Haruto was now at the infirmary.
As Recovery Girl adjusted her visor, he sat on the edge of the high examination table, swinging his legs and munching on popcorn.
"About the 'Cellular Stockpile' thing..." Recovery Girl began to speak,
"It's a solid narrative bridge, Chiyo-san. Midoriya needed a 'how,' and Bakugo needed to 'get off my ass', If I didn't give them a price tag for the miracle, they would've spent the next semester trying to solve a mystery that doesn't belong to the plot"
She narrowed her eyes, stepping closer to peer at the skin of his abdomen.
She didn't even need to use her Quirk to know the truth.
There was no lingering exhaustion, no caloric depletion, and - most importantly - no scar tissue.
"I've spent forty years accelerating the healing process of thousands of heroes," she said,
"I know what a stockpile looks like, and this is not one them"
She pressed a stethoscope to his chest. The heartbeat was steady and impossibly calm.
"You're registered as Quirkless, Haruto. And this doesn't look like a Quirk to me"
Haruto offered her the bag of popcorn. She ignored it.
"Logic over luck, right?" Haruto grinned, "Maybe I'm just a very high fidelity 3D printer. "
Recovery Girl sighed, She knew technical lie when she heard one.
She also knew that if she pressed him, he'd just start rambling about weird stuff like "character development" and "spoilers".
"You are free to leave now, but...", she grumbled, turning back to her desk to sign his release forms.
'I'm warning you, if you come to my infirmary after sustaining such injury again, I'm going to personally dissect you to see what you're hiding in there."
"Noted," Haruto said, hopping off the table. "But hey, Chiyo-san? Look on the bright side. Think of how much paperwork I'm saving you by not being dead."
"Hush now- you can go, you little brat!" She shooed him toward the door.
Then she simply watched him walk out, as if he hadn't just had a hole blown through him a few hours ago
***********<>***********
Next Morning
In the small Akagi apartment, the atmosphere was thick and quiet.
His mother, Hana, was a woman who lived in the "real world", far removed from the high-stakes narrative Haruto saw everywhere.
Haruto sat at the small table.
He had been careful, the crimson hoodie he'd worn during the attack was already at the bottom of a dumpster three blocks away.
"You're not eating, Haruto," Hana said, sliding a plate in front of him. Her hands stayed on the edge of the table, her knuckles a bit white. "I saw the news. They said the villains broke through. They said it was... a war zone."
Haruto didn't look up. "It was just a scripted encounter, Mom. Nothing I couldn't handle."
Hana pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down heavily. She didn't use his metaphors. She didn't care about "mobs" "The school called yesterday. About your registration update."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Quirkless for fifteen years, and now... 'Cellular Stockpile'? They told me it's an emergency-use Quirk. That it costs you life to use it. They said you manifested it during the attack."
Haruto finally put the spoon down. He looked at her, and for a second, the "mask" slipped.
He saw a woman who didn't see a protagonist, she just saw her son, who had spent a decade and a half being "normal" and safe.
"It's just a mechanic, Mom," Haruto said softly. "It's how I stay in the game. If I don't have a Quirk, they'll write me out. I have to have a reason to be there."
"I liked it better when you were just my Haruto," she said, reaching across the table to cover his hand with hers.
"You were safe. Now you're going on national television to show the world how much you can sacrifice. Is that really the life you want? To be a 'Hero' who pays for every victory with his own health?"
Haruto squeezed her hand back. He felt the weight of her reality - the heavy, non-fictional fear of a mother.
"That was a lie" Haruto said flatly.
He pulled his hand back and leaned into the chair, the "mask" sliding back into place.
"The school needs a tragedy to make the power make sense. The audience needs a 'cost' so they don't feel cheated when I win. If I told the truth, they'd be terrified."
Hana blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. "You... you lied to U.A.? You lied to the doctors? Haruto, why would you say something so horrible about yourself if it isn't true?"
"Bcause nothing good will come out from revealing truth" Haruto replied, grabbing his bag and standing up.
"Besides," he added "UA's staff isn't incompetent, they're granting me a certain amount of latitude for now."
"I'm not dying. I wanted you to know so you don't waste your energy worrying."
He walked toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.
"Don't tell anyone," he added, looking back with a smile. "It ruins the immersion."
As the door clicked shut behind him, he felt the heavy real-world stakes of the kitchen dissolve.
********<>********
Inside a workshop located in a high-density industrial sector on the outskirts of Musutafu hidden away from hero-patrolled boulevards.
Mason, a broad-shouldered American with large forearms, sat hunched over a heavy-duty lathe.
He'd come to Japan a decade ago after a "disagreement" with a private military contractor in the States, bringing his blueprints and his bitterness with him.
"You're late," Mason rasped.
"And you smell like hospital disinfectant"
Haruto stepped into the light.
He wore a white T-shirt, black pants, a red cap on his head and sunglasses covering his eyes.
"Hospital disinfectant? That's my new cologne, Mason. I call it 'Trauma by Calvin Klein,'", Haruto replied in English, with an American accent, It was a private language between them.
He hopped onto a metal workbench, swinging his legs.
"And for the record, the USJ was a total Season 1 Finale disaster."
***
Two years ago, Haruto had found this shop while scouting for high-quality 'hardware'.
And one day he came by to find a debt-collection crew - led by a villain who erupts spikes from his skin - trying to ransack his shop.
Dozens of jagged, bone-like spikes had erupted from the leader's forearms and chest. Mason was a master machinist, so to save the "Asset" Haruto had walked directly into a volley of those spikes.
One had punched through his lung.
He'd stood back up five seconds later, pulled the bone spike out of his chest, and neutralized the leader and his crew single handedly, while Mason stared in awe.
***
"I lost the last pair of blades you made me", Haruto said.
Mason finally killed the power to the lathe, the spinning rod of titanium slowing to a halt.
He pushed his goggles up.
"Those were high-carbon steel, kid. Good blades, but they weren't meant to survive a warzone."
"Exactly. They were a budget solution for a student budget," Haruto replied.
"They notched when I hit the reinforced flesh on that creature. I need an upgrade. Tungsten Carbide."
Mason whistled. "Tungsten Carbide? You know how brittle that stuff is in a long blade. You hit something wrong, and it shatters like glass."
"I trust your engineering, Mason. Jacket it, do whatever the 'American way' dictates.
But I need it. And I need two Desert Eagles, Modified of course. I want them to whisper 'sleepy time' "
"Why ballistics? Self-defense ?", Mason asked.
"Self-defense?" Haruto repeated the question
"Mason, buddy, 'self-defense' is such a boring, PR-friendly term. It's what you tell the cops when they find a guy folded like a lawn chair in a dumpster"
Haruto leaned in closer with a grin,
"These writers? They're lazy, Mason. They love a ten-minute 'power of friendship' monologue where everyone stands around crying while the city burns. It's exhausting."
He mimicked the racking of a slide with his hands.
"But a Desert eagle? It's for those moments when the villain is mid-speech and I'm just not feeling the dialogue."
Mason sighed, "Fine. I'll start the mill. But keep them off-campus."
Haruto tilted his head as he looked at Mason's unimpressed expression.
He felt a sense of nostalgia.
"You know, Mason... did I ever tell you that you remind me of an old friend? He owned a bar, had a face like a topographical map of Utah. You've got that same 'I'm only helping you because I'm bored and you're probably going to die' energy. It's comforting, really."
Mason didn't even act surprised, he was already used to the kid's rambling by now.
Haruto hopped off the workbench.
He adjusted the brim of his red cap.
"I'll come later for the pickup"
Haruto said.
Mason didn't look up from his lathe.
He just grunted,
"Just bring the remaining credits, kid. And try not to get yourself killed"
"Oh, Mason, you big softie. I knew that North Carolina heart of yours was beating for me," Haruto chirped.
He then turned towards the door and left the workshop.