The city outside his window pulsed with soft light, glowing faintly in the twilight haze. From the 5th floor of his family's quiet apartment building, Shiro Hanabusa sat at his desk, the silver glow of his desk lamp illuminating a half-finished sketch of the day's training layout.
Lines. Arrows. Position markers.
Not because he had to, but because he wanted to remember.
He tapped his pencil against the paper, his soft gray eyes narrowed—not in frustration, but in thought.
"Shin," he murmured.
The name lingered in the air like the hum of static before a storm.
It had been a simple practice match. Friendly. Fun. Everyone gave it their best—or at least, their version of it. Toma had gotten a little serious near the end, and Yuki was always at full volume. Midoriya had surprised them all with that last-second dive.
But it was Shin who stayed sharpest in Shiro's mind.
Shiro leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He could still feel the aftershock of Shin's movements—the exact moment Shin shifted in front of Toma, how the air pulsed with the faintest thrum of power.
He wasn't using even half of it.
Shiro knew it the way you know when a storm is coming, even under a clear sky.
He remembered the incident months ago—the bank robbery. The blur of movement. The villain taken down in a flash, no one quite seeing how.
The mystery "kid" hero that vanished before the police arrived.
No one knew who did it.
But Shiro had watched from a rooftop, unseen.
He'd seen lightning streak across the ground like liquid wrath.
He had seen Shin.
That same controlled precision, that balance of strength and grace, like a blade hidden beneath a silk ribbon.
Shiro never told anyone.
Because Shin didn't know he'd been seen.
And in some quiet part of Shiro's mind, that felt… right.
He respected it—Shin's secret. His restraint. That kind of power, hidden so neatly behind smiles and average scores. It wasn't just strength—it was discipline.
A quiet strength. Like his own.
Shiro's eyes drifted back to the drawing. He began adding details—Shin's movement arcs, how he subtly controlled the battlefield without ever making it look obvious. Keeping pressure on Toma, intercepting Yuki without hurting her, shielding Midoriya without seeming overbearing.
Not a leader.
A shield.
And a weapon, if pushed.
Shiro leaned forward, jotting one word in small print next to Shin's sketch:
> "Control."
Then, after a moment of hesitation, he added one more:
> "Dangerous—if broken."
He wasn't afraid of Shin.
Not really.
But he was watching him.
Not out of suspicion. Not even out of fear.
Out of respect.
And maybe—just maybe—to be ready, in case the storm ever lost its chain.
He closed the notebook and stood, walking toward the window.
Far in the distance, lightning flashed quietly across the horizon.
*******
The night air drifted in through Shiro's open window, cool and still. The city below had finally quieted, distant traffic fading into white noise. Somewhere in the background, a TV played muffled hero news coverage. But Shiro wasn't listening to that.
He was remembering.
That conversation.
Flashback...
It had been almost a week ago, after the school trip incident—when Shin had saved everyone without ever taking credit.
They'd walked home together, just the two of them. Neither spoke at first.
Shiro had known. Shin had known that he knew.
And still, Shin didn't break the silence.
Not until they'd reached the footbridge near the canal, water flowing gently below.
Shiro remembered how Shin's gaze stayed on the horizon, how his hands rested calmly in his pockets.
"Thanks," Shin had said.
It was simple. Honest.
Shiro had tilted his head. "For what?"
"For not saying anything."
There'd been no need to play dumb. Not between them.
Shiro had leaned on the railing beside him. "It's not my secret to tell."
A pause. Shin had glanced sideways at him, lightning barely pulsing beneath his skin, like a heart that refused to rest.
"Why didn't you ask me about it?" Shin asked, voice low.
Shiro's answer had been immediate. "I didn't have to."
That was the truth. He didn't need to ask to know that Shin had reasons—layers beneath the lightning. He wasn't some glory-seeker. He wasn't reckless. He was purposeful. Focused.
And hiding.
From what, Shiro didn't know. But he didn't need to—yet.
What mattered was that Shin wasn't dangerous because of his power.
He was dangerous because of his control over it. Because he was always three steps ahead—of the world, of the narrative, of himself.
Shiro had asked one thing, though. Just one.
"You're not planning to stay in the shadows forever… right?"
Shin had gone quiet then. Not heavy silence—just thoughtful.
"…Not forever," Shin had said eventually. "But I'm not ready to stand in the spotlight either. Not until I'm strong enough to protect the people I care about."
And that was it.
That was the moment Shiro understood.
This wasn't just about being the strongest.
This was about being ready.
He wasn't just training for the sake of power. He was preparing for something bigger. For the inevitable chaos that always followed power.
Shiro had nodded once, and that was the end of it.
No promises.
No oaths.
Just understanding.
---
Back in his room now, Shiro breathed in the night air and let the memory settle like mist over still water.
He still didn't know what exactly Shin was preparing for.
But he'd be there when the time came.
Because behind all the silence, the control, and the secrecy—Shin Karasuma wasn't alone.
Not anymore.