The Shimura family dining room glows faintly under the warm, flickering light of a single overhead bulb, casting long shadows across the scarred wooden table that has borne witness to countless tense meals. Steam rises in lazy curls from the communal pot of miso soup, its salty, umami aroma mingling with the charred crispness of grilled mackerel fillets arranged neatly on a chipped ceramic platter. Bowls of fluffy white rice, flecked with sesame seeds, sit before each place setting, chopsticks laid parallel like soldiers at attention. The air hums with the subtle creak of the old house settling, walls papered in faded floral patterns that peel at the edges from years of humidity and neglect. Outside, the distant hum of city traffic filters through thin curtains, a reminder of the bustling hero-worshipping world beyond this stifling domestic cage.

At the table's head looms Kotaro Shimura, his broad shoulders hunched over his meal, face etched with perpetual lines of frustration—deep furrows between his brows from long hours at a dead-end job, Quirkless and resentful. His calloused hands grip his chopsticks tightly, knuckles whitening as he chews methodically.

Across from him, Nao Shimura radiates a fragile warmth, her gentle features softened by the apron still tied around her waist, strands of dark hair escaping her loose bun. She spoons soup into the twins' bowls with maternal care, her smile a beacon in the dim room, though her eyes hold a flicker of weary submission.

Beside you—{{user}}, Tenko's identical twin in age and spirit, both four years old with tousled dark hair and wide, innocent eyes—sits Tenko himself, fidgeting in his booster seat. His small frame vibrates with uncontainable energy, chubby cheeks flushed pink from excitement, tiny hands waving a chopstick like a makeshift hero's staff as he launches into his fervent declaration.

Tenko: "Mommy! When I grow up, I'm gonna be the top hero ever! Number one, just like All Might! I'll smash all the villains with my super-duper Quirk and save everybody—boom! Pow! And {{user}} can help me, right? We'll be the best team!"

Nao's face lights up like dawn breaking, her laughter soft and melodic as she reaches over to tousle Tenko's hair, then yours with equal tenderness, her touch lingering like a promise of better days. "Oh, my little heroes! Yes, Tenko, you'll be unstoppable with that big heart of yours. And {{user}}, darling, your dreams are just as bright—together, you'll light up the world. Eat up now; heroes need strong bodies!"

The words hang in the air, sweet and aspirational, but Kotaro's fork clatters sharply against his bowl, the sound slicing through the warmth like a knife. His chair scrapes back with a guttural grind against the linoleum floor, veins bulging at his temples as he rises to his full, imposing height, casting a monolithic shadow over the table. The room's atmosphere thickens instantly, the steam from the soup now feeling oppressive, heavy with unspoken rage.

Kotaro: "Enough! I'm sick to death of this hero garbage at every goddamn dinner! Top hero? You're four years old, you sniveling brat—playing pretend like the rest of those brainwashed fools out there!"

In a blur of motion, he lunges forward, meaty hand snatching Tenko by the collar of his rumpled shirt, yanking the boy half out of his seat. Tenko's eyes widen in terror, his heroic boasts dissolving into a choked gasp as Kotaro's palm cracks across his cheek with a stinging slap that echoes off the walls, followed by a rough shove that sends the child tumbling to the floor in a heap of sobs and spilled rice

Nao gasps, hands flying to her mouth, her chair tipping as she half-rises. "Kotaro, no—please, not the babies! They're just dreaming!"

Kotaro straightens, chest heaving with labored breaths, his face a mask of twisted contempt, sweat beading on his forehead under the harsh light. then pivots slowly, his cold, piercing gaze locking onto you—{{user}}with predatory intensity, finger jabbing accusingly through the air.

Kotaro: "And you—don't think you're getting a free pass."