The morning after the mission. Headlines blazed across every front page.

  "Rabbit Hero Mirko Crushes Onima Syndicate!”

  “The Legendary Rabbit Runs Again.”

  The scattered lines of praise read almost like a festival. Mirko—returned as the Rabbit Hero—had completed her comeback mission alongside Battle Fist, Rocketti, and Shimeji, capturing every villain with zero casualties. That was how the papers declared it.

  On the streets, citizens echoed the same excitement. Even with All For One gone, the world was still haunted by villains lurking in the dark. People exhausted by violence and mistrust longed for good news—and they hung their hope on one name. Her return was hailed as the comeback of hope.

  “The world is safe again.”

  “Because she’s back.”

  Those words blanketed the city.

  The mission was a success.

  At least—that was how it looked.

  [Late morning, HPSC President’s Office]

  Sunlight filtered through the curtains, sliding across the piles of paper on the desk. Even the air seemed reluctant to move.

  A soft knock broke the stillness. Kendo stepped inside.

  Hawks set down his coffee cup and looked up.

  “How’s Mirko?”

  “She’s undergoing a full examination at the hospital.”

  Hawks’ voice was lower than usual—steady, but carrying weight. For a while, quiet lingered between them. From somewhere beyond the glass, the hum of traffic drifted like a memory.

  “Your hand—does it still hurt?”

  Kendo rotated her wrist lightly and smiled. “I’m fine. Nothing serious.”

  Hawks nodded once. "And Komori and Pony?"

  Her gaze lowered to the desk. “They were both… shaken. And they're still worrying about Mirko."

  Another pause. The air grew dense again.

  The door opened. Best Jeanist and Aizawa entered, their faces drawn with the fatigue of a sleepless night.

  Hawks spoke first. “How is she?”

  Jeanist lifted his chin slightly before speaking, his tone careful. “We ran another series of tests—but again, nothing abnormal was found.”

  Aizawa followed, his voice rough but measured. “As I said before… the doctors believe—”

  He stopped mid-sentence, catching Kendo’s eyes. Silence rippled through the room once more.

  “...I’m sorry. But please, tell me.”

  Kendo drew a quiet breath, steadying her voice.

  “At the celebration party, Mirko froze for a moment. Her eyes… it was like she was somewhere else—as if her mind had slipped into another time. Sometimes she seemed to lose her sense of time entirely. It didn’t seem like ordinary fatigue… or trauma.”

  Hawks folded his arms, exhaling slowly. He watched Kendo for a moment before speaking.

  “As you all know, Battle Fist—Kendo Itsuka—is a thoughtful and steadfast hero.” His tone softened slightly. “Mirko could use someone like that. Someone she can truly rely on.”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Jeanist gave a slow nod. Aizawa remained silent for a while, then finally spoke, his voice low and heavy.

  “Mirko’s body…”

  “…was restored through Eri’s Rewind.”

  The air froze, as though even the dust had stopped drifting. For an instant, it felt as if the whole world had gone quiet.

  “Rewind…”

  Kendo's lips moved slowly, shaping the word. Her mind slipped back to her school days—to a small shadow in the U.A. dormitory hallway, a girl who always bowed shyly, a tiny horn glinting from her forehead. That little girl had now given life back to another.

  Kendo curled her fingers slightly, the light on the desk trembling across the back of her hand.

  Jeanist pulled a file from the stack and spoke quietly. “We believe that during the Rewind process, trace fragments of Shigaraki’s cells were also restored.”

  His tone was calm, but carried unmistakable weight. “The neural information encoded in those cells is now interfering with Mirko’s own network. That’s what’s causing her fractured sense of time, emotional disorientation, and recurring hallucinations.”

  Kendo drew in a breath. “…She’s been enduring all of that?”

  “Yes.” Jeanist’s reply was steady, though a faint tremor edged his words. “Her body lives in the present—but her emotions and memories are still trapped in the war.”

  Kendo steadied her voice. “When I touched her arm… she reacted violently.”

  Her gaze lowered. “It was as if the memory of losing her left arm at Jaku Hospital flared back to life. Rewind restored her body, but the body still remembers the feeling of that loss.”

  Jeanist nodded slowly. “Exactly. That memory has been carved into her body itself. Right now, Mirko stands at the threshold—between the body rebuilt, and the one forever broken.”

  Kendo’s voice came quiet, hesitant. “How… is Mirko?”

  Aizawa answered with his eye half-closed. “No physical injuries. None that we can find.”

  He paused. “But the psychological shock seems severe.”

  His tone was low and steady, though a faint hesitation lingered at the edge of it. “She’s been punishing herself for what happened—for turning on you.”

  Kendo’s fingertips twitched. "That wasn't her intention..."

  Hawks lowered his coffee cup, eyes lifting toward Kendo. “She carries deep guilt—for raising her hand against a comrade. Especially since you were one of the juniors she cared for most.”

  A short silence followed,

  Hawks tried to smile, but it only looked sad. “That’s just who she is—strong as anyone, yet unable to forgive herself.”

  Aizawa nodded slowly. “She’s always been her own harshest judge.”

  Jeanist adjusted his collar, shifting his gaze directly toward Aizawa.

  “You mentioned before that Mirko seemed to have something she couldn’t say, didn’t you?”

  Aizawa lowered his gaze slightly. A short silence passed.

  Jeanist exhaled, then continued, voice measured but heavy. “I’ve seen it too. When Deku or Bakugo come up, her eyes waver—her face tightens, just barely. It was the same look she had when she turned down Nejire and Tamaki’s visit at the hospital.”

  Kendo lifted her head, surprise flickering in her eyes.

  Hawks set his coffee cup down and spoke quietly. “When I reached for the remote, she caught my hand. She asked me not to turn it on—as if she couldn’t bear to see the news.”

  Aizawa spoke, arms folded, his voice low and rough. “Tailman—Ojiro—told me something too. When Mt. Lady’s name came up, Mirko clutched her head and shook it. She steadied her breathing, but no matter how he asked, she wouldn’t say why.”

  Silence settled over the room again. Hawks murmured, the words lingering in the air like a thought half-spoken.

  “Mirko was open about the hallucinations she saw of Shigaraki,” Hawks said, his voice subdued. “But something made her stop. What could’ve made her hold back like that?”

  Jeanist lowered his head slowly. “She’s trying not to cross a certain emotional line.”

  Aizawa closed his eyes, then added in a low rasp, “As if she knows—once she does, she’ll break.”

  Hawks leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh. “The stronger they are, the deeper they hide the parts that hurt.”

  Jeanist said nothing, only closing the file beneath his hand. “That’s why we have to understand—before it’s too late.”

  Kendo stayed silent for a long time before lifting her head. “Should we tell Komori and Pony the truth?”

  All three turned to her at once. Her voice stayed firm, though a tremor slipped through it.

  “They’re trustworthy. I’ll vouch for them.”

  Aizawa spoke with his arms folded, voice low. “Too many people knowing about Eri—and Rewind—would be dangerous.”

  Kendo clasped her hands over her knees. “Please, Eraser. She can’t hold out alone. To help her stand again… she’ll need all of us.”

  A brief silence fell. Hawks closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He lifted his coffee cup halfway, then set it back down.

  “Fine,” he said at last. “But remember this.”

  His voice was low and unwavering. “A young girl’s life is at stake.”

  Kendo bowed her head deeply. “I won’t forget.”

  As the meeting drew to a close, Kendo’s gaze moved across the three men in turn. She hesitated, then spoke softly.

  “And… what if she tried counseling?”

  Her voice was hushed, tentative but sincere.

  Hawks gave a quiet, knowing smile. “If it’s her, then… yeah. We can trust her.”

  Aizawa and Jeanist both nodded in silence.

  The tension in the room eased at last. The papers on the table rustled faintly, and the afternoon light spread gently across the desk.