Lady Nagant's POV
The morning sunlight filtered through the windows of their new UA apartment, casting long golden streams across the kitchen table where Meiji sat carefully arranging his breakfast into small, precise portions. It was a habit from the facility—organizing food as if it might disappear—though Nagant noticed he was gradually becoming less rigid about it.
"The news said the bad people are gone," Meiji said quietly, shadows swirling gently around his glass of juice in patterns that had become his way of processing complex information.
Nagant set her own plate down and sat across from him, considering how to explain recent events in terms a child could understand. "Principal Nezu made sure that the people who hurt children can't do that anymore. They're being held accountable for their actions."
"All of them?" Meiji asked, shadows forming small question marks.
"The important ones," she confirmed. "The ones who made the decisions to hurt you and others like you. They can't hurt anyone now."
This seemed to satisfy him, the shadows settling into calmer patterns. Meiji had adapted remarkably well to their new routine—breakfast together, morning training or play sessions, afternoon lessons, evening family time. The concept of 'family time' was one Nagant herself was still learning to navigate.
"Nejire is coming today," Meiji said, a small smile forming as his shadows briefly mimicked her spiral patterns. "With new friends."
"Yes," Nagant replied, noting how easily he now anticipated social interaction rather than fearing it. "Principal Nezu selected children who he thinks you'll get along with."
"Children like her?" Meiji asked. "Who aren't afraid?"
"Children who are kind," Nagant corrected gently. "Like you."
The observation seemed to surprise him. His shadows paused their motion, as if considering this new perspective on himself. Meiji had begun to see his quirk as something that could bring joy rather than just fear—a profound shift that Nagant credited to the patient acceptance of children like Nejire.
As they finished breakfast, Nagant found herself observing the small domestic rituals they had developed. Meiji would rinse his dishes carefully, shadows helping to gather any remaining items. She would prepare his clothes while he brushed his teeth. Simple, ordinary moments that felt extraordinary to someone who had spent years living according to mission parameters rather than personal routines.
"Ready for today?" she asked as they prepared to leave for his play session.
Meiji nodded, shadows forming a confident upward sweep. "Ready."
The simple declaration carried weight beyond its brevity. Three weeks ago, Meiji could barely speak above a whisper. Now he could express readiness for social interaction with genuine enthusiasm.
As they walked through UA's corridors toward the socialization center, Nagant reflected on how much had changed—not just for Meiji, but for herself. The precision and vigilance of her HSPC training remained, but it had been repurposed. She now watched for signs of Meiji's comfort level rather than potential threats. She analyzed social dynamics to ensure his positive development rather than to identify targets.
"Will you watch?" Meiji asked as they approached the play area.
"If you'd like me to," she replied, maintaining the policy of letting him choose the level of independence he felt comfortable with.
Meiji considered this, shadows swirling thoughtfully. "Maybe... from far away? Like before?"
"Of course," Nagant agreed, recognizing this as another step toward autonomy. "I'll be nearby if you need me."
As they reached the door to the play area, Meiji paused, shadows extending briefly toward the handle before retreating.
"What if they don't like me?" he asked quietly, voicing a fear he hadn't expressed before.
Nagant knelt to his eye level, a posture that had become natural despite years of HSPC training that discouraged such vulnerable positions.
"Then they don't deserve your friendship," she said simply. "But I think you'll find that most people, when given the chance, will see what I see."
"What do you see?" Meiji asked, genuine curiosity in his dark eyes.
"A brave boy who's learning to trust again," she replied. "Someone who uses his unique gift to create beauty, not damage. Someone worth knowing."
The shadows around Meiji brightened—not literally, as shadows couldn't emit light, but their movement became more fluid, more confident. He stood straighter, reached for the door handle with steadier hands.
"You'll wait?" he asked one final time.
"I'll wait," she promised.
As Meiji entered the play area, Nagant positioned herself in the observation alcove where she could watch without being intrusive. Through the specialized glass, she observed as her charge—no, she corrected herself, as Meiji—prepared to make new friends.
The transformation from rescued subject to developing child continued, one small interaction at a time.
Meiji's POV
The play area looked different today. Instead of the usual training equipment, it had been arranged with colorful mats, art supplies, building materials, and various interactive stations that seemed designed for pure fun rather than skill development.
Nejire was already there, her blue hair floating in excited patterns as she gestured enthusiastically to three other children. When she spotted Meiji, her face lit up with genuine delight.
"Meiji! You're here!" she called, spiral energy already beginning to emanate from her hands in golden swirls. "I brought friends who really wanted to meet you!"
The other children looked at him with curiosity rather than fear, though Meiji noticed they stayed slightly closer to Nejire—using her comfortable presence as a buffer for their own uncertainty. His shadows responded to this dynamic, extending in gentle, non-threatening patterns that mirrored Nejire's energy spirals.
"This is Hanako," Nejire introduced, indicating a girl with short brown hair and bright green eyes. "Her quirk lets her understand how people are feeling. And this is Koji," she gestured to a quiet boy with silver hair, "he can make plants grow, and Yuki," finally pointing to a child with distinctive heterochromatic eyes, "who can change the temperature of things just by touching them!"
Meiji studied each child carefully, shadows forming small greeting waves. "Hello," he said softly, his voice carrying further than it had in previous social situations.
Hanako stepped forward slightly, tilting her head as if listening to something only she could hear. "Your emotions feel... careful," she said with the directness of childhood. "But not scared. More like... hopeful?"
The observation surprised everyone, including Meiji himself. His shadows swirled as he considered whether this assessment felt accurate.
"I am hopeful," he realized, the admission coming more easily than expected. "About today."
This seemed to break whatever remaining ice existed between them. Koji moved toward the plant-growing station, gesturing for Meiji to join him. "Want to see if your shadows can help plants grow? I've never tried combining quirks like that before."
Intrigued by the possibility, Meiji approached the small garden setup. Koji placed his hands on a particularly droopy seedling, concentrating as his quirk began to encourage growth. Without being asked, Meiji's shadows flowed around the plant, creating a protective canopy that seemed to enhance the growing environment.
To everyone's amazement, the seedling didn't just grow—it flourished, developing rich green leaves and even small flower buds under the combined influence of Koji's nurturing quirk and Meiji's protective shadows.
"It's like you're giving the plant a safe space to grow!" Yuki observed, clapping her hands together before placing them on a nearby watering can, cooling the water to the perfect temperature.
For the next hour, the children experimented with different combinations of their quirks. Hanako's emotional sensitivity helped them understand when their collaborations were working well. Yuki's temperature control enhanced various projects, while Koji's plant growth combined with Meiji's shadows created extraordinary garden displays.
But the most significant moment came when one of the children—a newcomer who arrived mid-session—struggled with his own quirk control. The boy, who could create small sonic pulses, accidentally triggered an overwhelming blast that knocked over several art projects and left him tearing up with frustration.
Without conscious thought, Meiji's shadows flowed toward the distressed child, forming a gentle cocoon around him. The shadows absorbed the sound waves, muffling any further accidents, while their soft darkness provided a calming environment.
"It's okay," Meiji said quietly, approaching the boy with the same patience Lady Nagant had shown him. "Quirks are hard to control sometimes. Mine was scared of everything when I first came here."
The boy looked up through tear-blurred eyes. "Really?"
"Really," Meiji confirmed, allowing his shadows to form small, friendly shapes around them both. "But it gets easier. The teachers here help."
In that moment, Meiji realized something profound—he wasn't just receiving help anymore. He was capable of giving it. His experiences, painful as they had been, had taught him how to recognize and comfort another child struggling with quirk control.
Nejire watched this interaction with obvious pride. "See?" she said to the group. "I told you Meiji was special."
The word 'special' might once have made Meiji uncomfortable—too reminiscent of how the researchers had described him. But from Nejire, surrounded by accepting friends, it felt like a compliment rather than a classification.
As the session concluded and the children prepared to leave, several of them asked when they could play again. Plans were made for the following week, and Meiji found himself genuinely excited about the prospect.
"That was fun," he told Hanako as they said goodbye.
She smiled, tilting her head in that listening pose again. "Your emotions feel brighter now. Like... like sunshine through clouds."
The metaphor resonated deeply with Meiji. His shadows swirled in patterns that, while still dark, seemed somehow luminous with possibility.
When Lady Nagant approached to collect him, Meiji ran toward her with an enthusiasm that surprised them both.
"They liked me," he announced, shadows dancing around them in celebration. "And I helped someone."
"Of course they did," Nagant replied, something warm in her voice that hadn't been there during their early days together. "And helping others is what heroes do."
The casual mention of heroism in relation to himself was new, but Meiji found he didn't immediately reject the concept. Maybe someday, when he was older and stronger, he could use his quirk to help people the way these new friends had helped him feel accepted.
The shadows seemed to approve of this possibility, forming shapes that resembled children holding hands as they walked back through UA's corridors.
General POV
The classroom in UA's faculty building had been transformed for Lady Nagant's first official teaching assignment. Unlike traditional quirk training spaces, this room emphasized understanding and control over raw power development. Diagrams covered the walls showing the emotional and psychological components of quirk manifestation, and the seating arrangement encouraged discussion rather than lecture-style learning.
Nagant stood before a class of fifteen second-year students, each struggling with various aspects of quirk control. Her reputation as a former HSPC operative had preceded her, creating an atmosphere of wary curiosity among the students.
"Quirk control," she began, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had mastered precise application of power, "is not about dominance over your abilities. It's about harmony between your conscious intentions and your quirk's natural responses."
A student raised her hand tentatively. "But Professor Nagant, isn't control about forcing your quirk to do what you want?"
"That's a common misconception," Nagant replied, moving to a diagram that showed neural pathways during quirk activation. "Force creates resistance. Your quirk is an extension of yourself—fighting it is like fighting your own hand to write legibly."
She gestured for a volunteer, and after a moment's hesitation, a boy with a fire emission quirk stepped forward.
"Tell me about your control issues," Nagant instructed.
"I can't regulate the temperature," he admitted. "Either it's too hot and dangerous, or too weak to be useful."
"Show me," Nagant said, stepping back to give him space.
The student activated his quirk, flames emerging from his palms in an uneven pattern—some areas blazing intensely while others barely flickered.
Instead of immediately offering correction, Nagant observed silently for several moments. "How are you feeling right now?" she finally asked.
"Frustrated," the student replied, his flames sputtering accordingly.
"And that frustration affects your flames," Nagant noted. "Your emotional state is directly influencing your quirk's output. Traditional training methods focus on conscious control, but ignore the emotional component."
She moved closer, her presence somehow calming rather than intimidating. "Close your eyes. Instead of telling your quirk what to do, listen to what it's trying to tell you."
"I don't understand," the student said, but complied.
"Your quirk responds to your emotional state," Nagant explained to the class while the volunteer maintained concentration. "Frustration creates instability. Anxiety causes fluctuation. But connection—true understanding of your quirk as part of yourself—creates harmony."
She turned back to the student. "What do you feel from your quirk right now?"
"It's... eager?" the student said uncertainly. "Like it wants to help but doesn't know how?"
"Exactly," Nagant confirmed. "Now, instead of controlling it, try collaborating with it. Ask it for what you need, rather than demanding."
The change was immediate and remarkable. The student's flames settled into an even, controlled burn—not through conscious manipulation, but through emotional alignment.
The class watched with fascination as Nagant worked with several more students, each achieving improved control through her methodology of understanding rather than domination.
"This approach works because it addresses the fundamental nature of quirks," she explained as the lesson concluded. "They're not external tools to be wielded—they're expressions of who you are. The better you understand yourself, the better you can work with your quirk."
A student in the back row raised her hand. "Professor Nagant, did you always train this way?"
The question carried implicit reference to her HSPC background—an acknowledgment that her teaching methods seemed radically different from the commission's philosophy.
"No," Nagant replied honestly. "I was trained to view my quirk as a weapon to be controlled absolutely. It took caring for someone whose quirk was deeply connected to their emotional well-being to understand that there was a better way."
She didn't mention Meiji by name, but several faculty members observing from the back of the room understood the reference.
"The most important lesson I can teach you," Nagant concluded, "is that your quirk doesn't define you, but it does reflect you. Treat it—and yourselves—with the respect that reflection deserves."
As students filed out, many lingered to express appreciation for the different approach. From the observation area, Aizawa watched with approval, making notes for his own curriculum adjustments.
Lady Nagant had found her calling as an educator, using her hard-won understanding of quirk control to help others develop healthier relationships with their abilities. It was a far cry from her days as an assassin, but perhaps a more fitting application of her unique insights.
The afternoon sun streamed through the classroom windows, illuminating the space where former weapons were learning to become teachers, and traumatized individuals were discovering they could help others heal.
Progress, it seemed, came in many forms.
Meiji's POV
The city beyond UA's gates stretched out before them like an entirely different world. Meiji sat in the back seat of the secure vehicle, shadows pressed close to the windows as he took in the bustling streets, crowded sidewalks, and towering buildings that made up everyday life for most people.
It was his first trip off campus since the rescue, and every sight felt simultaneously foreign and familiar—stirring fragments of memories from a time before the facility that he couldn't quite piece together.
"Where are we going?" he asked Lady Nagant, who sat beside him reviewing security protocols one final time.
"The district park," she replied. "Principal Nezu thought it would be good for you to experience a normal public space. With appropriate supervision, of course."
The 'appropriate supervision' included two discrete UA security personnel in a following vehicle and communication devices that would summon immediate backup if needed. But for Meiji, the most important security was Lady Nagant's calm presence beside him.
As they entered the park, Meiji's shadows reacted to the new environment with curiosity rather than fear. They extended outward in exploratory tendrils, investigating park benches, playground equipment, and the various people enjoying the sunny afternoon.
"So many people," he observed, watching families picnicking, children playing, couples walking hand in hand. "They all look... happy."
"Many of them are," Lady Nagant agreed. "This is what normal life looks like for most people."
They walked along the main path, Meiji's shadows moving in gentle patterns that drew occasional curious glances but no fear or alarm. His control had improved dramatically, and the shadows now appeared more like an interesting quirk manifestation than a potential threat.
They paused at a fountain where children were feeding ducks, and Meiji watched with fascination as the tiny birds competed for bread crumbs. Lady Nagant purchased some bird food from a nearby vendor, and they spent several minutes participating in this simple, ordinary activity.
"They're not afraid," Meiji noted, watching as ducks paddled directly up to his shadow-covered hands to accept food.
"Animals often sense intentions better than humans do," Lady Nagant observed. "They know you mean no harm."
As they continued through the park, Meiji's wonder at everyday sights was palpable. Ice cream vendors, street musicians, hobby vendors selling handmade crafts—each represented a aspect of civilian life he had no memory of experiencing.
But as they passed a small medical supply booth—a first aid station for the park—Meiji suddenly froze. His shadows contracted violently, forming defensive spikes as memories of white coats, needles, and sterile equipment flooded his consciousness.
Lady Nagant immediately recognized the signs of a triggered flashback. Without drawing attention to the situation, she guided Meiji to a nearby bench away from the medical station.
"Breathe," she instructed calmly. "You're safe. We're in the park. No one is going to hurt you."
Meiji's breathing was rapid and shallow, shadows continuing to form protective barriers around him. Several park-goers began to notice the disturbance, some moving closer with concern.
"The shadows," Meiji gasped. "I can't—they won't listen—"
"Yes, they will," Lady Nagant said firmly, taking his hands in hers despite the swirling darkness. "Remember what you learned. Your shadows respond to you. Show them you're safe."
Through the breathing techniques they had practiced and the grounding presence of Lady Nagant's voice, Meiji gradually regained control. The defensive spikes receded, replaced by gentler formations that still provided comfort but no longer appeared threatening.
"Sorry," he whispered, ashamed of the public display.
"Never apologize for having feelings," Lady Nagant replied. "That's part of healing—learning to handle difficult emotions when they arise."
A small crowd had gathered at a respectful distance, and Lady Nagant noticed several people looking concerned rather than frightened. One elderly woman approached cautiously.
"Is the young man alright?" she asked kindly. "I have some water if he needs it."
The simple offer of help—from a stranger who had witnessed his quirk at its most agitated—seemed to surprise Meiji more than the flashback itself.
"He's fine, thank you," Lady Nagant replied. "Just needed a moment."
"Quirks can be overwhelming sometimes," the woman said understandingly. "Especially for the young ones. I've seen it with my grandson."
As she walked away, Meiji looked up at Lady Nagant with something like wonder. "She wasn't afraid."
"Most people aren't, when they understand you're not a threat," Lady Nagant explained. "Fear usually comes from not understanding."
They remained on the bench for several more minutes, allowing Meiji to fully recover while observing the park's peaceful atmosphere. His shadows gradually returned to their exploratory patterns, though they remained closer to his body than before.
"Can we stay a little longer?" Meiji asked as the shadows formed small shapes mimicking the ducks they had fed earlier.
"Of course," Lady Nagant agreed, recognizing that ending the outing immediately after the flashback would reinforce negative associations with public spaces.
As the afternoon progressed, Meiji's comfort level gradually returned. He watched children on swings, observed artists sketching by the pond, and even managed to smile when a friendly dog approached seeking attention from his shadow-covered hands.
By the time they prepared to leave, Meiji had experienced both the challenges and joys of being in a public space. His shadows moved in satisfied patterns as they returned to the vehicle, and he spent the drive back to UA pointing out interesting sights they passed.
"Will we come back?" he asked as UA's gates came into view.
"When you're ready," Lady Nagant promised. "And next time, we'll know to avoid certain areas until you're more prepared for them."
Meiji nodded, understanding that healing was a process with setbacks as well as progress. But today had proven something important—he could exist in the normal world. With support and preparation, he could be part of the broader society rather than hidden away from it.
The shadows seemed to agree, forming hopeful patterns as they settled back into the familiar safety of UA's campus. The outside world was vast and sometimes challenging, but it was no longer completely foreign.
It was, Meiji realized, something he could learn to be part of.
As they approached the building that housed their apartment, Meiji felt a strange mix of relief and anticipation. The park had been wonderful and frightening in equal measure—a reminder that recovery was complex, but that there was an entire world beyond UA's walls waiting for him when he was ready.
thanks for reading guys, god bless ya'll
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AN: So I just finished this chapter, I mean reviewing it and everything I do to try to make logic, uhhh I like taking my time reviewing things I mean, add small details, some little jokes, some grammar I try to use thats complicated just to make ya'll learn something new just in case.
(I also do... sometimes, most of them is just words I'm used to saying, which I've found most people aren't used to hearing so its quite shocking sometimes, dw, at least we go on together learning something new while wasting our time with fanfics 👍)