Mailin’s POV

Graduation looms closer with each passing day, but instead of feeling excited, I’m filled with a quiet sense of dread. It’s supposed to be a time of celebration, a moment where we all step into our futures as pro heroes, but something is missing. Someone is missing.

Oboro’s absence is a constant ache in my chest. It’s hard to imagine walking across the stage without him there, cracking jokes and keeping the mood light. But it’s more than that. It’s Shota. He’s still here, physically, but it’s like a part of him is gone too. The part that smiled—however rare that was—the part that connected with people, that cared.

I glance at him now as we sit in the common area, waiting for our final practical exams. He’s sitting by the window, staring outside, his shoulders tense. The dark circles under his eyes have deepened, and his face is even more closed off than usual. He’s been like this ever since we lost Oboro, pulling away from everyone. Even Hizashi struggles to get through to him now.

I miss him. I miss the Shota who, despite his brooding exterior, had a fire in his eyes, a purpose. I’ve watched that fire slowly dim, replaced by something darker, something heavier. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to reach him.

It hurts.

It hurts to watch him drift further and further away, to see him disappear behind this wall he’s built around himself. I’ve tried to be there for him, in the quiet way I always have, offering support without pushing, but it’s not enough. He’s slipping through my fingers, and I don’t know how to hold on.

Graduation is supposed to be the start of something new, something exciting. But all I can think about is how much we’ve lost. And how much I’m about to lose.

I want to reach out to him. I want to ask him to stay. But every time I open my mouth, the words get stuck in my throat. What right do I have to ask him to stay when I can see the pain he’s in? When I know he’s already made his decision?

I glance at him again, feeling that familiar pull, that connection that’s been there since the day we met. It’s still there, but it feels frayed now, like a thread that’s been stretched too thin. I wonder if he feels it too. If he’s even aware of it anymore.

“Shota?” My voice is soft, hesitant, like I’m afraid of breaking the silence between us.

He turns his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge that he’s heard me, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. “What?”

I bite my lip, searching for the right words. “Are you... okay?”

It’s a stupid question. I know he’s not okay. None of us are. But I don’t know what else to say.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze shifts back to the window, and for a moment, I think he’s not going to answer at all. But then he speaks, his voice quiet and flat. “I’m fine.”

A lie. We both know it.

“Shota...” I try again, my heart aching as I reach out. “You don’t have to—”

“I said I’m fine.” His voice is sharper this time, cutting through the air like a knife. He finally looks at me, and the emptiness in his eyes takes my breath away. “Just... don’t.”

The words die in my throat, and I nod, feeling helpless. There’s nothing I can do to reach him, not when he’s already decided to shut everyone out.

I stand, needing to get away before the weight of it all crushes me. “If you need anything... I’m here.”

I don’t wait for a response. I don’t need one. I already know what he’s going to say.

As I walk away, I glance back at him one last time. And in that moment, I realize that the Shota I knew is already gone.

---

Shota’s POV

Graduation is supposed to be the end of one chapter and the beginning of another, but for me, it feels like the end of everything.

Oboro’s death has changed everything. It’s like there’s this constant shadow hanging over me, a weight I can’t shake. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t find a way to move forward. The future I thought I wanted—becoming a pro hero, making a difference—feels distant now, out of reach. I’m not the same person I was before, and I don’t know if I ever will be again.

The others don’t get it. They keep moving forward, like we can all just keep going after what happened. Like we can pretend that losing Oboro hasn’t shattered everything. Hizashi tries to get me to laugh, to join in on the stupid jokes he and the others make, but I can’t. I don’t see the point.

And then there’s Mailin.

She’s been... there. Always there, quietly watching, quietly supporting. I know she’s worried about me. I can see it in the way she looks at me, in the way she tries to get me to talk, to open up. But I can’t. I can’t let her in, not when I’m barely holding it together as it is.

She deserves better than this. Better than me.

I’ve already made my decision. I’m going to be an underground hero. It’s the only thing that makes sense anymore. I don’t want the fame or the attention that comes with being a pro hero. I don’t need the spotlight. I just need to do the job, to protect people without getting caught up in the bullshit of hero society. It’s what I’m meant to do.

But that means pulling away from everyone. From Hizashi. From Mailin. Especially from Mailin.

She doesn’t deserve to get dragged into this with me. She has her own path, her own future. I can see the way she’s grown into her role as a healer, how naturally it comes to her. She’s good at it. Better than I’ll ever be at anything.

I glance at her now, sitting across from me in the common room. She looks... tired. Worn out. Probably from trying to deal with me and Hizashi. I don’t know why she hasn’t given up yet. Anyone else would have walked away by now, but not Mailin. She’s too stubborn for that.

“Shota?”

Her voice is soft, careful. She’s always so careful around me now, like she’s afraid I’ll break if she says the wrong thing.

“What?” I don’t mean to sound so cold, but I can’t help it. It’s easier this way. If I keep pushing her away, maybe she’ll stop trying.

“Are you... okay?”

I don’t answer right away. I stare out the window, watching the rain fall, trying to find the words. I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay since the day we lost Oboro. But saying it out loud won’t change anything.

“I’m fine,” I say, knowing it’s a lie.

She doesn’t believe me. I can see it in her eyes, the way she looks at me like she wants to fix everything, like she wants to save me. But I’m not something that can be fixed.

“Shota...” She tries again, her voice full of concern. “You don’t have to—”

“I said I’m fine.” I cut her off before she can finish, turning to face her. Her eyes widen slightly, and I can see the hurt there. I don’t mean to snap at her, but I need her to stop. I need her to let go.

“Just... don’t.”

She stands, and for a moment, I think she’s going to keep pushing. But she doesn’t. She just nods, her shoulders slumping as she turns to leave.

“If you need anything... I’m here.”

Her voice is quiet, resigned. And then she’s gone, leaving me alone with the rain and my thoughts.

I watch her go, feeling that familiar ache in my chest. I don’t want to push her away, but I have to. She deserves more than what I can give her. She deserves someone who can be there for her, someone who isn’t broken.

I’m doing this for her. It’s for the best.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.