Fault Lines

Listen to: "Unravel" - TK from Ling Tosite Sigure

The sky over Kairo had never looked this unfamiliar.

It wasn't the neon, or the clouds stained purple by light pollution. It wasn't the fractured skyline still bearing the scars of battles fought both in daylight and in shadow. It was the silence.

The kind of silence you only noticed when the city's heartbeat stopped matching yours.

My hands still felt the static ghosts of Rulebreaker Drive, like my Quirk didn't quite want to power down. But the fight was over. The choice had been made, even if the Commission hadn't officially acknowledged it.

I was done.

Or at least, I thought I was.

HALCYON's words had stuck with me long after his sleek chrome silhouette vanished into the night.

"The last true frontier for both man and machine is curiosity."

It sounded like something a philosopher would etch onto a steel grave marker. And maybe it was fitting, considering everything else in this world was starting to feel like a funeral — for ideals, for heroes, for the person I used to be.

The apartment didn't feel like home anymore. My uniform hung off the back of a chair, untouched. The badge, stripped of meaning, sat on the desk, half-buried under unopened reports.

Kaito's words, too, had lingered like bruises: "The machine doesn't care if you're oil or a cog. You're still part of it."

For the first time in my life, I wasn't sure what part I wanted to play — or if there was even a game left worth playing.

When dawn finally broke, it felt less like a sunrise and more like the world rebooting without me.

The next chapter of my life was starting, whether I wanted it or not.

The streets were waking up, but I wasn't here to join them.

I walked along the edge of the old district, hands buried in the pockets of my hoodie, letting the cold bite through the thin fabric. It was a welcome contrast to the numbness in my chest. The city, for all its noise and motion, had started to feel like background music — something to drown out the silence in my own head.

That's when I saw it.

Not an attack, not another villain, not even a shadow of my past. Just a mural.

It stretched across the cracked concrete wall of an abandoned subway station, bold lines and rich colors fighting a losing battle against years of weather. Someone — maybe some kid who still believed in heroes — had painted the old symbols: the silhouettes of All Might, Endeavor, even Deku, side by side. But below them, a single sentence had been scrawled in black spray paint:

"They built the world. We're left to break it."

I stood there longer than I should have, eyes locked on those words.

Because deep down, I knew the kid was right.

Our generation wasn't here to save the world. That ship had sailed, sunk, and rusted away on the ocean floor. What we were left with was the wreckage, and the only choices left were to rebuild or light the whole thing on fire.

And standing there, staring at the mural, I realized: I still hadn't made mine.

The sun was high by the time I pulled myself away from the mural, and the streets had returned to their usual tempo — impatient cars, shopkeepers raising shutters, the distant scream of sirens. Life marched on, oblivious to my existential crisis.

I ended up at the old rooftop. The one where, back when I first got into U.A.'s provisional program, I swore I'd change the world. I could still picture my younger self standing here, spouting all the usual hero clichés like some discount Deku cosplayer.

But now, the kid who stood there felt like a stranger. Someone who belonged to a world that no longer existed.

The wind whispered through the gaps in the rusted railings, carrying the city's sounds with it. It should've felt grounding. Instead, it only reminded me how detached I was from it all now.

"Kael." A voice broke through the static in my head.

I turned. Kaito stood there, hands buried in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable as always.

"You disappeared after the incident," he said, tone light but edged with concern. "The Commission's looking for you."

"Let them look," I answered flatly.

"So it's true." His gaze sharpened. "You're really walking away."

"I never belonged in the first place." I sat down on the cracked rooftop concrete, letting my legs dangle over the edge. "The system was built on borrowed time. Someone had to break the clock."

Kaito didn't argue. He didn't have to. He just sat down beside me, the silence between us heavier than any conversation.

And for the first time, I realized I wasn't the only one feeling lost in the aftermath.

The Commission officially declared the 'Kairo Incident' resolved two days later.

No mention of my Rulebreaker Drive. No mention of the choice I made. The headlines painted it as another heroic victory for the pro-hero system, and the world moved on, blissfully ignorant of how fragile the whole illusion had become.

But I couldn't move on. Not yet.

I visited HALCYON one last time, deep beneath the city's underbelly where his machine sanctuary hummed with quiet, calculated life.

"I thought you would return," the machine's smooth voice echoed through the dim space. "Curiosity always does."

"I'm not here for answers," I said. "I'm here to make peace with the fact I'll never have them."

HALCYON tilted his head, the faintest glint of something almost human flickering in his synthetic eyes.

"Understanding isn't always the reward, Kael," he replied. "Sometimes, the reward is realizing you can survive without it."

I let that sit for a while. Then I left, the last piece of my old life settling into place behind me.

When I stepped out into the sunlight, I felt lighter.

Not because the world had changed, but because I finally had.

A week passed.

The world outside moved on, the same way it always did. Heroes smiled on TV. Newscasters spun the narrative. Students at U.A. carried on chasing a dream that might've already died, but they didn't know it yet.

And me? I was still here. Still breathing. Still thinking.

But something was different.

That old weight — the one that had buried itself into my spine since the day I put on the hero trainee badge — wasn't there anymore. The future didn't seem brighter, or kinder. It just seemed... honest. Unforgiving, but honest.

That would have to be enough.

My phone buzzed one last time with a message from Kaito: "Whenever you're ready."

I pocketed the device and stood from the rooftop.

No uniform. No title. Just me.

Because the world wasn't waiting for heroes anymore.

And I wasn't interested in pretending to be one.