Chapter 68: A Message from the Ashes
[The Kuzan Estate - Twilight]
The elongated black limousine crunched over the gravel driveway, passing through the wrought-iron gates of the Kuzan estate.
For Aokiji, this drive had always felt like a preamble to a funeral. Entering these grounds usually meant bracing for an arctic chill—not just from his father's quirk, but from the rigid, suffocating silence that governed the household. The staff would usually be lined up like wax figures, terrified of making a sound.
But today, the air felt different.
As the car rolled to a gentle stop before the massive oak front doors, Aokiji noticed the change immediately. The head gardener, an elderly man usually hunched in nervous concentration, straightened up and offered a genuine, crinkled smile and a wave. The maid who opened the car door didn't bow with mechanical terror; her shoulders were relaxed, and her eyes held a look of profound relief.
Aokiji stepped out onto the stone pavement. His left arm was still heavily swathed in the medical sling against his chest. He looked up at the towering mansion. The stone facade, which had always loomed over him like a fortress prison, just looked like... stone.
"Big brother!"
The front door burst open. Sayuri didn't wait for protocol. She flew out onto the porch, wearing a bright yellow sweater that clashed wonderfully with the estate's muted tones. She skidded to a halt just inches from him, her arms thrown out, remembering at the last second his broken ribs and burns.
Instead of a tackle, she grabbed his good right hand with both of hers, squeezing tightly.
"You're late! Mom's been pacing!" she chattered, pulling him toward the entrance.
"I'm literally on time, squirt," Aokiji murmured, a genuine warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of her unabashed energy.
Stepping across the threshold was like walking into a different dimension. The foyer, usually a cavern of echoing marble and cold drafts, was... warm. The central heating system, which his father kept at a bare minimum, was humming audibly, pumping cozy air into every corner.
And there was a smell. A rich, savory smell that had no business being in this sterile house.
His mother emerged from the hallway leading to the kitchen. She wasn't sitting upright in the parlor waiting to be served tea. She was wearing a floral apron over her silk dress, and there was a smudge of flour on her cheek.
"Aokiji," she breathed, her hands fluttering to her mouth before she rushed forward. She hugged him gently, mindful of his sling, smelling of dashi stock and perfume. "Welcome home."
She pulled back, her eyes shining. "I gave the chef the night off. I'm cooking. What do you want? And do not tell me 'whatever is fine'."
Aokiji blinked, momentarily stunned. His meals were usually calculated equations of nutrients and quirk-enhancing vitamins.
"Uh... Katsudon?" he suggested, the comfort food popping into his mind. "With... extra egg?"
His mother beamed, a radiant smile that made her look ten years younger. "Katsudon it is. High calories for recovery. Go sit down."
He wandered into the expansive living room. His grandfather occupied his usual leather armchair, the newspaper spread open. He lowered the paper slowly as Aokiji entered. The old man's eyes, usually sharp with criticism, were calm.
"The prodigal grandson returns from the wars," the old man grunted. It was his version of an affectionate greeting. "Sit down. Get off those legs."
Even his grandmother, a woman carved from ice herself, pointed to the plush sofa. "There is a heated blanket there. Use it. This house has been too cold for far too long."
And then, there was his father.
Mr. Kuzan was not sequestered in his study surrounded by monitors and stock tickers. He was sitting on the couch. His suit jacket was off, his tie loosened. He was watching a noisy animated comedy show that Sayuri must have put on.
He looked up as Aokiji approached, clicked the remote to mute the TV, and patted the empty cushion next to him.
"Sit, son."
Aokiji sat. For the next hour, the Kuzan family did something revolutionary. They existed together. They didn't talk about villain attacks, stock prices, or hero rankings. They talked about Sayuri's upcoming school play. They debated the best kind of fertilizer for the grandfather's bonsai trees.
They were just a family, savoring the simple, luxurious taste of safety.
[The Visitors]
Ding-Dong.
The chime of the front gate doorbell cut through the comfortable chatter like a knife. The atmosphere instantly tightened.
The butler entered the living room, his usual composure slightly frayed. "Sir. There are visitors at the main gate. It is... Mr. Yagi Toshinori and Mr. Aizawa from U.A. High."
Silence fell over the room. The comedy show on the muted TV flickered unnoticed.
The Grandfather slowly folded his newspaper, placing it on his lap. "The man who changed the world is at our doorstep."
Mr. Kuzan stood up. He didn't rush. He buttoned his cuffs methodically, the mask of the CEO sliding back into place—but this time, it wasn't coldness; it was gravity.
"Show them into the formal drawing room," Mr. Kuzan instructed. "And bring tea. The best we have."
Ten minutes later, the double oak doors of the drawing room were opened.
Shota Aizawa walked in first. The bandages were gone from his face, leaving only a small, fresh scar beneath his eye. He looked exhausted but sharp in a simple black suit.
Behind him walked a legend reduced to bone. All Might.
He wore an ill-fitting yellow pinstripe suit that hung loosely on his emaciated frame. His eyes were sunken shadows in a skull-like face. Yet, when he entered, the air in the room seemed to agonizingly compress. Even bereft of power, his presence was colossal.
"Please, sit," Mr. Kuzan gestured to the silk-upholstered armchairs opposite the family couch.
All Might and Aizawa did not bow. They sat with a quiet, respectful dignity, facing Aokiji and his parents.
"Thank you for receiving us on such short notice," All Might's voice was a low rasp, like grinding stones. "I know this is a difficult time for your family."
"We are here," Aizawa began, sliding a thick document across the polished coffee table, "to discuss the implementation of the 'Height's Alliance' on-campus dormitory system. Given the severe security breaches and the targeted nature of the recent attacks, the faculty and police believe it is essential for student safety that they live on U.A. grounds."
All Might placed his large, bony hands on his knees. He looked directly at Aokiji's parents. His azure eyes burned with a fierce sincerity.
"Before we discuss logistics," All Might said, "I came here to offer a personal apology. You entrusted your son to U.A. You entrusted him to me. And I allowed a situation to develop where he was placed directly in the line of fire against the greatest evil of our time."
His voice cracked slightly with the weight of his regret.
"I failed to protect him completely because my own strength was waning. For the pain and terror your family endured... I am truly sorry."
Silence stretched in the opulent room. Aokiji watched his father, wondering if the ice would return.
Mr. Kuzan looked at the skeletal hero. He looked at the man who had literally given every fiber of his being to hold up the sky for decades.
"Mr. Yagi," Aokiji's father said, his voice firm and resonant.
All Might braced himself.
"I was raising a successor for a corporate empire," Mr. Kuzan continued, glancing sideways at Aokiji. "I spent years terrified that a strong draft of wind might hurt him, obsessed with protecting an image."
Mr. Kuzan leaned forward, his eyes meeting All Might's.
"But you... and U.A. High... you took that boy and polished him into a man who can face an abyss and not blink. You didn't break him. You forged him."
Aokiji's mother nodded beside him, reaching out to grip her son's good hand. Her eyes were wet, but her voice was steady. "We saw him on the news. We saw him standing next to you in that hellscape. We have never been more terrified in our lives... but we have never been prouder."
Mr. Kuzan reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek fountain pen. He didn't bother reading the fine print of the dormitory agreement. He flipped to the last page and signed his name with a swift, decisive flourish.
Scritch-scratch.
"Take him," Mr. Kuzan slid the signed document back across the table to Aizawa. "His place isn't here, hidden in a glass castle anymore. His place is out there, in the arena, with you."
[The Threshold]
The meeting concluded with firm handshakes and nods of mutual respect between titans of different worlds.
Aizawa and All Might walked out of the heavy front doors, heading down the illuminated stone path toward the waiting car at the gate. The evening air was cool, a relief after the intensity of the drawing room.
"You were tense in there," Aizawa murmured to the former Number One Hero, watching his breath fog slightly.
"I was prepared for them to scream at me," All Might admitted, looking up at the first stars appearing in the twilight sky. "I was ready for them to forbid him from ever returning to U.A. I thought they would hate me for taking their son's safety away."
"Don't be stupid," Aizawa huffed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "Stand tall, Yagi. You're still the symbol they look up to. Even retired, don't go bowing your head so easily. They respect strength, and you showed it."
"Wait! Mr. Aizawa! All Might!"
The crunch of hurried footsteps on gravel broke the quiet. They turned around.
Aokiji was jogging after them, his sling jostling slightly. He stopped a few meters away, his breath visible in sharp puffs in the cool air.
"Kuzan?" All Might's skeletal face softened into a gentle smile. "You should be resting, young man. Those ribs need time."
Aokiji didn't smile back. He looked at All Might's frail form—the undeniable physical consequence of the battle at Kamino. The consequence of saving him.
"I..." Aokiji hesitated, the confident facade cracking. He looked down at his shoes. "I saw the news loop. About your retirement. About the embers finally going out."
He looked up, and his eyes were pools of raw, corrosive guilt.
"It happened because you had to overexert yourself to save me. If I hadn't been caught... if I had been stronger... you wouldn't have used up the last drop of One For All. It's my fault the world lost its Symbol of Peace."
The confession hung heavy in the night air. Aizawa watched silently, knowing this was a wound only one person could cauterize.
All Might chuckled softly. A low, rumbling sound in his chest. He walked back the few steps toward Aokiji and placed a large, bony hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder. The grip was firm, grounding.
"Young Kuzan," All Might said, his voice quiet but intensely focused. "You have it backwards."
Aokiji blinked, confusion clouding his guilt.
"I didn't lose my power because of you," All Might said, his blue eyes burning with the last remnants of his indomitable spirit. "Thanks to you, I was able to use the very last embers of my fire to defeat the evil that has haunted me my entire life."
He squeezed Aokiji's shoulder, shaking him slightly to emphasize the point.
"That man... All For One... he was my burden to carry. And he was targeting your family to get to me. Our enemy was one and the same."
All Might smiled, a genuine, proud smile that transcended his physical weakness.
"You didn't end my era, Aokiji. You stood by my side and helped me close the book with a victory. For that... I thank you."
Aokiji felt the crushing knot in his chest begin to loosen. The guilt that had been eating at him since he woke up in the hospital finally dissolved under the heat of All Might's absolution.
"Get some rest," Aizawa said, his tone gruff but not unkind, turning back toward the gate. "We move into the dorms in three days. Don't be late, Kuzan."
"Yes, sir," Aokiji nodded, his voice clearer now.
He stood on the driveway and watched the two heroes walk away into the gathering twilight.
The era of All Might was over. The Pillar had fallen.
But looking down at his own hand, feeling the lingering chill of his own power beneath the skin, Aokiji knew that something new was just beginning to rise from the ashes.
.
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