfred's mind is already working through the logistics. "I have the connections to make the paperwork appear legitimate, backdated far enough that no one will question it. As far as anyone knows, they've been with me since they were infants."
"Old man—"
"You're right that killing the president now would raise too many questions," Alfred continues. "The Commission will notice the destroyed facility eventually, but if there's no obvious trail leading back to you, they'll likely assume it was a villain attack or internal sabotage. And if these boys are already established as my adopted family, no one will connect them to the experiments."
Kaina stares at him. "You'd do that?"
"I've spent my life making compromises, Kaina. Justifying terrible things for supposedly good reasons." Alfred looks at the sleeping children. "Maybe it's time I actually did something unambiguously right."
For a moment, Kaina just stands there. Then, slowly, the tension drains from her shoulders. Not all of it—there's still rage there, still pain and disgust and horror. But some of the murderous intent fades, replaced by something that looks almost like hope.
"They didn't even have names," she says quietly, looking down at the sleeping boys. "The files just called them Subject 10 and Subject 11." Her jaw clenches. "I'm calling them Tatsuo and Ryoto. They deserve real names."
"Tatsuo and Ryoto," Alfred repeats, committing the names to memory. "My grandsons."
Kaina nods once, sharp and decisive. Then she looks down at herself, at the blood covering her costume. "I should clean up. Leave before anyone sees me here."
"There's a bathroom down the hall. Take your time. I'll watch them."
After Kaina leaves, Alfred pulls up a chair next to the couch. He looks at the two boys—at Tatsuo and Ryoto, his new grandsons—and wonders what kind of life he's just committed to giving them. What kind of future is possible for children born from experiments, designed to be weapons.
Whatever it is, it has to be better than what the Commission had planned for them.
It has to be.
______________________
Alfred opened his eyes, the memory fading back into the past where it belonged. That night had changed everything. Two children who'd known nothing but laboratories and experiments had become his family. His purpose.
And Kaina... Kaina, who had been slowly breaking apart under the weight of what the Commission made her do, had started to heal. The boys had treated her like family, the only real family they'd ever known. She'd visit when she could, bringing gifts and stories and something almost like happiness. Alfred had watched her smile for the first time in years, watched her be gentle and kind instead of hard and efficient.
He'd thought maybe, just maybe, they could all find some peace.
But peace was never meant for people like them.
The president had found out somehow. Alfred still didn't know how, didn't know which thread the man had pulled to unravel their carefully constructed lie. But he'd found out that the boys were alive and he'd confronted Kaina about it.
Kaina had killed him.
Alfred remembered that night too, though he wished he didn't.
_______________
The knock on his door comes at 2 AM. Alfred knows who it is before he opens it. Kaina is the only person who knocks like that pattern.
She looks terrible. Not physically—there's no blood this time, no signs of combat. But her eyes are hollow, empty in a way that frightens him more than rage ever could.
"I killed him," she says without preamble. "The president. He's dead."
Alfred pulls her inside quickly, checking the street before closing the door. "What happened?"
"He knew." Kaina walks to his study like a ghost, like her body is moving on autopilot while her mind is somewhere else. "About the boys. About the experiment. He didn't know they were here, but he knew they'd survived. He confronted me, demanded I tell him where they were."
"Kaina—"
"I didn't tell him." She looks at Alfred with those hollow eyes. "He threatened to find them. Said he'd continue the research, that the boys were too valuable to waste. That's when I..."
She doesn't finish. She doesn't need to.
Alfred feels his chest tighten. "We need to hide you. I have contacts, safe houses that even the Commission doesn't know about. We can get you out of the country, somewhere they'll never find you."
"No."
"Kaina—"
"I'm turning myself in, old man."
Alfred stares at her. "What?"
"Think about it." Kaina's voice is calm, rational, like she's discussing mission logistics instead of her own life. "The president is dead. The Commission will investigate. If I run, they'll hunt me down, and they'll dig into everything—including why I killed him. Eventually, they'll find the boys."
"We can protect them—"
"Can you?" Kaina looks at him. "Can you really protect two children from an organization with unlimited resources and no moral boundaries? An organization that created them in the first place?"
Alfred wants to say yes. Wants to promise that he can keep them safe. But he'd worked for the Commission too long to believe comfortable lies.
"If I turn myself in," Kaina continues, "and claim I snapped from following too many orders, from killing too many heroes... they'll believe it. They'll write it off as a tragic case of an agent breaking under pressure. The story fits—assassin goes rogue, kills her handler, classic psychological breakdown."
"They'll lock you in Tartarus," Alfred says quietly. "For life or kill you directly."
"I know." Kaina smiles, small and sad. "But the boys will be safe. The Commission will think I acted alone, that it was just about the killing, nothing to do with old experiments they've probably already forgotten about. And maybe—" her smile turns bitter, "—maybe my story will make them think twice before recruiting another teenager to be their killer."
"Kaina, you don't have to—"
"Yes, I do." She stands up, straightening her costume with automatic precision. "This is the last choice I get to make on my own terms. Let me make it count."
Alfred feels helpless, watching her prepare to throw her life away. "The boys will ask about you."
"I know." Kaina's expression softens slightly. "Tell them... tell them I'm sorry I couldn't stay."
"Kaina—"
"And tell them to be strong. To live the lives they choose, not the ones chosen for them." She looks back at him one last time. "Take care of them. Give them the life they should have had."
Then she's gone.
Alfred stands in his empty study for a long time after that. Eventually, he'll have to wake the boys and tell them Big sister Kaina won't be visiting anymore. Eventually, he'll have to explain why.
But not yet. Not yet.
_____________
Alfred learned about Kaina's sentencing to Tartarus through official channels, buried in a classified report he technically shouldn't have had access to. The Commission's official story was exactly what she'd predicted—a hero who'd snapped under pressure, killed other heroes, a tragic case of psychological breakdown.
They portrayed her as a cautionary tale. A warning about the importance of mental health support for active heroes.
The irony was almost funny. Almost.
After much deliberation, Alfred had decided to tell Tatsuo and Ryoto the truth. They were eight years old, maybe too young for such dark truths, but Kaina had been right—they deserved to know. They deserved to understand that the woman who'd saved them, who'd cared for them, who'd visited with gifts and stories and love, hadn't suddenly become a monster.
He'd sat them down in this very study and explained everything. The
experiments. The rescue. Why Kaina had done what she'd done.
The looks in their eyes as they processed it all still haunted him. Alfred had wondered then if telling them was another mistake to add to his collection. Another regret he'd carry for the rest of his life.
But at least they knew the truth. At least he'd given them that much.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled Alfred from his thoughts. He glanced at the clock—nearly noon. Ryoto would be up soon, probably hungry after his morning training session.
Alfred stood, his joints protesting slightly. Age was catching up with him, all the old injuries from his active years making themselves known. He crossed to his desk where a thick envelope waited, the U.A. High School logo embossed on the front.
The letter had arrived this morning. Alfred had been waiting for it, since he had no doubt Ryoto will pass. Still he decided to call Ryoto before he sneaks out again.
"Yeah?" Ryoto's voice was slightly breathless—he'd been training again, probably.
"The letter from U.A. is here," Alfred said simply.
A pause. Then: "Okay let's open it then."