Breathing heavy, I staggered back, sweat dripping from my chin as Kacchan rushed at me again. The sky was orange—late, way past when we should've been home. My heart thudded in my chest, the thrill of the fight pushing me past exhaustion.
"You're holding back!" Kacchan shouted, eyes bright and wild. "Push through the fear, Deku! Stop worrying about what you might lose!"
I wanted to yell back that I wasn't scared, but I was. Not of Kacchan, but of my quirk—Eternal Cycle. What if I lost myself again? What if I forgot something important? But I couldn't let him see that.
"I'm trying! I'm giving it all I've got!" I said, dodging another explosion, heat licking at my sneakers. There was a voice in my head, always whispering: What if you slip? What if you don't come back the same?
Another shout, another burst of sparks, and suddenly I caught sight of kids laughing on the playground next door. Something about it—their easy smiles, the little dog chasing a frisbee—made everything sharp and clear. That was what we were supposed to protect.
"You're right, Kacchan! I have to fight for everyone, not just myself!" I called out. For once, I felt brave.
Kacchan grinned, and I could see the excitement in his face. "Then show me!"
I gathered my energy, green light swirling around me. It felt like everything—fear, hope, the tiredness in my bones—crashed together and turned into something bright. I surged forward, not holding back.
When our quirks collided, the shockwave knocked us both off our feet. We scrambled up, laughing, dirt and grass stuck to our skin. For a second, it felt like we were the only two people in the world, rivals and friends at the same time.
"That's it, Deku! Now we're talking!" Kacchan said, eyes shining.
We kept going—pushing, fighting, learning. Every move, every tumble, made the connection between us stronger. Even when I was scared, even when my quirk felt like too much, Kacchan was there daring me to keep going.
At last, as the sun dipped behind the trees and the sky turned purple, we collapsed in the grass. My chest hurt from laughing.
We walked home together, not saying much. The quiet wasn't awkward; it just felt right. Kacchan kicked a rock down the sidewalk. "You fought better today," he muttered, like it was hard to say.
"Thanks," I said. I wanted to tell him everything—about the memories I sometimes lost, about how scared I was after each resurrection—but I couldn't. Not yet.
We reached the split where our streets divided. "See you tomorrow," he called, already turning away.
"Yeah. Tomorrow."
Kacchan's house was noisy, pots clanking, his mom's voice bouncing off the walls. He stomped to his room, grabbed his All Might figure, and whispered, "I'm gonna win." But even he sometimes wondered what it felt like to be me.
Home for me was quieter, but heavier. Mom fussed over my scrapes, worry in her eyes. She knew about my quirk, about the price it could ask. After dinner, I curled up on my bed, thinking about the day. Would I remember it if I died again? Would I keep Kacchan's laugh, the glow of the sky, the feeling of finally, maybe, not being alone?
"I'll remember," I promised. "I have to."
Somewhere, Kacchan lay awake, replaying the fight. I stared at the ceiling, moonlight on my walls. Tomorrow, we'd meet again—two little boys with big dreams, training, fighting, and hoping that, together, we could be something more than just rivals