𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗦 ⌈𝐈⌔𝐌 ✗ 𝔽!𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹⌋

Chapter 019

CHAPTER 19: Sparks and Tides

The roar of the stadium surrounded you, a wall of sound that both energized and overwhelmed you as you faced Kaminari across the arena. His usual playful grin was in place, but you could see the focus in his eyes, electricity sparking from his fingertips. The crowd was buzzing with excitement, and you could feel the weight of their eyes on you.

But it wasn't just the crowd that made your heart race faster.

You glanced up at the stands, scanning the sea of faces. And there, sitting together, you saw them-your parents. You hadn't expected them to come. Your mother, with her warm smile, waved when she noticed you looking up. Beside her, your father sat stiffly, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

Your father had always been against this path, ever since you first mentioned wanting to be a hero. You knew why.

Your sister.

The weight of that memory pressed down on you, and for a moment, the noise of the stadium faded into the background. You could feel it again, the tension that had gripped your household years ago. The arguments, the fear in your father's voice. He hadn't been able to protect your sister, and he didn't want to lose you, too.

---

Flashback

You were eight when the house burned.

Not old enough to understand what death really meant, only old enough to understand absence. The night itself lived in fragments—heat against your skin, the sharp sting of smoke in your lungs, your mother’s arms wrapped around you too tightly as she ran. You remembered shouting, crying, the world dissolving into red and black and noise. Someone was screaming your name. Someone else was screaming hers.

Yumi.

After that night, your sister was simply… gone.
The adults said she didn’t make it out. A villain attack, a fire that spread too fast, a room that collapsed before the heroes arrived. You didn’t see a body. You were never shown one. You were too young, they said. Too fragile.

So you believed them.

Or maybe you were taught how to believe them.

Your memories of Yumi faded strangely after that.

Sometimes you could remember her hand on your head, cool and steady. Sometimes you thought you could hear her voice calling you from down the hall. Other times, her face blurred so badly you wondered if you’d imagined having an older sister at all. Your parents never spoke of her for long.

Your mother would go quiet whenever her name came up, eyes distant, hands trembling just slightly. Your father mentioned her even less. When he did, it was always brief, careful—like speaking too loudly might shatter something fragile he was holding together.

“She wanted to be a hero,” he’d say.

“She was strong.”

“She was just like you.”

You learned, slowly, that Yumi’s quirk had been like yours. Water, shaped and controlled. You learned she had already started hero training. That people had believed in her. That your father had been proud.
And then—nothing. When you finally told them you wanted to follow that same path, the reaction was immediate.

“No, Y/N. I won’t let you do this.”

Your father’s voice wasn’t angry. It was raw. He sat rigid in his chair, fingers digging into the armrest as if the room might collapse again if he let go. Your mother tried to speak, tried to calm him, but the air was already heavy, already breaking.