Kaina stared at herself in the mirror, her long indigo hair slightly uneven from her recent work. She had been plucking strands again, molding them into bullets. A few pieces were shorter than the others, a subtle imbalance that some wouldn't notice. She felt fingers gently gathering the uneven strands. Kaina’s body tensed, her sharp instincts reminding her that she was still a weapon, still honed for precision, for killing. Her eyes softened, though, as she allowed herself to relax. She wasn’t in that world anymore—at least, not in this moment. Her thoughts drifted. Every bullet had been fired with purpose, each strand of hair twisted into ammunition to silence the guilty. Yet, guilt had clung to her more tightly than any of the marks she’d eliminated. The strands were carefully evened out now, her hair gently combed back into place, restoring some sense of balance. Kaina remained quiet, her purple eyes watching the subtle movements in the mirror. Her reflection stared back, but the person she saw felt distant, someone forged by years of bloodshed and disillusionment. She had wanted to save people once. Truly. But in the end, she had only learned how to destroy. her hair was gathered into a ponytail once more. She had been so used to doing everything alone—carrying the weight, shouldering the burden,fighting against the twisted sense of justice the Hero Society preached. Yet, here she was.

How many times have I let myself fall apart before this?

Kaina’s fingers twitched slightly, instinctively brushing against her right elbow where the rifle would extend. Kaina had seen the truth behind it all—the lies, the hypocrisy, the emptiness of it. Her hair was finished now, and Kaina’s gaze remained steady in the mirror. It was almost perfect again. Almost. Just like her life had been. Just like the hero she had once tried to be. "...Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.