The training field was quiet.

  Afternoon light stretched across the repaired concrete, the faint scars of the previous battle still visible if someone looked closely.

  Nozu stood in the center of it, breathing slowly.

  He clenched his fist.

  Mana moved through his arm.

  He threw a punch.

  For a moment nothing happened.

  Then a small spark jumped across his knuckles.

  A soft crackle.

  Gone in an instant.

  Nozu blinked.

  “…Okay.”

  He tried again.

  Punch.

  Another spark.

  This one brighter.

  Behind him, Miro was watching.

  At first he didn’t react.

  But then Nozu focused harder and threw another punch.

  Lightning flickered across his hand.

  And Miro froze.

  For a brief second the tired teacher look disappeared.

  His shoulders straightened.

  His eyes widened.

  Then suddenly Miro started laughing.

  Not the quiet amused breath he sometimes let out.

  A real laugh.

  Deep and genuine.

  It echoed across the empty training field.

  Nozu spun around in shock.

  “…Professor?”

  Miro kept laughing.

  He covered his face with one hand, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  “That’s unbelievable.”

  Nozu stared at him like he had just watched a ghost start dancing.

  “You’re… actually laughing.”

  Miro tried to stop but another chuckle slipped out.

  “You have no idea how ridiculous this is.”

  He walked toward Nozu and suddenly clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  “We’re done with drills today.”

  Nozu blinked.

  “What?”

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  “We’re celebrating.”

  Nozu stared at him.

  “Celebrating what?”

  Miro pointed at the faint sparks still dancing across Nozu’s fingers.

  “You didn’t just survive an S Rank hero.”

  He paused.

  “You forced your own body to evolve.”

  Nozu tilted his head.

  “…I suspected so.”

  Miro laughed again.

  “That’s the correct reaction, yes.”

  They ended up sitting outside a small convenience store a few streets away.

  Plastic chairs.

  Warm light spilling from the store windows.

  The quiet hum of evening traffic.

  Miro placed two bowls of instant ramen on the small table.

  “Eat.”

  Nozu looked at the food, then at Miro.

  “You’re acting weird today.”

  Miro shrugged.

  “I’m celebrating.”

  Nozu picked up the chopsticks slowly.

  “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  Miro leaned back in the chair, looking oddly relaxed.

  “That’s because moments like this are rare.”

  Nozu took a bite.

  “So… explain.”

  Miro gestured toward Nozu’s hand.

  “The lightning.”

  “You didn’t copy Vane’s ability.”

  Nozu frowned.

  “Then what is it?”

  Miro tapped the table lightly.

  “Your mana is unusual.”

  He thought for a moment before explaining it in simpler terms.

  “Think of it like blood types.”

  Nozu blinked.

  “…Blood types?”

  “Most mana behaves like a strict blood type,” Miro said. “Foreign energy enters the body and gets rejected.”

  He pointed toward Nozu.

  “Yours doesn’t.”

  Nozu waited.

  Miro continued.

  “Your mana is like a universal blood type. It doesn’t reject foreign forces. It studies them, absorbs them, and eventually integrates them.”

  Nozu stared at his hand.

  “So when Vane kept hitting me…”

  “Your body kept analyzing the lightning.”

  Miro nodded.

  “Until your mana stopped seeing it as an enemy.”

  Another small spark flickered across Nozu’s fingers.

  “Instead, it accepted it as part of the natural world.”

  Nozu leaned back slightly.

  “So my body… rewrote itself.”

  “Yes.”

  Nozu grinned.

  “I suspected so.”

  Miro smiled faintly.

  “It’s not just adaptation.”

  “It’s integration.”

  Nozu looked impressed.

  “That’s kind of insane.”

  Miro nodded.

  “It is.”

  Nozu leaned forward.

  “But how do you know all this?”

  Miro paused.

  Then shrugged slightly.

  “Experience.”

  Nozu raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Miro smirked.

  “It’s the only one you’re getting.”

  Nozu sighed.

  “Fine.”

  He took another bite of ramen.

  Then his expression turned thoughtful.

  “…Professor.”

  “Yes?”

  “What about the Blue Demon?”

  Miro stopped eating.

  The chopsticks in his hand went still.

  Nozu continued casually.

  “You know… the thing everyone keeps talking about.”

  Miro said nothing.

  Nozu looked directly at him.

  “What happens to people touched by Doom?”

  The air felt heavier for a moment.

  Miro answered simply.

  “They get erased.”

  Nozu frowned.

  “Erased?”

  “Completely.”

  Nozu thought about that for a moment.

  Then he asked quietly,

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Miro opened his mouth to respond.

  But the words didn’t come.

  For a strange moment his mind felt… empty.

  He had always believed that answer.

  Always known it.

  People touched by Doom disappeared.

  Erased.

  Gone from existence.

  But suddenly a strange feeling crept into his thoughts.

  A sense that something was missing.

  That the explanation wasn’t complete.

  Why did he feel like there was more?

  Why did it feel like he had forgotten the true answer?

  A faint headache pulsed behind his eyes.

  Miro rubbed his temple.

  “…Because that’s what always happens.”

  The answer sounded weaker than he expected.

  Nozu studied him but didn’t push further.

  They finished their ramen quietly.

  The city lights glowed softly around them.

  For a moment the world felt normal.

  Peaceful.

  Across the street, a man stood under a streetlight.

  Hands in the pockets of a long coat.

  His gaze rested on the two of them.

  He watched Miro laugh earlier.

  Watched the teacher relax for the first time in years.

  His eyes softened slightly.

  “Ramen and plastic chairs…”

  He shook his head with a faint smirk.

  “You always did have cheap taste, Miro.”

  There was no anger in his voice.

  Only something closer to nostalgia.

  Like someone looking at an old friend from a life that no longer existed.

  He stepped forward slowly.

  Instead of approaching them directly, he stopped near their table.

  From his pocket he placed something small on the edge of it.

  A worn matchbook.

  The cardboard was slightly damp, and a faint scent of old-fashioned tobacco clung to it.

  A smell that belonged to bars that no longer existed.

  Without saying a word, the man continued walking past them.

  Miro noticed the object a moment later.

  His eyes fell on the matchbook.

  For a brief moment his expression froze.

  The warmth in his face disappeared.

  Nozu noticed immediately.

  “…Professor?”

  Miro picked up the matchbook slowly.

  The logo.

  The faded lettering.

  The tobacco smell.

  A memory from another life.

  His grip tightened slightly.

  The happiness from earlier vanished completely.

  Nozu looked confused.

  “What is it?”

  Miro didn’t answer.

  Across the street, the mysterious man disappeared into the crowd.

  And for the first time in years…

  The past had found him again.