Exit Wounds

Listen to: Drowning Love OST — "Chasing Kou"

The city didn't slow down, not for grief, not for guilt, and sure as hell not for me. Kairo's skyline blinked its neon indifference as I walked the streets, hands shoved deep into the pockets of my hoodie, hood up, head down. It had been three days since the fight, three days since Rulebreaker Drive twisted reality under my fingertips, and three days since I'd realized that power didn't make me a hero.

It just made me another monster.

I could still feel the echo of that moment — the absolute control, the terrifying simplicity of forcing the world to obey. It was intoxicating. Addictive. But like all addictions, the high faded and the crash came fast. Now there was only the bitter taste of truth clinging to the back of my throat.

The system didn't need heroes. It needed enforcers. And I'd been one, whether I wanted to admit it or not.

The streets were quieter than usual, but the air was heavier. Post-battle silence always hung around like the scent of old blood, too faint to choke on, too strong to ignore. People moved on, patched the holes in their walls and hearts, and acted like the system hadn't failed them again. Like it hadn't failed me.

A train screamed by overhead, vibrating the concrete under my feet. I didn't flinch. I couldn't afford to anymore.

Somewhere, a part of me wondered what would happen if I just... kept walking. Past the city limits. Past the horizon. Past the entire broken system.

But I wasn't there yet.

A ramen shop I used to hit before patrols still stood on the corner of 5th and Yamada. The old man behind the counter didn't even blink when I slid into my usual seat. Maybe he didn't recognize me. Maybe he did and just didn't care. Or maybe, like the rest of the world, he'd learned it was easier to pretend people like me didn't exist.

"Extra miso," I muttered.

He nodded, silent, and set about the ritual of the bowl. Familiar. Comforting. Human.

The steam curled under my nose, sharp and rich, but the warmth barely touched the cold knot in my chest. I let the noodles sit, untouched, until the old man finally asked:

"Bad week?"

I almost laughed. Almost. "Bad year."

Silence stretched between us, thick but not unfriendly. When he finally spoke again, it wasn't advice or sympathy.

"Some fights don't end, kid. They just change faces."

The words hung in the air long after the broth cooled. I left the bowl half-full and the bill unpaid. He didn't stop me.

I found myself at the edge of the district, looking out over the industrial sprawl where the city bled into the old shipping yards. Kairo's bones, the parts no one wanted tourists to see.

My comm buzzed against my chest. I let it ring. I already knew who it was. The Hero Commission didn't like loose ends. And after what I'd pulled with Rulebreaker Drive, I wasn't just a loose end. I was a liability.

"Kael."

The voice on the other end wasn't sharp or angry. Just... tired. Director Ishikawa. The man who'd recruited me. The man who'd sent me into the meat grinder without hesitation.

"You went off-script," he continued. "You know what that means."

"Yeah," I said, watching the sun bleed out behind the towers. "I know."

There was a pause. A long one. Then:

"Come in. Let's clean this up."

I ended the call. I wasn't going in. Not this time.

I was done.

The thing about saying "I'm done" is that the world doesn't care. It doesn't send you a confirmation email or roll out a clean exit ramp. It just... watches. Quiet. Waiting to see if you're serious.

I stood there at the edge of the shipping yards, watching the sun dip low enough to paint everything in bruises and rust, and I felt it. That quiet. That weight.

Somewhere deep down, past the bruises and the burns and the stitched-up fractures, the kid I used to be whispered: You're not built for normal.

Maybe not. But I wasn't built for this either.

A flicker of movement snapped me out of it. On the rooftops, just past the cranes. I felt the pressure before I saw the silhouette. A tailwind of intent. Not the Commission. Not cops. Someone like me.

A Quirk user.

For a second, I thought it was Void Chain. Maybe the bastard had survived the transport van, crawled back out of whatever hole the system had buried him in.

But no. The gait was different. More balanced. Less rage, more purpose.

Another ghost from the life I couldn't walk away from.

"You've got sharp instincts. That hasn't changed." The voice was clear, casual — as if we were two old friends catching up in line for coffee, not two enhanced beings standing on the cusp of another fight.

I looked up. The figure stepped forward, the dying sun painting his silhouette in amber, and my stomach dropped.

"Kaito." I hadn't said that name in years.

He used to be one of us — a hero-in-training, back when the title still meant something. But Kaito had seen the cracks even before I did. He hadn't stayed long enough to fall through them.

"You walked away," I said. "Guess I'm late to the party."

"Nah," he replied, hopping down from the rooftop with a fluid ease, landing like gravity was more of a suggestion than a rule. "You're right on time."

He didn't explain. He didn't need to. The message was clear in his posture, in the weight of his words: the system was already dead. It just hadn't been buried yet.

And maybe... neither had I.

Kaito stood there, hands casually stuffed into his coat pockets, but the tension in the air was razor sharp. I didn't need to see his Quirk in action to know he was already two steps ahead of me. Old habits died hard, especially the ones drilled into you during Provisional Hero Exams.

"So, what's the play?" I asked, keeping my voice even.

He gave me a dry smile. "No play. Just figured you could use the company. The Commission won't let you walk away clean. You know that, right?"

I nodded. Of course I knew. Walking away wasn't an ending — it was a declaration of war.

Kaito settled on the edge of a crumbling freight container, legs swinging like he didn't have a care in the world. "You pulled Rulebreaker Drive. Must've felt good."

"Felt like dying, actually," I muttered.

"Yeah. That tracks."

We sat there, two ghosts of the hero pipeline, watching the sky fade from rust to black. The silence wasn't awkward. It was the kind you earned, the kind forged in fire and blood and broken oaths.

Kaito broke it first. "You thought power was the answer. So did I. Turns out, the question was the problem all along."

That one landed harder than I expected.

We spent the rest of the night trading stories that didn't need words. Old battle scars, unfinished sentences, glances sharp enough to cut through the silence. Kaito didn't offer advice. I didn't ask for it. Some choices don't need a second opinion.

When the first light cracked through the cloud cover, he stood, dusted off his coat, and turned to me.

"You stepping off the board, Kael? For real?"

I didn't answer right away. I let the question hang, tasting the weight of it. The fight, the blood, the lies, the system — it all stretched out behind me like wreckage on a highway. I could keep walking. I could pretend it never happened. But the truth would always be there, waiting.

"Yeah," I finally said. "For real."

Kaito nodded once, like he'd expected it all along.

"Then I'll see you on the other side of the fence."

And just like that, he was gone, melting into the awakening city.

The world kept turning. The system kept breaking. But me? I was finally free.