Chapter 7: Still Here

It was an ordinary day.

I was back at home.

I was eating with my parents at the table, they were smiling and we were all talking.

There was the smell of my favorite meal, fried chicken, made by my mom.

I took a bite.

She asked if it was good.

I started crying, and—

I woke up, tears coming down my face.

Ah. it was a dream.

I started crying more.

The door opened softly.

Not the sharp mechanical slide of a lab door. Not the heavy clang of reinforced steel.

Just… a normal door.

Footsteps followed. Measured. Unhurried. The kind that didn’t expect resistance.

I wiped at my face with the sleeve of the borrowed hospital shirt, but it was pointless. My hands were shaking too badly.

Someone stopped beside the bed.

I didn’t look up right away.

“You awake?” a woman asked.

Her voice was low, rough around the edges, like it had been worn down by too many long nights and too much shouting over gunfire. Not unkind. Just tired.

I nodded.

The mattress dipped slightly as she leaned against the frame, not sitting, just close enough that I could feel her presence. Solid. Real.

When I finally looked at her, she wasn’t what I’d expected.

She wasn’t towering, or armored, or terrifying up close.

She was tall, yes—but in a practical way. Broad shoulders under a green track jacket that looked more like something you’d wear on a jog than in a raid. The zipper was half down, a white shirt underneath, dog tags resting against the fabric like they belonged there. Like they’d always been there.

Her dark blue hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, a few loose strands escaping and brushing her cheek. Her face was sharp without being cruel—strong jaw, straight nose, eyes that had clearly seen worse things than this and kept going anyway.

Those eyes were on me now.

Not scanning.

Not judging.

Just… checking.

“You crying because of pain,” she said, more statement than question, “or because of something else?”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

My chest tightened again, and suddenly I was crying like I had in the dream—quiet, broken, trying not to make noise like that would somehow make it less real.

She didn’t tell me to stop.

She didn’t tell me everything was okay either.

She just reached over and awkwardly patted my shoulder once, then left her hand there, heavy and warm.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Figured.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t the suffocating kind. It felt… allowed.

After a while, she straightened.

“Listen,” she said. “I’m not good at this stuff. Talking, I mean.” A pause. “But I need you to know something.”

I looked at her again.

Up close, I noticed the scars. Small ones. Old ones. Faded lines along her hands and neck, half-hidden by her collar. Proof of a life spent stepping into danger instead of away from it.

“That place?” she continued. “It’s shut down. Sealed. Evidence is being pulled out as we speak. Anyone who didn’t surrender already is in cuffs.”

Her jaw tightened, just slightly.

“What they did to you… wasn’t legal. Not even by Academy City’s standards.”

That almost made me laugh.

Almost.

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.

“For now, you’re under Anti-Skill protection. No experiments. No ‘necessary procedures.’ Just doctors, rest, and paperwork I don’t want to deal with.”

She glanced down at me again.

“And until we figure out what to do with you long-term…” she added, “…you’ll be staying with me.”

I blinked.

“With… you?”

She shrugged.

“I’ve got a spare room. And I’m not about to dump a kid who just survived hell into the system.”

Her eyes softened—just a little.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” she said. “You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

Then, quieter:

“You can just breathe for a while.”

For the first time since the dream, since the facility, since everything—

I believed her.

Yomikawa turned to leave, one hand already on the doorframe.

She paused.

“…Ah. One more thing.”

She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled something out, holding it loosely between her fingers.

My breath caught.

A small plastic figure swung gently on a metal ring.

Tony Tony Chopper.

For a second, my brain refused to process it. Like seeing something from another life placed into the wrong one.

“...That’s—” My voice broke. “That’s mine.”

“Yeah,” Yomikawa said. “Figured.”

She stepped closer and placed it carefully on the bedside table, like it was fragile. Like I was.

“It was logged with your personal items,” she explained. “Found in a storage locker. Name tag had ‘Aihara Mirai’ written on it.”

My hands curled into the blanket.

I remembered clutching it at the airport. The weight of it in my palm. Promising myself I wouldn’t lose it.

I had.

And somehow, it came back.

Yomikawa straightened, expression hard to read.

“I went through the files they left behind,” she said. “Had to. Standard procedure.”

Her jaw tightened.

“They documented everything. Experiments. Schedules. Justifications.” A beat. “Personal items, too. Like they were inventory.”

She looked at me again, really looked this time.

“That keychain didn’t belong in a locker,” she said flatly. “It belonged with you.”

I reached out with shaking fingers and wrapped my hand around it.

It was scratched.

A little worn.

But still Chopper. Still smiling.

Something in my chest finally gave way.

“…Thank you,” I whispered.

Yomikawa nodded once.

“Get some rest,” she said. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

She turned toward the door, then stopped again—just for a second.

“…You did good,” she added quietly. “Surviving, I mean.”

Then she left.

The door clicked shut behind her.

I held the keychain to my chest and let myself cry again—but this time, it was different.

Not the sharp, tearing kind.

The kind that comes after.

The kind that says: I’m still here.

And for the first time since Academy City swallowed me whole—

I believed that things might actually matter.

And as exhaustion finally dragged me back under, I felt something unfamiliar settle in my chest.

Not safety.

Not yet.

But the fragile beginning of it.

I

I had been crying for what felt like hours.

Eventually, there were no tears left—just this hollow pressure in my chest.

I found myself standing by the window.

A window.

Do you believe that?

It felt like ages since I’d seen one.

Outside, Academy City stretched endlessly: towering skyscrapers, rotating windmills, suspended walkways, and air that screamed technology. Lights reflected off glass and steel, orderly and alive.

Everything felt unreal. Like I was looking at a postcard from a world I’d been erased from.

I stepped closer.

Wait—

I stepped closer.

That realization hit me all at once.

I looked down at myself. My legs were steady. My balance was fine. No pain. No weakness.

Yesterday—not long ago—I’d had broken bones. I was sure of it. I remembered the way my body had screamed when Anti-Skill pulled me away.

And yet here I was.

Completely fine.

I concentrated inward, instinctively searching my AIM field for answers. Had I copied something? A regenerative ability? Some kind of healing esper?

No.

Nothing like that.

My thoughts drifted back to my so-called healing factor. I did heal faster than normal—but broken bones? Those still took time. Days. Weeks.

This didn’t add up.

My thoughts were spiraling when the door behind me burst open so hard it might as well have been an explosion.

I spun around.

Misaki.

She was already crying.

I barely had time to register her expression before she ran straight at me.

Bang.

She slammed into me and wrapped her arms around my waist, hugging me with far more force than a girl that thin should’ve been capable of.

“You LIAR!” she yelled, voice shaking. “You said you’d escape! You said it was going to be okay! Do you have any idea how worried I was?!”

Ah.

I’d forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” I said weakly. “They threatened my… my—”

The words stuck in my throat.

Misaki cut me off immediately.

“You don’t have to say it. I know.” She took a shaky breath. “They told me everything. I was the one who leaked what they were doing to the public.”

I froze.

“I’m sorry, Mirai,” she continued, her voice breaking. “I thought burying everything was the safest choice—for me. I should’ve done it sooner. I’m sorry.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “But the thought of never seeing you again… it ate me alive. I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided that even if they came after me, I’d still choose you.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I was only thinking about myself.”

“No,” I said immediately. “Misaki—thank you. I got out because of you.”

She didn’t answer.

Neither did I.

We just stood there, holding onto each other, breathing shakily, the world finally quiet for once.

Then I noticed it.

Something soft.

Very soft.

Pressing against me.

“…Um. Misaki,” I said, gently pulling back. “How the hell did this happen?”

I gestured at her chest.

I could swear she was flatter than a board a year ago

She flushed instantly.

“Well, I guess I’m in the lead now,” she said, trying—and failing—to sound casual.

“‘In the lead?’ What the hell does that even mean?”

“Hey,” she said, pouting slightly, “a lady shouldn’t use words like that.”

“Oh wow,” I deadpanned. “Deflecting already?”

“Whatever could you mean?”

I snorted before I could stop myself.

Then she laughed too.

Soft at first.

Then real.

“Ah,” she said quietly. “I missed this.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Me too.”

And for a moment—just a moment—it felt like we were allowed to breathe again.

At that moment, Yomikawa entered the room and with a confused look , said, uhh, your "friend"?

"Yeah." I said looking at Misaki "My best friend" we both smiled

"uhh, ok then?" said Yomikawa still confused how the girl got here in the first place

I got closer to Misaki and whispered "didn't you say they told you I was here? this feels a lot like you made them tell you"

"well, they did tell me where you were, they just didn't let me come here."

"Well, you should go then, we'll see each other later."

"You promise?"

"yeah, I do."

"OK" Misaki finally let go of me and started going to the door while glancing back at me and waving.

I waved back and then noticed her uniform. 

I stared at it for a second longer than I meant to.

The Tokiwadai uniform.

White blazer. Careful tailoring. Everything about it screamed control. Prestige. Safety built on rules and expectations.

Misaki noticed my gaze and tilted her head. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “It just… suits you.”

She smiled, soft and a little proud, and gave a small spin before stepping fully into the hallway.

The door closed behind her with a quiet click.

The room felt bigger immediately.

Not emptier—just different.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

Only then did I notice it.

That faint, familiar pressure at the edge of my perception.

Misaki’s AIM field hadn’t vanished right away. It lingered, thin and warm, like the afterimage of a light you’d stared at too long. Usually, when someone got close, my instincts screamed—foreign thoughts, memories, pain that wasn’t mine trying to claw its way in.

But this time… nothing hurt.

Her resonance felt confortable.

Predictable.

Safe.

I pressed a hand to my chest, surprised at myself.

So that’s why.

It wasn’t that my fear was gone.

It was that Misaki was… familiar enough that my mind didn’t brace for impact.

Yomikawa cleared her throat near the doorframe. “You look tired.”

I nodded. “I am.”

“That tracks.” She gestured toward the bed. “Doctor says you’re healing fine. Freakishly fine, actually, but I didn’t ask questions I didn’t want answers to.”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

She hesitated, then added, “You won’t have to deal with crowds tonight. Or tomorrow. We’ll take things slow.”

Slow sounded good.

Necessary.

I sat back down on the bed and curled my fingers around the Chopper keychain again, grounding myself in its familiar shape.

Misaki was out there.

Anti-Skill was out there.

The city was still standing.

I wasn’t in a lab.

I wasn’t alone.

Not safe.

Not healed.

Not okay.

But here.

Still here.

And as the light outside the window shifted, painting the walls in gold and glass-reflection blue, I let myself believe something small—but dangerous:

That maybe, just maybe, the future hadn’t closed its doors to me yet.