Outside, Kade paused in the sterile hallway, the door sealing behind him with a hiss.
A masked woman in an HSPC uniform stood waiting, her posture rigid, her voice low but sharp. "We need to talk."
Kade's eyes narrowed, his scythe still in hand. "What is it?"
"It's that kid," she said, her tone clipped. "Issei...The one who chased us when we retrieved her."
Kade's jaw tightened. "What about him?"
"He's been pestering, demanding to talk to Hope in person or on a video call, to confirm the lies we've spun. We've done everything—labeled him mentally ill, tied him down with hospital stays, medication—but he's not letting it go. His doctor insists a talk with Hope could resolve his… issues."
Kade snorted, unimpressed. "The HSPC didn't put him under our doctors?"
"He had a prior history," the woman said, her voice edged with frustration. "We couldn't just take him. And his caretaker, Torino, has connections—too many to bury the kid in a psych ward forever."
Kade's grip on his scythe tightened. "Why tell me this?"
"Training's paused for a week," she said, ignoring his tone. "We need her presentable for the call. She'll say our script, confirm the story about her family moving to Tokyo. Make it convincing."
"Why not just use AI?" Kade asked, his voice low, skeptical.
The woman's eyes narrowed behind her visor. "Issei knows her too well—her personality, her mannerisms. AI might not fool him. It's easier to make her say the lines."
Kade grunted, his face sour. "Hmph. Waste of time."
He didn't approve, but he was powerless—his role was to break, not to decide.
The HSPC's orders were absolute, and he was just a cog in their machine.
---
Hope curled up in the corner of her bed.
The cell's steel door hissed open, the sound jarring her from her haze.
Hope flinched, her bruised body tensing, her wide eyes darting to the figure stepping inside.
It was her mother, but not the woman she'd once known.
Dressed in a black gothic gown, its lace and velvet stark against the cell's grimness, her hair was styled in an elaborate updo, starkly different from the practical bun Hope remembered.
Her face was a mask of cold fury, her lips pursed, her eyes burning with disgust.
Hope shrank back, pressing herself against the wall, her tail twitching.
Fear choked her—Why is she here?
Her mother was supposed to be gone, done with her.
The sight of her reignited the terror she felt that day, deeper than Kade's fists or the shock collar's bite.
Her mother strode forward, her heels clicking on the concrete, each step a hammer on Hope's nerves.
Without warning, she swung her hand, slapping Hope across the face with a crack that echoed in the cell.
The force snapped Hope's head to the side, her already split lip reopening, blood trickling down her chin.
Pain flared, but Hope didn't cry out—she'd learned that made things worse.
She curled tighter, her trembling hands clutching her knees, her heart racing from the drugs and fear.
"Because of you..!," her mother hissed, her voice venomous, dripping with contempt, "I had to come back to this wretched place. Do you have any idea how much I sacrificed?"
She loomed over Hope, her gothic dress a dark shroud, her eyes boring into her daughter like she was filth. "I gave them you—my ticket out, my freedom—and you're still causing trouble....Pathetic, useless child."
Hope's breath hitched, her voice a broken whisper. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
The words spilled out, automatic, desperate, her mind too battered to fight back.
Her self-esteem was gone, pulverized by the conditioning.
Her mother's words sank into the cracks of her psyche, reinforcing the beliefs.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough..I'm sorry I'm me.
Her mother didn't stop, her voice rising, sharp and cutting. "I clawed my way out of this hell, played the game perfectly, unlike that fool Nagant. I gave them you and you can't even do one good thing.
....They're pausing your training because of that boy, that idiot who won't let you go."
"You're dragging me back into this mess!"
She slapped Hope again, harder, the impact splitting her cheek, blood welling instantly.
Hope whimpered, curling smaller.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Hope muttered, her voice barely audible, a mantra of surrender.
She didn't know what her mother meant—that boy? Issei?—but it didn't matter.
She was the problem, always the problem.
Her mother crouched, grabbing Hope's chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. Her nails dug into Hope's skin, drawing pinpricks of blood. "You will do what they tell you," she said, her voice low, venomous.
"You'll say their lines, play their game, or I'll make sure you suffer worse than Kade ever could. Do you understand, you worthless thing?"
She shoved Hope's face away, standing, her dress rustling as she turned to leave.
"I'm sorry…" Hope whispered, her voice cracking, tears trailing down.
She didn't move, didn't dare, as her mother's heels clicked toward the door.
The steel hissed open, then slammed shut, leaving Hope alone again.
---
In the quiet of his small house, Issei sat on the worn couch, a slight stiffness in his left wrist from the break.
The room was warm, the afternoon sun filtering through faded curtains, a stark contrast to the cold, hell Hope endured in her HSPC cell.
Gran Torino was out, handling errands, leaving the house to one of his acquaintance to watch over him though... that pwrticular person was now fast asleep.
Issei's senses caught the distant chirp of birds, the creak of the neighbor's gate.
The doorbell rang, sharp and unexpected, jolting him.
He stood, his movements cautious, and opened the door to find Dr. Sato.
She'd moved closer to his neighborhood months back, a choice driven by guilt over her initial diagnosis.
Her face was softer now, her eyes carrying a quiet regret , because she cared about the boy she belived she'd failed.
"Issei," she said, her voice gentle but professional, "can I come in? I have news."
He nodded, stepping aside, his stomach tightening.
Dr. Sato sat across from him on the couch, her posture open, her expression careful. "I spoke with Hope's family," she began, watching his reaction. "They've agreed to let her visit you in a week. She's been in Tokyo, but they're arranging for her to come here, to see you."
Issei's breath caught, hope and disbelief crashing together. "Hope… she's coming?"
His voice was quiet, but his eyes lit up.
"She's really coming...?"
The memory of her terrified voice—Save me, Issei—still burned in his mind, clashing with Gran Torino's photo of her in Tokyo, calm and fine.
He'd clung to the belief she was in danger, but the HSPC's lies, the hospital's insistence, had planted a seed of doubt he couldn't shake.
Dr. Sato nodded, her smile small but warm. "Yes, she's okay. She's been with her family, adjusting to their move. I know it's been hard, not hearing from her, but this visit should help."
She paused, her eyes searching his. "I think it'll be good for you, Issei. To see her, to talk."
Issei's hands clenched in his lap.
He wanted to believe it, wanted to feel the relief washing over him, but that small, gnawing doubt lingered.
What if it really was all in my head?
He'd never admitted it, not to Grandpa , not to Dr. Sato, but the fear was there, buried deep.
The hospital, the meds, the photo—they'd chipped away at his certainty.
What if he'd imagined her fear, the blood, the gunpowder?
What if his quirk, picking up her terror, was just a delusion, like they'd said?
"I… I see," he said, his voice low, almost pleading.
"it'll be a peace of mind to know she's really okay."
His eyes moved to Dr. Sato, searching for reassurance.
He refused to believe he was crazy, but the doubt was a splinter, festering, making him question his own mind.
Dr. Sato leaned forward, her voice soft, laced with the guilt she'd carried since misdiagnosing him. "You will, Issei. In a week, she'll be here. I'm sorry for how things went before—I should've listened closer, taken more time with you.."
She hesitated, then added, "You've been through a lot. It's okay to feel unsure..."
Issei nodded, his throat tight, his mind a storm of hope and fear.
While Hope was beaten into believing she was nothing, Issei sat in the warmth of his home, clinging to the hope of seeing her, yet haunted by the fear that he might be wrong, that he did hallucinate everything that night.
He looked at his hands, and muttered, "A week…"
The wait felt like forever, but he'd hold on.
---
One week later, Issei stood in the park where he and Hope used to hang out, the same one where they'd laughed and talked before everything fell apart.
Dusk settled over the area, the sky a bruised purple, the air cool and heavy with the scent of grass and distant rain.
His body was tense.
Dr. Sato stood a few steps away, her expression calm but watchful, her notepad absent for once.
Gran Torino leaned on his cane beside her, his gruff face softened by concern, his sharp eyes scanning the boy he'd raised.
They were here for the meeting, the one Issei had clung to with desperate hope, but also dreaded, haunted by the doubt that gnawed at him: What if I'm crazy?
He'd waited, heart pounding, his high-end senses picking up every detail—the rustle of leaves, the hum of a car engine approaching, the faint creak of Grandpa's cane.
A car pulled up at the park's edge, its headlights cutting through the twilight. Issei's breath caught as the door opened, and Hope stepped out. She looked… like herself, her serpentine tail swaying, her wings tucked neatly, her hair bright and clean.
She ran toward him, her movements familiar, her face breaking into a smile that felt like a memory.
"Issei!" she called, her voice light, laughing, just like before. "I'm so sorry for leaving you! Tokyo's been crazy, but I missed you so much!"
She talked fast, her words tumbling over each other, telling him about her new school, her mom's job, how she'd wanted to call but couldn't.
But to Issei, it was all wrong.
Her voice became a buzzing drone, a wall of sound that didn't reach him.
His mind spun, his chest tightening, his vision narrowing as a panic attack clawed its way up.
Nothing happened that day.
The thought hit like a sledgehammer, his knees weakening.
I-I'm crazy. It was all in my head.
The blood smell, her fear—they weren't real.
The HSPC's lies, the hospital's insistence, the photo—they were right.
His quirk, her terror, his collapse on the road—it was all a delusion, a sick trick of his mind.
His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his hands trembling, the world tilting as he fought to stay upright.
Then Hope reached him, throwing her arms around him in a hug, her warmth pressing against his chest.
For a moment, he froze, caught in the spiral of his panic.
But something snapped his senses awake—her smell was off.
Not the familiar trace he'd tracked that night, but something sterile,.. chemicals in her blood...?.
His jumbled thoughts cleared, his high-end senses sharpening, cutting through the fog.
The hug wasn't right either—her arms were stiff, her grip mechanical, not the loose, easy way she used to hold him.
His panic receded, replaced by a cold, creeping certainty.
"Issei, why aren't you saying anything?" Hope asked, pulling back, her voice bright but her eyes… wrong.
They were dull, rehearsed, not the lively spark he remembered.
She tilted her head, waiting, but it felt scripted, like she was reading lines.
The next instant, Issei acted on instinct.
His hands shot up, cupping her cheeks gently but firmly, his fingers trembling against her skin.
He stared into her eyes, his own narrowing, searching for the truth.
Her pupils didn't dilate like they should, her gaze didn't hold the warmth he knew.
The doubt that had tormented him melted away, replaced by a certainty.
This wasn't Hope—not the real one.
Dr. Sato and Gran Torino watched, their faces tense, but Issei didn't care.
His voice was low, steady, a quiet fire in it.
"Where's the real Hope?" he asked, his eyes locked on hers, daring her to lie.
The girl's face faltered, her rehearsed smile twitching. "What are you talking about…?" she said, her voice light but strained, the script cracking under his gaze.
Issei's eyes narrowed, his fingers tightening slightly on her cheeks, not enough to hurt but enough to hold her there.
"Let me rephrase," he said, his voice low, steady, a quiet fire beneath it. "Hope, do you need my help?"
Her brows furrowed, the act slipping further. "Again, what are you talking about?" she said, pulling back, but Issei didn't let go, his hands firm, his stare unrelenting.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind them.
Hope's mother stepped closer,, her face a mask of concern.
"Issei, that's enough," she said.
Dr. Sato, standing nearby, opened her mouth to intervene, her expression worried. "Issei, maybe we should—"
"Shut up, woman," Issei snapped, his voice cutting through the air, sharp and unyielding.
Dr. Sato flinched, falling silent, her hands clenching.
Issei's eyes never left the girl's, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Your eyes, your scent—they're all wrong. They might fool someone else, but I have superior senses. You can't fool me."
His thumbs brushed her cheeks, his grip steady, his heart pounding but his resolve ironclad. "Tell me why you're lying to my face."
The girl's facade crumbled, her eyes darting to Hope's mother, a flicker of panic breaking through.
Issei didn't budge, his hands still holding the girl, his senses screaming—her pulse spiked, her scent shifted, a faint pulse of fear but not for him but from her mother...
The park was shrouded in silence for some time..
Issei stood rigid, his hands still cupping the cheeks of the girl who looked like Hope, his eleven-year-old frame trembling with a mix of fury and certainty.
The girl's will crumbled under Issei's unrelenting stare, her fake smile collapsing, her breath hitching.
Then, she snapped.
She lunged forward, her arms wrapping around him in a desperate, clinging hug, her body shaking.
This time, it was different—her grip was tight, raw, her face buried in his chest, her tears soaking his shirt. "Issei," she sobbed, her voice cracking, no longer rehearsed but genuine, laced with terror and relief.
"Help me… please, Save me…" Her sniffles were muffled, her wings trembling.
It was her—Hope, the real Hope—her scent shifting back to that faint floral warmth, her heartbeat erratic, her fear pouring through his quirk in waves.
The HSPC's conditioning, the drugs, the script—they'd broken for a moment, her true self clawing through.
Hope's mother moved, her heels clicking sharply as she reached to pull Hope away, her voice a venomous hiss.
"Enough of this nonsense—" But Issei's eyes snapped to her, now glowing a cold, unnatural blue his eyebrows gaining multitudes of shades.., blazing with a power that hadn't been there before.
The air around his hands turned frigid, frost crackling faintly.
His quirk twisting the stored energy in his chest into something new, something terrifying.
They had tried to control him, gaslighting him, planting a deep-rooted fear of losing his mind, labeling him crazy.
That fear had crystallized into an ability, one born from his dread of not being in control.
Hope's mother froze mid-step, her body stiffening, her eyes widening as Issei's stare locked onto her.
His quirk surged, a silent command wrapping around her mind, holding her in place.
She gasped, her hand clutching her purse, unable to move, her face contorting with shock and rage.
The air grew heavy, the park's warmth leeching away, a faint mist curling around Issei's hands as his frost spread.
Dr. Sato took a step back, her breath visible in the sudden chill.
Issei's voice was low, a deadly whisper, each word laced with ice. "Don't worry, Hope.I'm here....I'll save you."
He held Hope tighter, her sobs shaking them both, her tears warm against his chest.
His blue eyes didn't waver from her mother, his new ability pinning her like a specimen, her attempts to resist futile.
...
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