Chapter 16: The line that we cross

The train yard smelled like rust and rain.

Kirishima stood stiffly, his hands curled into fists, as the stranger—the man who had been watching him, waiting for him—took a slow step closer. His movements were deliberate, like a predator sizing up prey.

"Tell me something," the man said, voice smooth but edged with something sharp. "When you fought those guys back there… how did it feel?"

Kirishima's stomach twisted. His mind flashed back—the impact of his fists, the way they had scrambled away, the way his blood had sung in his veins.

He didn't answer right away.

The stranger hummed as if that silence was answer enough. "Yeah. Thought so."

Kirishima swallowed hard. "Who are you?"

The man smirked, tapping the side of his head. "You can call me Stray."

Stray. The name sat uneasily in Kirishima's mind. Not a hero name, not exactly. Something else. Something in-between.

"I've been watching you," Stray continued, crossing his arms. "Not long. But long enough."

Kirishima's jaw tightened. "Why?"

"Why would you set up those thugs when you clearly protect yourself"

Stray tilted his head, amused. "Because you're interesting, kid. A hero who doesn't quite fit in with the rest. A guy who hits harder than he's supposed to and hesitates when he shouldn't. I needed to see whether you were approaching the line or someone who needed to be put down."

Kirishima flinched.

Stray took another step forward, voice lowering. "You wanna know the truth? Heroes and villains aren't as different as you think. The only thing that separates them is who's writing the story."

Kirishima's breath caught.

Stray shrugged. "You think what you did to your friend makes you a bad guy? Maybe. Maybe not. But what if it just makes you… free?"

The words slithered into Kirishima's chest like smoke. He didn't know what to say—what to think.

Stray sighed, stepping back as if giving him space. "Look, I ain't asking you to throw on a mask and start breaking kneecaps. Not yet." A smirk. "But if you wanna figure out where you stand… stick around. See what it's like when there's no rules. No system. Just you and the choices you make."

Kirishima stared at him.

Stray's words felt like a door opening—a door he wasn't sure he should walk through.

But maybe he already had.

Maybe he had crossed the threshold the moment he struck down Iida.

Kirishima exhaled, shoulders heavy, mind whirling. "…I'll listen."

Stray grinned. "Smart choice."

He turned, walking further into the train yard. Kirishima hesitated—one last second to turn back, to walk away, to pretend he could still be the same guy who once swore to be a hero.

Then he followed.

The train yard stretched endlessly in the dim haze of streetlights, rusted tracks and forgotten train cars creating a maze of shadows. Each step Kirishima took felt heavier than the last.

Stray walked ahead of him, unbothered, hands in his pockets, his pace slow—like he knew Kirishima would keep following, like he had already won.

Kirishima wasn't sure if he had.

"You tense up too much when you fight," Stray said suddenly, not even turning around. "I saw it in that alley. You're holding back. Thinking too much."

Kirishima scowled. "Thinking's not a bad thing."

"Not when you've got time for it." Stray turned, walking backward now, watching him with sharp eyes. "But you? You hesitate like someone waiting for permission."

Kirishima stopped walking. His jaw clenched. "I—"

The fist came fast.

Stray lunged, throwing a punch straight at Kirishima's face. Instinct took over. His arms hardened, his feet planted—block.

The impact rang through his bones, but he didn't stumble.

Stray pulled back, flexing his fingers like testing a theory. Then he grinned. "Not bad."

Kirishima's heart pounded. It had been a test.

"You're good at stopping hits," Stray said, voice lighter now, teasing. "But what about when you're the one throwing them?"

Kirishima exhaled slowly. "What are you trying to do?"

Stray shrugged. "Help you."

"Help me do what?"

Stray's grin sharpened. "Figure out if you're really ready to cross the line."

Silence stretched between them.

Kirishima wanted to say he wasn't. That he had only come here to listen, not to—

"Think fast."

Stray attacked again—faster. This time, Kirishima didn't just block. He swung back.

Fist met fist.

The impact sent a shockwave through Kirishima's arm, a raw, brutal clash of force against force.

Stray laughed. "Now we're talkin'."

The next few seconds blurred—sparring without rules, without teachers, without restraint. Stray wasn't fighting like a hero. His movements were unpredictable, rough, meant to hurt.

And Kirishima?

Kirishima wasn't fighting like a hero, either.

He struck harder. Dodged sharper. And when Stray aimed low—Kirishima didn't hesitate.

He slammed his knee into Stray's ribs.

The man staggered back, coughing. Then he grinned.

"See? There it is."

Kirishima was breathing hard. His skin was still hardened. It felt different this time.

Stray wiped his mouth, nodding approvingly. "You felt it, didn't you?"

Kirishima said nothing.

Because he had.

It wasn't just adrenaline. It wasn't just instinct.

For the first time since Iida hit the ground… he hadn't felt guilty.

Stray turned, walking again. "Come on. There's more I wanna show you."

Kirishima hesitated.

Then, slowly, he followed.

And this time, he didn't look back.