It always started the same way.
A laugh.
A whisper.
A glance that lingered too long.
Kana had been trying to behave. She really had.
But when the third-year shoved the girl's lunch tray to the floor and said, "Oops, my bad—guess losers don't eat," something inside her snapped.
Again.
The air around her fists hissed as it compressed. Her knuckles sparked.
"Pick. It. Up," she said, teeth clenched.
They laughed.
Then came the boom.
A burst of concussive air shattered the lockers behind them. Paint peeled. Lights flickered. One of the third-years hit the floor screaming, not because he was hurt—because he thought he might be.
The girl with the broken lunch tray was already gone. So were the others.
Kana stood in the empty hallway, heart pounding, palms smoking, the scent of scorched rubber on her shoes. Her hands stung. Again.
---
She didn't go home.
Instead, she ended up at the old skatepark on the edge of town, the one with the cracked concrete bowl and half-spray-painted rails. She liked it here. No one judged her out here. Or if they did, at least they did it from far away.
She sat on the highest ledge with her hood pulled up, ankles crossed, the bruise on her shoulder pulsing with every heartbeat. Her elbows rested on her knees.
The wind smelled like burned dust. Her fingertips still trembled.
"I'm gonna get expelled," she muttered to no one.
A voice answered anyway.
"You'd need to try harder than that."
Kana didn't jump. She'd heard him coming. Not because he was loud—he wasn't—but because she knew that voice now, low and calm like still water.
Satoru Kojima stood at the bottom of the skate bowl, one arm still in a brace. His jacket was unzipped, helmet clipped to the side of his backpack. He looked exhausted. As always.
She groaned. "What, are you stalking me now?"
"No. I just figured you'd be somewhere high up and moody."
She tried not to smirk. Failed.
He climbed the ledge slowly—favoring his leg—and settled beside her. Close enough to be near. Not close enough to crowd.
They sat in silence for a long moment.
Kana finally spoke. "I wasn't trying to hurt anyone."
"I know."
"I just wanted them to stop laughing."
"I know that too."
"They think I'm scary."
Satoru nodded. "Because you are."
She blinked at him.
"But scary doesn't mean bad," he added. "It means people haven't figured out how much of you is still good."
Kana's throat tightened. "You don't know what it feels like."
Satoru stared out over the dark park. "To hurt people just by existing? To be afraid of what your hands can do?"
Another long pause.
"I hate this quirk," she whispered.
"No," he said softly. "You're just scared of what it becomes when you're angry. That's different."
She didn't answer.
Satoru sighed, pulling something out of his coat pocket. A bandage packet, slightly bent. He handed it over without a word.
Kana stared at it, then slowly took it.
"You don't have to fix me," she said.
"I'm not trying to," he replied. "I just figured… someone should be here when you decide to fix yourself."
---
Later, she didn't remember exactly when her shoulder brushed his. Just that it stayed there.
And he didn't move away.