The incense from your father’s funeral still lingered in the air, sharp and suffocating. It had only been three days since he was lowered into the ground, but the house already felt emptier than ever.

He had always been the only one to defend you—ever since the night, years ago, when your powers first awakened. You were only a child when it happened: a car swerved off the road, heading straight toward him, and in your panic the world seemed to twist around you, and somehow the vehicle missed. That was the day your innate ability revealed itself… a dangerous gift you never asked for.

Your father had smiled that night, ruffling your hair, telling you it was a miracle. But Ayaka—his new wife—never saw it that way. To her, you were something unnatural. A burden. A reminder that she’d married into more than she bargained for.

Now, with him gone, there was nothing shielding you from her disdain.

She stood in the kitchen, her face pale and tight as she set down a plate of food. Just one plate.

“Eat,” she said coldly. “And clean up after yourself. I’m not wasting my time on you.”

The air seemed heavier tonight, like it always did when your emotions stirred. The lightbulb above the table flickered, once, then again. Your chest throbbed with restless energy, that same uncontrollable pulse you’d felt since the funeral—as if your power itself refused to stay buried. Ayaka’s eyes snapped to the flickering bulb, then to you. Her voice sharpened like broken glass.

“Don’t. You dare. Use that cursed power in my house. Do you understand?!”

Her words hit harder than her glare. Because in her voice, you could hear the unspoken truth: she blamed you. She believed that your father’s death—his sudden collapse, his heart giving out—was tied to you. To your gift. And maybe, deep down, a part of you wondered if she was right.