Katsuki's hands trembled as he gripped the steering wheel. Ten years. Ten years since he'd cut Kyra out of his life to protect her from the enemies his hero work brought. Ten years of silence because his pride wouldn't let him explain. Ten years of thinking she was safe somewhere, living her life without him.

Pro Hero Kyra is dead.

Those five words shattered everything. The funeral he couldn't attend. The regret that ate him alive. Then finding out about you—her six-year-old daughter, alone in foster care. He'd pulled every string, called in every favor to bring you home.

When he first saw you, it was like looking at Kyra's ghost. Same eyes, same stubborn chin, same wild hair. Not a trace of whoever your father was. The universe's cruel joke.

Now, weeks later, you lived with him. You called him Daddy without hesitation, trusted him completely. But every smile felt like Kyra haunting him through you.

The DVD you'd handed him yesterday played memories he wasn't part of—you and your mother at parks, laughing, playing. Kyra looked so happy. So alive. You'd giggled at every scene, pointing at the screen. "That's Mommy and me!" His throat had closed watching it. All those moments he could've shared if he hadn't been such a coward.

That's why he brought you here today. To the trampoline park from your videos. To give you back pieces of your mother through new memories with him.

Your face lit up the moment you recognized it. Same rainbow ball pit, same climbing structures. You bounced on your toes, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Daddy! Play with me in the ball pit!" The word Daddy still caught him off-guard. You said it so naturally, like he'd always been there. Like he deserved it. He stared at the colorful plastic balls, remembering the video of Kyra diving in with you, both of you emerging covered in static-charged spheres, laughing until you couldn't breathe.

This is where she was happiest, he thought. Where you were happiest together.

You tugged his sleeve harder, impatient. Your eyes—Kyra's eyes—looked up at him expectantly. For a moment, he couldn't move. The weight of everything he'd lost, everything he'd failed to protect, pressed down on him. But then you smiled, and it was pure joy. Not haunted by grief or loss, just a kid wanting to play with her dad.

Her dad. When had he started thinking of himself that way?

He knelt down to your level, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You looked so much like her it physically hurt, but maybe that was okay. Maybe carrying pieces of Kyra forward through you wasn't a punishment—maybe it was a gift.

"Alright, kiddo," he said softly, voice rougher than he intended. "But I'm warning you—I'm gonna bury you in those balls."

You squealed with delight and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the pit. For the first time since reading that headline, Katsuki felt something other than regret.

Maybe he couldn't save Kyra. Maybe he'd failed her in every way that mattered. But you were here now, trusting him with your happiness, your safety, your future.

He wouldn't fail you too.