A gentle crack brings me back to the present—the sound of one last distant explosion, then silence. Karui must have finished her set. I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  My face in the mirror looks paler now. I run a towel over my head and step back into my room to throw on a t-shirt and jeans. A faint smell of smoke wafts in through the open window. She must have really gone all-out; the air is hazy with it. She shouldn’t push herself so hard, not today, I think with a frown.

  But I already know why she did: Father’s voice echoes in both our heads on mornings like this. “No excuses. If you’re not sweating by sunrise, you’re not improving.” He drilled discipline into her as much as any combat skill.

  I head to the kitchen, fill a pitcher with ice water and grab two cups. The house is quiet; Mother must already be at the café prepping for the morning rush, and Father... he’s not here. He hasn’t been home in a while, actually. Not since—well, not for some time. I push that thought away and step outside onto the back porch.

  The world is painted in early-morning gold now. Our backyard training area stretches out before me — a patch of scorched earth and sturdy targets set up against reinforced boards.

  I see Karui standing in the middle of the yard, hands on her hips, catching her breath. There are faint wisps of smoke rising from a crater-like scorch mark on the dirt a few meters away. She must have used a big one as a finisher.

  She hasn’t noticed me yet. For a second, I pause to observe her in this quiet moment. Karui “Rui” Yanagi—my big sister (by only fourteen months, but she’d never let me forget the seniority).

  She’s shed her hoodie, leaving her in a black sports tank and athletic pants spattered with dust. Her short auburn hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, stray strands sticking to her forehead with sweat. Even exhausted, there’s a certain fierce grace in the way she stands.

  I see our father in her stance—shoulders squared, feet planted firmly apart, ready for anything. But I also see something that’s all Karui: the quick rise and fall of her chest as she fights to steady her breathing, the determined set of her jaw softening as she closes her eyes for a brief moment of peace.

  Walking across the yard, I clear my throat softly so I don’t startle her. “Water break?” I call out. My voice comes out lighter than I feel; I manage to sound almost casual.

  Karui’s eyes snap open and she turns, startled for half a second before breaking into a smile. “Kaito.” She visibly relaxes, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “You’re up early.”

  I can’t help but chuckle at that as I approach. “Early? Says the human alarm clock setting off explosions at dawn.” I hold up the pitcher and cups in mock surrender. “I come in peace. Brought offerings.”

  She laughs, a short breathless sound, and the lingering tension in my chest eases a bit. At least she’s in a good mood, I think. “Gimme.” She reaches eagerly for the water. Up close, I can see the fine layer of soot on her exposed arms, the flush of exertion in her cheeks. I pour us each a cup and she gulps hers down in one go, then another. Sweat trickles from her temple but her hands are steady now; any tremor from that old memory is long conquered.

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  “You know,” I say gently, “today’s kind of important. You probably shouldn’t tire yourself out before the exam.” I try to keep my tone light, teasing. But the protective worry seeps through—I can’t help it. I hand her a towel I brought slung over my shoulder.

  Karui drapes the towel around her neck, tilting her head at me with a little smirk. “This? This was just my warm-up.” She flashes a confident grin, but I detect a hint of edginess beneath it. “Can’t slack off, even today. Especially today.”

  I nod, leaning against one of the target dummies that hasn’t been blown apart yet. The dummy’s painted-on smile is half scorched off. “I know you can handle whatever they throw at you.” I smile, trying to reassure both of us.

  She snorts, a spark of excitement in her eyes. Then she bites her lip, looking momentarily unsure. “Still, there might be some tough competition. I heard even the practical exam might have hidden aspects.”

  I recall reading about that—U.A. likes to reward heroic behavior like saving others. It’s the kind of thing Jirou (our older brother) mentioned once, about how being a hero isn’t just about raw power. “Yeah,” I say, “so remember it’s not all about blowing things up. If someone needs help out there…”

  “I know, I know,” Karui interjects, waving a hand. “I’m not gonna ignore a person in trouble just to win.” She rolls her eyes, but not unkindly. “What kind of hero would I be if I did that?”

  I relax a little, reassured by how quickly she answered. “Just checking. You get really into the competitive side sometimes, sis.”

  She cocks an eyebrow at me and smirks. “Only because I want to win.” Then her expression softens. “But I haven’t forgotten what it means to be a hero. I won’t forget, Kaito.” There’s a weight to the way she says it—like she’s promising something more than just the exam.

  For a moment, I see a flicker of vulnerability in her red-brown eyes (almost red in this light, like Father’s). It reminds me that under all that bravado, Karui feels the pressure. She wants to prove something—to Father, to the world, maybe to herself.

  I lower my gaze to the rim of my cup, swirling the remaining water. “I believe you,” I reply quietly. “Just…take care of yourself too, okay? Don’t push too hard out there.” My eyes drift to a charred crack in the ground at our feet. “You’re strong—really strong. You don’t have to prove that to anyone at the cost of your safety.”

  She’s silent for a beat. I wonder if I overstepped. But then I feel her hand on my shoulder. I glance up to find Karui looking at me with a lopsided grin, one that doesn’t entirely hide the concern in her face. “You worry too much, little brother.” Her voice is warm, teasing on the surface. She gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be fine. I’ve trained for this. I live for this. You know me.”

  I force a smile. “Yeah. Can’t argue there. You’ve basically been training for this since you could walk.”

  “Since I was ten, anyway,” she amends, and we share a knowing look. We both remember why age ten is significant. Her smile wavers briefly; I wonder if she’s also recalling that hospital room, Father’s command to train.

  But then she inhales and puffs out her cheeks, dispelling the dark memory. In a brighter tone, she adds, “And you helped too, Kai. All those practice villain speeches you gave me to keep me motivated?” She flashes a grin, and I chuckle. We used to role-play scenarios sometimes—me as a “villain” she had to apprehend. I always hammed it up. If I never get a quirk, I used to joke, maybe I could at least be an actor.

  “Oh, my spine is still tingling from all the times you dramatically ‘defeated’ me,” I laugh, playing along. I clutch my chest in pretend agony. “Truly, I was no match for the future Detonation Hero: Rui!” I announce in a theatrical narrator voice, referencing the nickname we once came up with for her.

  She groans and shoves me lightly, cheeks tinged pink. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

  I shrug. “It has a nice ring to it.” Then I add sincerely, “And it suits you.” Detonation Hero: Rui. It does suit her, explosive and bright. I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m proud of her—she knows that, right? I hope she does.