Chapter 3 : A Legacy Once ImaginedArc 1: The Weight of GravityKaito woke to the sound of rain again.This time, it was softer—like the clouds were whispering rather than shouting. He sat up slowly, the blanket he'd taken to sleeping with now tangled around his ankles.He didn't reach for his notebook.He didn't need to.The knowledge was inside him now. So were the quirks.They weren't fading.They weren't breaking.They were just… settling in.His father called him to the study after breakfast.Not in that sharp, commanding way he used when things had gone wrong.This time, it was quieter. Intentional."Kaito," Akihiko said from across the polished desk. "Sit."He did.Akihiko closed the folder he was reading and folded his hands. "You've grown curious."Kaito froze."I've noticed," his father went on. "You're watching people more. Moving differently. Thinking faster."Kaito shifted in his seat.Akihiko's gaze held his. "Have you felt anything unusual lately?"Kaito hesitated. "No."His father didn't blink. "Don't lie."Kaito looked down.There was a long silence.Then Akihiko stood, walked to the tall bookcase behind his desk, and pulled down a thick, black journal. The cover was aged leather, marked with a silver family crest Kaito had seen only once—carved into an old gravestone near the estate's ancestral shrine.He returned to the desk and laid the book flat."This is our family record," he said. "Every Yukimura born in the last six generations with a quirk has been documented here. Their strengths. Weaknesses. Talents. Failures."Kaito leaned in, wide-eyed.Akihiko flipped to a section near the back. The pages were yellowed, filled with faded ink and tight handwriting."This is my father," he said, pointing. "Your grandfather."Kaito saw the word Copy listed beside his name."And this," Akihiko said, turning a page, "is mine."Same quirk. Different notes.He turned one more page and paused."There was a theory in our bloodline," he said slowly. "Something your great-grandfather called the ultimate form. A version of the Copy quirk that didn't fade. That kept everything. That grew with time."He looked up."They called it Absolute Copy."Kaito's breath caught."Did anyone ever have it?" he asked."No," Akihiko said. "It was just a dream. A goal. My father tried to breed for it. So did his. They arranged quirk marriages. Controlled training. But no one ever awakened it."He closed the book."Until maybe now."Kaito didn't speak.Akihiko leaned forward. "Kaito. If something is happening to you—something different—you must tell me."Kaito looked at his father's hands. They were steady. Strong. Unmoving.He wanted to tell him.He really did.But something inside him hesitated.What if his father didn't understand?What if he got taken away? Tested? Watched?What if it ruined everything?So he shook his head."I don't feel anything weird."Another long silence.Then his father nodded."Alright. But if anything changes—anything at all—you come to me first. No one else. Not your mother. Not the staff. Only me."Kaito nodded.He left the study with the weight of his father's stare pressed against his back.Kaito walked the estate grounds alone for a long time after the meeting with his father.The rain had stopped, but the stone paths were still slick, and the air held that heavy, soaked-in silence that only came after a storm. The kind of quiet that made every step sound too loud.He wasn't thinking about the wings.He wasn't thinking about the speed or the heat or the roots beneath his fingers.He was thinking about the journal.About the way his father's voice changed when he spoke of the ultimate form. Of Absolute Copy.Like it was a myth.Like it was a ghost.Like it wasn't supposed to be real—but if it was, it would change everything.And Kaito… didn't know how to feel about that.He wandered through the garden and eventually found himself near the koi pond again. Same place where he'd flown for the first time. Same place where Reina had caught him. Same place where his secret had been born.He crouched beside the water and watched the fish ripple under the surface."You don't look like you care about legacies," he whispered.A fat orange koi opened its mouth at him.He smiled.But it faded quickly.Because part of him wanted to go back to before—before the wings, before the spark, before he started carrying pieces of other people inside him.Before he had to lie.He pulled out his notebook again.He hadn't written in it since his father asked him to confess. Something about touching that floorboard again had made him nervous. Like it had weight now. Meaning.But he opened to a new page and began to write."He knows something. He told me about Absolute Copy. But not everything. He doesn't know it's me. Not yet."He stared at the next blank line for a while before writing:"I don't think I want to be the 'ultimate form.'"Then, after a long pause:"I just want to fly again."He closed the book and pressed his forehead to his knees.There was no wind.No buzz.No wings.Just the sound of fish gliding beneath the surface of still water.And the quiet weight of secrets beginning to take root.Kaito didn't speak much for the next few days.Not out of sadness. Not really. He still smiled at the staff. Still finished his lessons. Still sat at the table during meals and thanked the cooks afterward.But inside, something had gone quiet.He spent more time in the storeroom now. Not testing. Not drawing. Just sitting. Listening to the silence. Trying to understand the new shape of himself.He had quirks. Not one. Not two. Many.And they were staying.He could feel them all, like tools waiting in an invisible drawer. All catalogued. All permanent.And yet, he didn't feel strong.He felt... split.Half of him wanted to tell his father. Trust him. Maybe get help.The other half didn't trust what would come next.He remembered how cold Akihiko's voice could be. How calculated. How deeply the Yukimura family believed in legacy and control. Even when he was kind, it came with sharp edges. Nothing about him ever felt soft.And now he was watching Kaito more closely.Questions at dinner. Little tests in the courtyard. Requests to "train" for physical discipline.Kaito knew the moment was coming.The one where his father would stop asking and start pressing.And he didn't know what he would do when that happened.One night, unable to sleep, he wrote something new in his notebook. Not in the quirk log. In the back, where he kept things he didn't want to say out loud."If I tell him, he might make me stop.
If I lie, he might not trust me again.
What kind of hero has to hide to feel free?"He stared at the words until they blurred.Then closed the book and hid it away, heart beating too loud in his chest.Understood. Continuing now.The weekend came with an unusual stillness.For the first time in a while, Akihiko was home all day. No meetings. No training sessions. No guests. Just long walks through the corridors and quiet conversations with staff. Kaito noticed him watching more closely than usual. Not suspicious—just... observant.He stayed out of the way.But it was hard to ignore the feeling of being measured.After lunch, Akihiko asked Kaito to join him in the courtyard."Let's walk," he said.They didn't go far. Just a slow circle around the inner garden path."Tell me something," Akihiko said, hands behind his back. "Why do you think our family values control so much?"Kaito blinked. "Because… our quirks are strong?"Akihiko nodded once. "Strong quirks, in the wrong hands, become weapons. Even in the right hands, they can cause fear. Control is not just about power. It's about trust."Kaito didn't respond.They reached the far wall. Akihiko stopped walking."Our family has always passed down a single lesson," he continued. "Power without direction is chaos. That's why our bloodline was built around one idea: refinement."He turned to face Kaito."I see something in you, Kaito. Something that might go beyond me. And I want you to understand—if you are the one to inherit more than Copy… it will not be easy."Kaito looked at the grass."If that time comes," Akihiko said, "you must promise to be honest with me. Not just for your sake. For everyone's."Kaito nodded, but his chest ached.He wanted to be honest.But something about the way his father spoke—like he already had a plan—made it harder to speak at all.They didn't walk anymore that day. And when they parted, neither said what they were really thinking. Kaito sat on the roof.Not the high, dangerous slope of the main house, but the lower section above the old library, where the tiles were flat and wide enough to sit with his knees tucked close and his arms resting on top. He liked it there. The wind wasn't too strong. The sky was always close. And no one ever looked for him.He had climbed up quietly, slipping past the locked side door with the help of the speed quirk and the hyper-flexibility he'd borrowed—no, kept—from Mako. He didn't even think about it anymore. His body simply moved the way he needed it to.He liked the quiet.It helped him think.Helped him breathe.The family mansion always felt heavy, like it was pressing him down. Expectations floated in the halls, layered like dust, always settling in places no one could clean.On the roof, though, it was just him.Him—and the book.He had taken the Yukimura family journal from the study the night before. Not to steal it. Not to hide it. Just to see. To know.And now he sat flipping through its pages, reading about generations of men and women who lived their entire lives chasing a version of power they never caught.Some had strong quirks. Some had weak ones. Some trained until their bodies gave out. Some married only for genetic potential.One had even tried combining quirks in combat—copying two at once and using them together.It worked.Briefly.Then his body rejected both, and the entry ended with a simple line: "Died of neurological overload."Kaito stared at that sentence for a long time.He closed the book.That was their legacy.A climb toward a peak no one had ever reached.And now they thought maybe he could.But they didn't know the truth.He was that peak.And it scared him.Kaito returned the journal that night without being seen.He had crept into the study while the lights were low, his parents still finishing dinner down the hall. He didn't take the book out of fear or defiance. He took it because he needed to know more. Because the idea of a quirk like his—one that didn't fade, didn't disappear—had been written down before he was even born.He sat with it under the flickering light of a desk lamp in the empty east sitting room. The leather cover felt heavier now, as if it knew the weight of the generations buried inside.He flipped through slowly.The names blurred together after a while—Yukimuras from decades ago, each one with the same word beside their name: Copy. Some had notes like "above average," "unrefined control," "limited combat use." Others had glowing remarks: "excellent mimicry," "adapted well," "used timing to outmatch stronger opponents."But one word kept reappearing:
Temporary.Temporary. Temporary. Temporary.No matter how skilled they became, no matter how clever or fast or disciplined—they always lost the quirks.Even Akihiko's page had that word.Kaito swallowed and turned to the last few entries.There, tucked between incomplete records, was a full page written in shakier handwriting. Not a name. Not a birth or death date.A theory.Someone in the family—he didn't know who—had written about a dream: a version of Copy that didn't fade. That remembered. That held on.The handwriting called it "Absolute Copy."And beneath that, in different ink:"Never proven. Likely impossible. Still worth chasing."Kaito closed the book slowly.He didn't feel powerful.He felt strange.Wrong, even.Like he'd broken something inside a system that was never supposed to change.He put the book back where it belonged and walked quietly to his room, heart heavy in his chest.He didn't write in his notebook that night.He just curled under the blanket, clutching it tight, and whispered the words he couldn't say out loud:"I don't want to be special if it means being alone."