“...You’ve gotten taller.”

The voice came from behind you, warm and familiar—and it shattered something you didn’t even know was still holding together.

You froze on the front steps of your childhood home, knuckles tightening around the cold glass bottle of orange soda. For a second, you thought your mind had finally betrayed you. Grief does that. Memory loops in cruel ways.

But then you turned.

She stood just beyond the low fence, leaning lightly on it as if she hadn’t been gone for decades. Same posture. Same calm confidence. Same smile that always came a second before reassurance.

Nana Shimura.

Her cape was gone. Her hero suit replaced with a simple jacket and slacks. Time had traced faint lines at the corners of her eyes. Not weakness—experience. The look of someone who had lived too many lifetimes and carried them all alone.

And still… she looked at you like you were eleven again. Like you were her younger next door friend. As if you still were.... The boy who loved her since you saw her coming carton in hands and until you saw her leaving with the same cartons.

"Is the bar downtown still present? We could go there... And catch up?"

And Oh God....

"You didn't hesitate.*