The first week outside the hospital felt less like freedom and more like moving from one kind of observation into another.
Inko and Izuku stayed with the Bakugous.
Mitsuki had prepared the spare room before they arrived.
Fresh bedding covered the futon, and one of Izuku’s All Might figures waited on the bedside table.
Masaru had collected their clothes and toiletries from the apartment.
He had not noticed anything disturbed.
Neither had the police officer who accompanied him.
The gang had left no obvious sign.
Izuku slept in Inko’s room.
The first night, he woke three times.
The second night, he woke twice.
By the end of the first month, some nights passed without screaming.
Not many.
Enough.
Dr Arai continued seeing him twice a week.
Sometimes he spoke about the alley.
Sometimes he refused.
He began drawing with other colours again.
Green returned first.
Then red.
Yellow took longer because it reminded him of electricity.
Whenever someone dropped a tray, slammed a door or set off a loud Quirk nearby, Izuku froze.
His hands moved towards his ears before he realised what he was doing.
Katsuki noticed.
He never mentioned it.
Instead, he began announcing his explosions before using them.
“Small blast,” he would say.
Or, “I’m doing one now.” Mitsuki overheard him once.
She turned away before either boy could see her expression.
Katsuki’s wrist healed.
The cast came off after six weeks.
He immediately asked whether he could blow it up.
Masaru said no.
Mitsuki said absolutely not.
Katsuki tried anyway and lost access to dessert for two days.
Inko attended police meetings, completed insurance forms and called every number she could find for Hisashi.
His company eventually told her that he had left his position several months earlier.
No forwarding address existed.
No one knew where he had gone.
His telephone stopped accepting calls.
The debt was real.
Police discovered that Hisashi had borrowed heavily from an illegal lender connected to several small criminal groups.
Payments had stopped without explanation.
Daichi Senda had been sent to locate Inko because Hisashi had disappeared.
Inko read the report three times.
Then she locked herself in the Bakugous’ bathroom and cried so Izuku would not hear.
Her husband had vanished.
His debt had nearly killed them.
She did not know which truth hurt more.
The police found no direct evidence of a continuing threat.
Daichi’s known associates denied involvement.
The people above him disappeared behind layers of false names, legitimate companies and missing records.
Detective Mori recommended caution.
Mitsuki interpreted caution as permission to become unbearable.
She checked the locks every night.
She walked Izuku to counselling even when Inko was available.
She demanded that Inko telephone whenever she left the house.
“You know I’m an adult,” Inko said one afternoon.
“Debatable.” “I lived alone before marrying Hisashi.” “And look how that turned out.” “That is a terrible argument.” “It worked.” Masaru tried to mediate.
He failed.
Despite everything, life slowly resumed.
Izuku returned to preschool.
The teachers had been told that he had survived an attack, but not that he had fired the fatal shot.
Other parents knew something had happened.
Whispers followed Inko at the gate.
She learned to ignore them.
Izuku did not.
One afternoon, another child asked whether his mother had fought a villain.
Izuku said yes.
“Did a hero save you?” the child asked.
Izuku stared at the ground.
Katsuki stepped between them.
“We saved ourselves.” The other child frowned.
“That’s not how heroes work.” Katsuki shoved him.
The teachers separated them.
Mitsuki was called.
She pretended to be angry until they reached the car.
Then she bought both boys ice cream.
At home, Izuku continued studying heroes.
For several weeks, he could not watch fight footage.
He preferred rescue documentaries.
He watched heroes carry civilians from floods, guide people through smoke and calm frightened children after disasters.
All Might remained his favourite.
But Izuku no longer believed that heroes made everything simple.
Sometimes they arrived after the terrible thing had already happened.
Sometimes no hero came at all.
On those nights, he climbed into bed beside Inko and held her sleeve until he fell asleep.
Two months passed.
No threats arrived.
No strangers came to the Bakugou house.
The white van did not reappear.
Police patrols in the neighbourhood became less frequent.
Detective Mori stopped calling every day.
Then he stopped calling every week.
The silence began to feel less threatening.
It began to feel ordinary.
That was exactly what Rampart wanted.
From a distance, his people watched Inko rebuild her routines.
They photographed her walking to counselling appointments.
They noted the days Izuku attended preschool.
They recorded when Masaru left for work and when Mitsuki went shopping.
Rampart did not approach.
He did not send a message.
He did not make a threat.
Revenge delivered too quickly could be mistaken for anger.
He wanted Inko to understand loss.
That required patience.
Near the end of the second month, Inko announced that she and Izuku were returning home.
Mitsuki stared at her across the kitchen table.
“No.” “It was not a question.” “Then my answer is still no.” “We cannot live here forever.” “You can.” “Mitsuki.” “We have space.” “You have a family.” “So do you.” Inko looked towards the garden.
Izuku and Katsuki were building another cardboard city.
This one included a hospital, a police station and three hero agencies.
“I need to go home,” she said.
“Why?” “Because it is my home.” “It’s an apartment where an armed criminal found you.” “He found us in an alley.” “Because he was following you.” “The police think Daichi acted on instructions connected to Hisashi’s debt.
They have found no sign that anyone else is coming.” “The police also wrote down your address and allowed that doctor to poison every referral in the city.
Forgive me if their opinion does not tuck me in at night.” Inko reached across the table.
“I cannot let fear decide where Izuku grows up.” Mitsuki looked at her hand.
“You nearly died.” “I know.” “He nearly died.” “I know.” “Then why are you acting like this is over?” “Because if it never becomes over, then Daichi is still controlling us.” Mitsuki leaned back.
The anger left her face.
What remained was fear.
“You’ll call every day.” “Yes.” “Morning and night.” “Yes.” “You’ll keep the new locks.” “Masaru already installed them.” “I want a camera outside the door.” “All right.” “And Izuku sleeps in your room.” “He already does.” Mitsuki looked towards the garden.
Katsuki had climbed onto a box and was declaring himself the Number One Hero.
Izuku stood below, arguing that the hospital needed rescuing first.
“Two nights,” Mitsuki said.
“What?” “You stay there for two nights.
If either of you feels uncomfortable, you come back.” Inko smiled.
“That is not how moving works.” “It is now.” Masaru drove them home on a Friday afternoon.
He carried the bags upstairs while Inko and Izuku stood outside the apartment.
The new lock gleamed beneath the handle.
Izuku stared at the door.
“Do we have to?” Inko crouched.
“No.” He looked at her.
“We can go back to Auntie Mitsuki’s?” “Yes.” “Will she be angry?” “She will be delighted to have been right.” Izuku considered the apartment.
His hand tightened around the strap of his backpack.
“I want my hero notebooks.” “We can collect them and leave.” He shook his head.
“I want to stay.” “Are you sure?” “No.” The honesty made her chest ache.
Inko held out her hand.
“We’ll be unsure together.” They entered.
The apartment smelled faintly stale.
Sunlight passed through the curtains.
Dust rested along the television stand.
Everything appeared exactly as they had left it.
The mug beside the sink.
The papers on the table.
The framed family photograph on the shelf.
Inko did not know that another man had held it.
Izuku walked slowly towards his bedroom.
Inko followed.
He stopped in the doorway.
All Might smiled from every wall.
His figures remained in their rows.
His notebooks sat beside the desk.
The drawing of himself and Katsuki rested where he had left it.
Nothing was wrong.
That did not make the room feel safe.
“Can we move my All Might lamp into your room?” he asked.
“Of course.” “And my notebooks?” “All of them?” “Yes.” “That may require engineering.” Masaru appeared behind them carrying a suitcase.
“I have a toolbox.” Izuku managed a small smile.
They spent the afternoon cleaning.
Masaru checked every window and lock.
He installed a camera above the front door and another overlooking the small balcony.
Mitsuki telephoned four times.
On the fourth call, Inko threatened to switch off the phone.
Mitsuki said that would only cause her to come over.
Dinner was simple.
Rice, vegetables and soup.
Izuku helped set the table.
He checked the hallway whenever the building pipes knocked or someone walked past the door.
Afterwards, they watched an All Might rescue programme.
Izuku fell asleep against Inko’s shoulder.
She carried him to her bedroom.
His new sleeping space consisted of a small futon beside her bed, his All Might lamp and a stack of hero notebooks.
At midnight, Inko woke to find him standing beside her.
“Nightmare?” He nodded.
She lifted the blanket.
Izuku climbed into bed and curled against her.
The first night passed without anyone entering the apartment.
The next morning, sunlight filled the kitchen.
Inko made tamagoyaki.
Izuku spilled juice.
The washing machine rattled during its final cycle.
Normality returned in tiny pieces.
They walked to the shops.
No one followed them.
They visited the Bakugous for lunch.
Katsuki demanded that Izuku stay overnight.
Izuku said he wanted to sleep at home.
Inko looked at him.
He smiled uncertainly.
On the walk back, she bought ice cream.
The second evening felt easier than the first.
Inko unpacked the final suitcase.
Izuku placed his figures back in order, though he left the lamp in her room.
They ate leftover curry from Masaru.
At bedtime, Izuku asked whether heroes could be frightened inside their own homes.
“Yes,” Inko said.
“Even All Might?” “Even All Might.” “What does he do?” “I expect he checks the locks.” Izuku followed her through the apartment while she did exactly that.
Front door.
Balcony.
Windows.
Everything secure.
They went to bed.
For several hours, the apartment remained quiet.
Then a floorboard creaked in the hallway.
Inko’s eyes opened.
Izuku slept beside her, one hand wrapped around the sleeve of her pyjamas.
She remained still.
Listening.
Another creak.
Not the pipes.
Not the neighbours.
Inside the apartment.
Inko carefully slipped her sleeve from Izuku’s hand.
She reached towards the telephone on the bedside table.
The bedroom door moved.
It opened slowly.
A man stepped into the room.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, his silhouette filling the doorway.
Even in the darkness, Inko recognised the silver threaded through his hair and the strong, reassuring face that appeared regularly on television.
Rampart.
The Human Fortress.
One of Musutafu’s most trusted professional heroes.
Behind him, another figure waited in the hallway.
Inko’s fingers touched the telephone.
Rampart lifted one hand.
“Don’t.” His voice was calm.
Izuku stirred beneath the blankets.
Inko moved between him and the doorway.
“What are you doing in my home?” Rampart looked past her.
Towards the small shape in the bed.
Something cold entered his smile.
Then his eyes returned to Inko.
“We need to talk.” (let me know if you want a daily chapter or 2 chapter every 2 days.)