They were enjoying it.

Of course they were.

I leaned back against the counter, arms loosely crossed, watching the exact moment it hit them—that shift from curiosity to disbelief to quiet acceptance.

Yeah.

That was the reaction.

Every time.

Even Naomasa Tsukauchi, who had spent the last hour questioning my life choices, looked like he was reconsidering at least half of them.

And Hawks?

He looked personally offended that coffee could taste this good.

Good.

They should be.

I exhaled quietly, letting my shoulders relax just a fraction as I leaned more of my weight onto the counter.

And that's when I noticed it.

Or rather—

Didn't.

The pain.

It wasn't there.

Not really.

I glanced down at my shoulder briefly, at the blood seeping through the fabric, at the tear where the bullet had gone through.

It should hurt.

A lot.

But it didn't.

Just pressure.

Warmth.

Nothing else.

"...huh."

That wasn't new.

It never was.

But noticing it again always—

Did something.

Not big.

Not loud.

Just—

There.

A quiet shift in the back of my mind.

Because I knew why.

Of course I did.

You don't just stop feeling pain without a reason.

My fingers twitched slightly against my arm as my gaze lingered for a second too long.

And just like that—

The memory slipped in.

Uninvited.

Unnecessary.

Unavoidable.

Explosions.

Loud.

Too loud.

A laugh—

Sharp.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

Katsuki Bakugo.

"Kacchan."

The name didn't leave my mouth.

Didn't need to.

It was already there.

Burned in.

The weight of hits that never really stopped.

Hands grabbing.

Throwing.

Pushing.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Like it was normal.

Like it was expected.

Like I was supposed to just—

Take it.

A punching bag.

That's what I'd been.

Convenient.

Available.

Easy.

I shifted slightly, pulling my sleeve down just a bit more without thinking.

There were marks.

Old ones.

Faded in places.

Not in others.

Scars didn't disappear just because time passed.

They just—

Settled.

And that?

That wasn't something I needed anyone here to see.

Not the detective.

Not the hero.

Definitely not the one sitting in my café like he had just discovered religion through caffeine.

Because this—

This was mine.

Not theirs.

Never theirs.

"...you good?" Hawks' voice cut through the moment, light but just observant enough to be annoying.

I blinked once.

The memory snapped.

Gone.

Just like that.

I looked up at him, expression flat again, controlled.

"Fine."

His eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary.

Like he didn't quite believe that.

Good.

He shouldn't.

Didn't matter.

I reached for my own cup, taking a slow sip, letting the taste ground me again.

Familiar.

Reliable.

Mine.

"Focus on the coffee," I added dryly. "It's the only thing here worth your attention."

Hawks huffed a quiet laugh.

"...you really don't like answering questions, do you."

"Correct."

Tsukauchi watched me.

I could feel it.

Not pushing.

Not asking.

Just—

Watching.

Smart.

Very smart.

I set my cup down again, rolling my shoulder slightly despite the blood, ignoring the way the fabric stuck just a bit.

Still nothing.

No pain.

Just—

Distance.

"...you're bleeding through my floor," I muttered, more to myself than anything.

Sansa choked slightly on his drink.

"You're—what—your floor?!"

"Yes."

"You're the one bleeding!"

"And it's inconvenient."

"...I—what—"

Hawks laughed again.

Tsukauchi sighed.

And just like that—

The moment passed.

Buried.

Exactly where it belonged.

Izuku

I should've known.

The moment I mentioned blood—

They all snapped to attention.

Like I had just triggered some kind of instinct.

"You need to get that checked," Naomasa Tsukauchi said immediately, already pushing his cup aside like coffee had just lost all importance.

Sansa nodded so fast I thought his head might fall off.

"Yeah—no, that's not okay—you're bleeding—"

"I'm aware," I cut in flatly.

"Then why are you just standing there?" he demanded.

"Because I can fix it."

That made them pause.

Good.

For half a second, there was silence.

Then—

"You can fix it," Tsukauchi repeated slowly.

"Yes."

"How."

"I have supplies."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

Across the counter, Hawks tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction—not suspicious yet, but definitely interested.

"...you got a healing quirk?" he asked.

I blinked at him.

"...no."

There was a pause.

A longer one this time.

Hawks' expression didn't change immediately.

If anything, it stayed too relaxed.

Like he was waiting for the rest of the sentence.

"...none?" he repeated.

I nodded once.

"None."

Another pause.

I could see it this time—the exact moment his brain tried to process that.

Then rejected it.

Then tried again.

"...you mean that's the name?" he asked, gesturing vaguely. "Like—'None' is your quirk?"

I stared at him.

"...no."

Silence.

"You don't have a quirk," Tsukauchi said.

Not a question.

A statement.

"Yes."

Sansa blinked.

"...but—you—"

"I run a café."

"That's not—what—"

"I never said I had one."

Hawks let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly, eyes still on me but sharper now.

"...you were in a moving truck," he said slowly. "Strangling a guy. Took a hit from a quirk. Got shot."

"Yes."

"And you're telling me you're quirkless."

"Yes."

Another pause.

"...huh."

That was all he said.

Just—

Huh.

Like that somehow made it more interesting instead of less.

Tsukauchi didn't look nearly as casual.

"...you should not have survived that as cleanly as you did," he said.

"I did."

"That's not reassuring."

"It wasn't meant to be."

Sansa looked between us like he was trying to solve a puzzle that kept changing shape.

"...but you said you can fix it," he said, pointing vaguely at my shoulder. "Without a quirk."

"Yes."

"How."

I shrugged slightly.

"Basic first aid."

"That is a gunshot wound."

"I've had worse."

That—

That made all of them go quiet.

Again.

Hawks' gaze sharpened further.

Tsukauchi's expression shifted—

Subtle.

But there.

And Sansa just looked... concerned.

"...you shouldn't be handling that alone," Tsukauchi said finally.

"I've been handling things alone for a while."

"That's not a good thing."

"It's an effective one."

"That's not the same."

"It works for me."

Hawks huffed quietly, running a hand through his hair.

"...kid, you're really making this hard."

"I'm not trying to make it easy."

"No kidding."

I reached for a cloth, already moving toward the back without waiting for permission.

"Finish your coffee," I said over my shoulder. "I'll deal with it."

"You're not just walking away from this," Tsukauchi called after me.

"I'm not."

I paused briefly, glancing back just enough.

"We already had the conversation."

"...we're not done."

"You are."

Then I turned and kept walking.

Because honestly?

I trusted my hands more than I trusted any of them.

And that had never failed me before.