A breath escaped her, more sigh than laugh. She stared up at the ceiling; the dim light spread across her eyes. “When did it all start slipping away?” Her sigh lingered, cooling the room around her. “She brought me back… but I can’t go back to who I was.”
Her gaze fell to her hands. The fingers resting on the letter trembled. Then, the phone rang—a clean, metallic sound cutting through the stillness.
Mirko sat up sharply, surprise flickering across her face. The name glowing on her phone froze her breath.
[KamiHara Shinya]
Her lips trembled faintly. For a heartbeat, she simply stared at the name. “…Edge Shot…”
Her fingers shook as she steadied her breath and pressed the call button.
“It’s been a while, Rumi.” His laughter crackled through the speaker, and for a moment, the room didn’t feel as empty.
“Shinya…!” A smile broke across her face before she could stop it.
He gave a low, tired laugh. “My return date got pushed back again. Guess they still think I’m 'needed a bit longer.' Caution, they say.”
Something in his tone—familiar fatigue—made her chest tighten. “Better cautious than reckless,” she murmured. “Unlike me.”
“What’s this?” His laughter came soft, almost fond. “Did those words really come from you? Looks like you’ve finally grown up.”
Mirko’s smile deepened. “Even I get older, you know.”
“Funny coming from you—your body’s younger than ever. Can’t say the same for mine.” His laughter lingered, faint and warm—like dust catching the last light of day. “I wish I could’ve been at your return ceremony. But I was still stuck in the hospital back then. Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine, Shinya. If you’d shown up, the reporters would’ve gone crazy anyway.”
“Maybe so… but I swear I’ll be back before the year’s out. My body’s itching to move again.”
Mirko smiled. “Good. When that day comes, we’ll hold your own ceremony at Takoba Stadium—make it big.” She hesitated, then added softly, “I’ll be the one to hand you the flowers. So promise me you’ll come back.”
A brief silence followed. Then came Edge Shot’s quiet laugh. “Deal. You’d better keep that promise.”
“I will.”
A genuine smile spread across Mirko’s face—warm, unguarded, almost unfamiliar. She drew a slow breath. “Edge Shot… in that war against All For One, we really did give everything, didn’t we?”
Her gaze drifted, distant and heavy. “I lost both my arms and a leg… and you—you’ve spent eight years just trying to heal.”
For a while, only silence answered her—thick, familiar, and strangely comforting. All that lingered between them was the echo of a battlefield they both remembered. Mirko let out a quiet laugh. “Let’s run again someday—together.”
A pause stretched for a beat before Edge Shot’s voice slipped through, teasing softly. “You’ve already run across the whole world, haven’t you?”
Mirko smiled faintly. “This time, I mean with my own legs.”
Edge Shot chuckled. “Then don’t forget to hug me tight—with your own arms.”
“Of course.”
Mirko’s voice trembled ever so slightly. Neither spoke after that—only the faint sound of breathing and quiet laughter passing between them. In that sound lingered a warmth that would outlast every scar the war had left behind.
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After the call ended, Mirko sat motionless for a long moment. When the phone screen went dark, silence filled the room again. On the table, the letter and newspaper stirred faintly in the passing breeze. She pressed a fingertip along the edge of the letter, straightening it, then closed her eyes.
Her heartbeat hadn’t slowed—it still pressed fast against her ribs. Edge Shot’s voice, his last laugh, lingered in her ears like an echo that refused to fade.
“I can’t stay still forever.”
Mirko picked up her phone again. Her reflection in the dark screen looked calm, but her eyes were different now—clear, steady.
It was time to move again—forward.
The door opened, and two sets of footsteps entered in sync. Hawks and Mirko stepped inside together. Aizawa and Best Jeanist were already seated, waiting. The air felt heavy, sunlight stretching long across the papers piled high on the desk.
Mirko spoke first. “Those voices—the hallucinations. Did you figure out what’s behind them?”
Aizawa lifted his head slowly, the weight in his gaze unmistakable. “More or less.”
“Then tell me.” Her voice was quiet, tight with restraint.
Aizawa straightened the papers beneath his hand before answering. “It’s likely that trace fragments of Shigaraki’s cells remained in your body. When Rewind brought you back, it revived those fragments too—and that amplified both your nervous system and your memory pathways.”
Mirko’s brow twitched. “So you’re saying… that bastard’s residue is still inside me?”
Jeanist added in his calm, measured tone, “Not residue, exactly. Those cells are imprinted as information. Rewind didn’t just restore—it rebuilt.”
Hawks folded his arms, his head dipping slightly. “Which means your body and your memories keep feeding each other. When those cells react, your brain translates it into a hallucination.”
Mirko exhaled, the sound slow and thin. “Damn it… Rewind didn’t just bring me back. It brought him back too—piece by piece.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper—less anger now, more a quiet resignation that sank deeper than rage ever could. Mirko spoke low. “No clear cure, huh.”
Hawks answered carefully. “It could fade with time… but I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“No guarantee,” Aizawa cut in, firm as ever.
The room fell quiet. Mirko clasped her hands together and let out a long breath. “If it can’t be fixed, I’ll just have to get used to it.”
She lifted her head. Her eyes had changed—steady now, sharper than before.
“I’m done standing still.” Her voice rang clear. “Hallucinations, whispers, Shigaraki’s residue—whatever’s left of him. Even if it’s still inside me, it won’t stop me.”
Jeanist raised an eyebrow. “Then I take it you’re coming back?”
Mirko didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Time to start running again.”
Her words sliced clean through the still air.
“Are you sure about this?” Jeanist asked.
Mirko didn’t answer. She stood, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor. Raising both arms, she flexed, muscle and resolve drawn taut. “This body’s not built to sit still.”
A familiar grin curved her lips. “If standing still was the plan, I wouldn’t have taken Rewind at all.”
Hawks leaned back with a grin. “Still as blunt as ever. That’s the Mirko I know.”
Mirko placed her hands on her hips, glancing playfully between Hawks and Jeanist. “Come on. After that big return ceremony, if I just hide at home, wouldn’t that make you two look bad, not me?”
Jeanist cleared his throat. “You have a point there.”
Hawks chuckled, shaking his head. “So you’re coming back just to save our pride?”
Mirko winked. “Hey, the more reasons, the better.”
The tension that had hung in the room began to lift. Even Aizawa’s lips twitched into something close to a smile. Mirko’s laughter filled the space, and for the first time in a long while, the air inside the Commission felt alive again.
Hawks’ tone softened. “We’ll start with low-risk missions. Get your body used to the field first.”
Jeanist added, “You’ll start by teaming up with others—safer, and it’ll help you find your rhythm again.”
Mirko crossed her arms, grinning wide. “I used to think only the weak needed a team. That’s why I fought villains solo.”
Hawks jumped in right away. “Funny, I checked the old records—didn’t you team up with Deku and Bakugo once? Kendo, Komori, and Pony too? Ring any bells?”
Mirko arched a brow. “Please, they were just chasing my tail.”
Silence—then the room cracked open with laughter. Hawks waved a hand, still laughing. “Yeah, maybe don’t say that during interviews.”
Jeanist shook his head, smiling. “Now it really feels like you’re back.”
Even Aizawa’s mouth curved faintly. “Yeah. You’re back, Mirko.”
“Yeah. For real this time.” She took a breath that felt like the first in years.
Hawks’ smile faded. He drew in a quiet breath. “Mirko… whatever Shigaraki says, don’t listen. He’s just a phantom.”
Mirko met his gaze for a moment—then broke into a booming laugh.
“A phantom? Hah! What a coincidence. That’s exactly what I thought, too.”
Her voice came out short, but steady. “Like hell some dead bastard’s gonna stop me.”
Mirko’s voice filled the room, carrying the calm resolve of someone finally at peace with herself. The life she’d buried for so long was beginning to rise again.
She closed her eyes. Eri appeared in her mind—small hands clasped, praying quietly. Then Edge Shot—surrounded by medical gear, quietly enduring his own recovery.
Mirko’s shoulders lifted with a slow breath. “Yeah…”
Her voice was low, but clear—tempered like steel.
“I’m running again.”
Her rabbit ears twitched faintly. It was a small motion—yet unmistakable.
Mirko was ready to leap again.