The afternoon was already drawing to a close as Emiko sat on a bench at the train station, her bandaged hands resting in her lap. She barely noticed the busy movement of people around her, lost in her own thoughts. Recovery Girl had treated her, and the worst burns were already well on their way to healing thanks to the little bit of remaining energy that Emiko could still muster.
The U.A. training uniform in her bag, which she had worn in the morning, was dusty and singed and torn in several places – silent witnesses to the failed training. She sighed quietly while waiting for the next train.
"Are those from a fight?"
A bright child's voice pulled Emiko from her thoughts. She looked up and saw a little girl standing in front of her, perhaps six or seven years old. The child had unmistakable frog features – large, round eyes that were spaced a bit further apart than in ordinary people and a wide mouth that somewhat resembled a frog's mouth. She wore a yellow summer dress and was examining Emiko's bandaged hands with undisguised curiosity.
"Oh... no, not really," Emiko answered with a gentle smile. She had always liked children, and her friendly, open manner made it easy for her to interact with them. "It was just a training accident."
The girl's eyes widened with excitement. "Are you training to become a hero? Like my big sister?" She pointed to Emiko's school uniform, which gave her away. "She wears exactly the same uniform!"
Emiko nodded thoughtfully. "I go to U.A. High School. Who is your sister?"
"Tsuyu! But everyone calls her Tsuyu-chan. I'm Satsuki!" The girl hopped excitedly from one foot to the other, a movement that charmingly resembled a frog.
Emiko felt some of the tension in her chest ease for the first time that day. A genuine smile flitted across her face. "I see, the girl from the hero class..." She paused, uncertain how much she should tell the child, since she herself wasn't in the famous hero class but only in the general department.
"Did it hurt?" Satsuki pointed curiously at her hands.
"It's not as bad as it looks," Emiko assured her and smiled at the little girl's straightforward curiosity.
"Satsuki! You're not supposed to talk to strangers." A calm, slightly croaky voice sounded, and Emiko looked up. The frog girl approaching them was unmistakably Tsuyu Asui from Class 1-A, with the same frog-like appearance as her little sister, only somewhat more pronounced. Her long, dark green hair was tied in a neat ponytail, and her facial expression, as always, seemed calm and difficult to read.
Tsuyu looked at Emiko with her characteristic unwavering gaze before a spark of recognition lit up in her large eyes. "You're the one who was supposed to form a team with Bakugo today, kero. From the general class, right?"
Emiko nodded in surprise. She hadn't expected anyone from the prestigious hero class to even notice her, let alone recognize her.
Tsuyu nodded knowingly and sat down next to Emiko on the bench without being asked, while motioning for Satsuki to take a seat beside her. "Injuries are part of training, kero. Especially when you're training with Bakugo."
"Is he always so..." Emiko began, unsure how to phrase her question.
"Explosive? Aggressive? Loud?" Tsuyu completed without hesitation. There was no judgment in her direct manner, only factual observation as she thoughtfully placed her finger on her chin. "Yes, he is, kero. He yells at everyone, it's nothing personal." A brief pause, then she added: "I think he's just dissatisfied with himself."
Emiko let these words sink in. It was strangely comforting to hear that Bakugo's behavior wasn't specifically directed at her. At the same time, it raised new questions. What made someone like him so dissatisfied with himself?
"Thank you, somehow I feel a little better now," Emiko said goodbye with a sincere smile as Tsuyu and her sister prepared to leave. It hadn't been Tsuyu's intention to cheer her up, but the frog girl's simple honesty had done exactly that.
When Emiko came home that evening, she was greeted by the comforting aroma of miso soup and the gentle sound of pots and pans. Her father Toshiro stood in the kitchen, skillfully switching between different dishes. His strawberry-blonde hair, a shade darker than Emiko's own, was slightly tousled, and he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. On his wrist blinked the communicator he always carried with him – ready to respond to a call at any time.
"There you are!" he greeted her with a warm smile that reached his eyes and emphasized the fine laugh lines around them. When his gaze fell on her bandaged hands, his expression briefly changed to a concerned frown, but he didn't comment on it immediately. Instead, he only said: "Just in time. Can you help me with the vegetables?"
It was typical of her father not to bombard her with questions right away. As an experienced support hero and paramedic, he knew when someone needed time to talk about an experience. Emiko smiled gratefully and began to carefully cut carrots despite her bandages.
"Where's Mom?" she asked as she worked.
"She had to fill in at the hospital. And Hisoka is doing homework right now." Toshiro gave her a meaningful glance. "He'll notice it immediately. You know you can't hide anything from him."
Emiko sighed lightly and nodded in resignation. "I know."
As if on cue, her younger brother Hisoka entered the kitchen, his slight frame almost lost in an oversized, cream-colored sweater. His chestnut-brown eyes, which he had inherited from their father, widened at the sight of his big sister. The shimmering gleam that briefly flashed across his iris revealed that he activated his quirk as he examined her.
"You have a weak red glow," he whispered with concern, his voice barely louder than a breath. He stepped closer, his movements gentle, as if he might startle her with too loud a noise. "What happened?"
Emiko exchanged a glance with her father, who merely nodded encouragingly and then tactfully turned his attention to the cooking pot to give them a moment of privacy.
"It was just a training accident," she explained reassuringly. "Nothing serious."
Hisoka frowned, obviously not convinced by her attempt to downplay her weakened condition. With his quirk "Energy Diagnosis," he could see the exact state of her life energy. "Your energy is disrupted. As if something... mixed together."
This observation hit the nail on the head, and Emiko couldn't help but smile admiringly. Despite his shyness, her little brother had a remarkable ability to get straight to the core of a matter.
At dinner, when they were all gathered around the table, Emiko finally told them about her day – about being assigned to a team with Bakugo, the failed attempt to combine their quirks, and the unexpected explosion.
"But I think I learned something important about my quirk today," she said with newfound confidence. "It's more similar to yours than I thought, Dad. I can not only give, but also take. Just like you. I just don't know how to control it. I would like to give the energy back to strengthen the person I took it from, but I couldn't manage that today. Instead, my body expelled it like a foreign object."
Hisoka, who was normally reserved, looked up with sudden interest. "Maybe you could... filter it? Like a prism does with light."
Toshiro nodded in agreement. "Finding the balance between giving and taking isn't easy." He set aside his chopsticks and regarded his daughter with a thoughtful but loving look. "It took years for me to find that balance. In the beginning, I often gave too much and passed out." He smiled wryly at the memory.
"Your mother had to drag me home from missions more than once." This image – the strong, self-assured Toshiro being carried home by the petite Hanako – elicited a hearty laugh from Emiko, the first on this difficult day.
"The point is," Toshiro continued, "that every mistake contains a lesson. I think your teachers have a good approach in pitting such contrasting abilities against each other. Maybe you really can learn from each other."
Her father's words echoed in Emiko's thoughts as she sat in her room later, staring at her bandaged hands. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps this difficult partnership was exactly what she needed to grow as a support hero.
In her thoughts before falling asleep, a delicate spark of hope germinated – perhaps, just perhaps, tomorrow would be better.