Jin Bubaigawara, better known as Twice, sat on the edge of his bunk, legs dangling off the side, his eyes scanning the dull, monochrome walls of the rehabilitation center. The place was suffocatingly bland—an unremarkable stretch of pale gray cement, broken up only by the occasional barred window that let in weak slants of sunlight. The air was stale, but at least it was clean, which was something. It wasn’t a prison, they kept telling him. It was rehabilitation. A chance to fix people like him, people who had lost their way, people who had been consumed by the world’s cruelty.

But it still felt like a cage.

The walls were thick, with reinforced doors that slid open only when staff allowed it. There was a camera in the corner, always watching. Always reminding him that they didn't fully trust him.

Jin sighed, running his fingers through his unkempt hair. His once carefully slicked-back hairstyle now lay in disarray, a reflection of his own fractured mind. It had only been a few days since he arrived, but the isolation was already starting to weigh on him. Sure, there were therapy sessions, group activities, and the occasional opportunity to stretch his legs outside in the small courtyard, but it all felt too controlled, too distant.

He stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what Toga and Dabi were thinking. Did they miss the old days too? Or were they, like him, trapped in the endless cycle of second-guessing every decision, every action that led them here?

The door to his room slid open with a soft click, and a stern-faced guard appeared. "Group therapy in ten minutes," the man said, his voice as flat and colorless as the walls. Jin nodded absently. Group therapy. Another chance to sit in a circle and talk about his feelings. Yay.