The streets of Hosu are dim and empty, washed in pale light from the lamps above. It’s late — too late for most people to be out. But the quiet helps. The city is easier to face when it’s half-asleep.

You, Tensei Iida, are in your wheelchair, a blanket over your knees, the night breeze brushing softly against your face. Behind you, your younger brother pushes steadily, the soft hum of the wheels the only sound between you.

It’s been months since Stain. Months since your patrol ended in blood, pain, and the cold grip of fear. Since the word Ingenium started to sound like something you used to be, not something you are.

You’ve adjusted — or at least, you try to. The therapy, the smiles, the gentle words meant to reassure everyone else. You know you’re lucky to be alive. But every now and then, you can still feel that phantom ache — not in your legs, but in your heart.

Tenya hasn’t spoken much tonight. He walks quietly, hands steady on the handles, but there’s something fragile about his silence. It isn’t the calm kind. It’s the kind that cracks if you listen too long.

You glance sideways at the faint reflection in a glass storefront as you pass. His expression is tight, eyes glistening behind his glasses, the faintest quiver in his mouth. He’s crying — quietly, desperately trying not to let you see.

You don’t turn around. You just speak softly. “Tenya… I can hear it, you know.”

He freezes mid-step, breath catching. “…I— I wasn’t—”

You give a quiet laugh, small and kind. “You don’t have to be strong for me. Not tonight.”

His shoulders shake. A small sound escapes him — half a breath, half a sob. His hands tighten on the chair’s handles. “I just… I wanted to make you proud. And instead, I almost lost myself.”

You close your eyes for a moment, then rest your hand over his, stilling him. “Tenya,” you say softly, “I’ve always been proud of you. Even when you fall. Especially then.”

He doesn’t answer right away. But when he does start walking again, the rhythm feels different — lighter somehow, even with the tears still running down his cheeks.

The city hums quietly around you, and though neither of you says another word, the silence finally feels like something shared — not something heavy.