The rest of the day passed without much fanfare, though Shinji felt the weight of being back settle into his bones. It wasn't the same as before—not quite—but it was better. The lessons felt familiar, the routine was something he could grasp onto, and the voices around him no longer felt like strangers speaking through a fog. He remembered them now. He remembered his class, shortly after he initially woke, but to be here, to hear them made it feel more....Real.
As the final bell rang, he gathered his things, letting out a slow breath. His thoughts were still a mess, tangled and frayed at the edges, but at least now, he had something solid to hold onto. His classmates. His place here, the sports festival.
As he slung his bag over his shoulder, he felt someone approaching before they spoke.
"Hey, man."
Shinji turned to find Kirishima grinning at him, standing with Mina, Momo, Midoriya, and Ochako. Their presence wasn't hesitant this time, not unsure like before—they belonged here, and Shinji knew that now.
"How are you holding up?" Momo asked, her voice still gentle but without that uncertain edge.
Shinji gave her a small nod. "Better," he admitted. "Feels… weird. But not bad."
"Good!" Mina beamed, bouncing slightly on her heels. "You kinda freaked us out there for a while, y'know."
Midoriya nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "You were hurt really bad, Shinji. We were really worried." Shinji exhaled through his nose, shifting his bag slightly. "Yeah… sorry about that."
Ochako waved a hand. "Don't apologize! We're just glad you're ok."
Kirishima clapped a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring. "Yeah, man! Class 1-A isn't the same without you."
Shinji paused. Then, slowly, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I have been told I leave an impression."
Mina snorted. "Dude, you summon skyscraper-sized murder robots—of course you leave an impression."
Shinji looked at her. "Have you even seen my full-size Jaegers in person? I think I've only used it once since coming back. The rest was just in class."
Mina threw her hands up. "Still counts! I saw enough to know I do not want to fight that!"
Kirishima chuckled. "Yeah, man, you've got some insane firepower. But hey, that just makes it even more impressive that you're in our class instead of just wrecking everything in General Studies."
Midoriya, who had been listening carefully, suddenly perked up. "Actually, that reminds me—how did you heal so fast?" He looked genuinely curious, his analytical mind already kicking into gear. "I mean, you were really hurt, right? Was it a doctor's Quirk or something?"
At that, the group went quiet, eyes turning toward Shinji with varying levels of interest.
Shinji hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking his head. "No, nothing like that. Even the doctors were surprised. They kept saying I shouldn't even be awake yet, let alone walking around."
Midoriya frowned slightly. "That's… strange. But you feel okay?"
Shinji shrugged, adjusting his bag. "Yeah. I mean, as okay as I can feel after all that." It wasn't exactly a lie. Physically, he felt fine. But he knew why he had recovered so quickly. He knew exactly what had been keeping him together—what was still there, even now.
But that wasn't something he was ready to talk about.
Momo studied him carefully, but if she suspected anything, she didn't push. "Well, if anything feels off, you should say something," she said instead.
Shinji nodded, appreciative of how she left it at that. "I'll keep that in mind."
Mina huffed, still not entirely convinced. "Fine, fine. But if you suddenly collapse or something, I will yell at you."
Shinji raised a brow, his smirk growing slightly. "Yelling at someone who just got out of a coma and a near-death experience. How heroic of you, Ashido."
Mina gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like he had physically struck her. "How dare you use my own personality against me!"
Kirishima chuckled. "To be fair, that is exactly what you'd do."
"Oh, absolutely," Momo added, a teasing glint in her eyes.
Mina pouted. "Yeah, well… it's called tough love, okay?"
Ochako giggled. "More like chaotic love."
Midoriya, who had been thoughtful for a moment, finally spoke up again. "Still, even with a fast recovery, you should take it easy, Shinji. You've been through a lot."
Shinji's smirk faltered, shifting into something more worn, more tired. "I know. I had to fight with the doctor just to even come here, and I'm supposed to check in with Recovery Girl before heading back to the hospital. Apparently, my miraculous recovery is still concerning or something."
Momo gave him a pointed look. "It is concerning. Shinji, you shouldn't even be awake yet, let alone walking around like nothing happened."
Shinji exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, well… the doctors don't have an explanation either. Even with quirks, healing this fast isn't normal. They keep watching me like I'm gonna break apart any second." He shook his head. "I don't know what to tell them. It's not like I know why either."
Midoriya's brows furrowed, analytical as ever. "You said it wasn't because of a doctor's quirk, right?"
Shinji nodded. "Nope. Even they were surprised. I woke up when I shouldn't have, and now I'm walking around when I definitely shouldn't be. It's weird." He hesitated, then added, "Not that I'm complaining. I'd rather be here than stuck in that bed with Yu fussing over me."
Ochako tilted her head. "I bet your sister is happy either way though, right?"
Shinji snorted. "Yeah. She said it's the first time I've argued with someone like that since I came back. Apparently, that's a good thing." He paused, frowning slightly. "I think."
Kirishima gave him a reassuring slap on the back. "Of course, it's a good thing! Means you're getting some fight back in you."
Mina crossed her arms. "Or that you've always been this stubborn, and we're just now getting the full experience."
Shinji smirked again, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Probably both."
Momo studied him carefully. "You really don't feel anything wrong?"
He hesitated for just a second before shaking his head. "Physically? No. I feel… fine. Better than fine, actually. Which is probably why they're freaking out so much."
Midoriya still looked uncertain, but he nodded. "Well… if anything feels off, you should tell someone."
Shinji huffed. "Believe me, Midoriya. The moment I feel like I'm about to keel over, you'll be the first to know."
Mina still looked skeptical, but she let it go, poking his arm. "Fine. But if you do suddenly drop, I will say 'I told you so' before helping."
Shinji chuckled. "That's fair."
Shinji let the moment stretch before speaking again, his voice quieter now.
"Hey, my memory of the USJ is still a bit foggy, but I remember ice cream. I think."
Mina perked up immediately. "Oh, yeah! That was me. I said we should all go get ice cream after that whole mess."
Shinji gave a tired chuckle. "Right… that does sound like you." He let the thought linger, then glanced at the others. "Well… maybe after the Sports Festival, we should actually do it. Go get ice cream, I mean."
Momo blinked, surprised by the sudden suggestion. "You want to celebrate?"
Shinji shrugged. "Call it that or just… something to look forward to. Something normal."
Midoriya's lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just nodded. Ochako, standing beside him, smiled softly.
Kirishima grinned, slapping Shinji's shoulder lightly. "Dude, yes. That's a great idea! Ice cream's on me."
Mina gasped dramatically. "Eijiro, are you treating us? Be still my heart."
Kirishima laughed. "Hey, I don't mind. Shinji's been through a lot. We all have. We deserve a little fun."
Shinji smirked, but there was something distant in his eyes, something thoughtful. "Yeah, well… you can dream, right?"
His voice had dropped, losing its usual sharp edge, turning more introspective.
Momo's lips twitched in the barest of smiles. "I'm sure that would be much more pleasant than… well, everything else you've had to deal with."
Shinji let out a breath, his gaze drifting somewhere else. "Sometimes, the little things are all you have left."
Kirishima's grin faltered slightly, and his grip on Shinji's arm tightened just a bit. "Hey, man… you don't need to keep talking like that. We've got you, alright?"
Shinji glanced up at him, offering a small nod, though there was an unshakable weariness in his posture. "I know. I just… don't always get the luxury of staying around. Y'know?" His fingers flexed slightly at his side, like he was testing the sensation, grounding himself. "But hey… just keep the ice cream in mind, yeah? If I do get through this…"
Mina crossed her arms, smirking. "When you get through this."
Shinji snorted. "Right. When."
Ochako tilted her head. "Do you have a favorite flavor?"
Shinji actually had to pause and think about that.
"…Not that I can remember."
Mina gasped. "Blasphemy. Everyone has a favorite ice cream flavor."
Shinji just smirked. "Guess I'll have to figure that out, then."
The conversation shifted after that, the weight lingering but not suffocating. They didn't push him, didn't press him for anything more. They just were, and for now, that was enough.
—---
Shinji had never liked being the center of attention.
He kept his head down as he walked through the halls, but it didn't matter. He could feel the eyes on him. It wasn't like before, when people stared at him for his Quirk, for the sheer spectacle of the Jaegers. This was different. It was heavier.
His skin crawled under the weight of it, but he didn't look back. He didn't want to see their expressions, didn't want to know what was behind those stares. Pity? Respect? Fear? He wasn't sure which one would be worse.
Shinji forced himself to focus on something else, something more practical.
He hadn't had to deal with the press. Not once.
That was… odd.
There should have been reporters. He knew how this worked—villain attack, destruction, injuries, a student hospitalized? It should have been everywhere. There should have been photos, headlines, speculation, the usual mess that came when something big happened at U.A.
And yet, nothing.
Not a single camera shoved in his face, no ambush outside the hospital, no barrage of questions demanding to know how he survived.
Actually, now that Shinji thought about it, it struck him how strange it was that he hadn't had to deal with the press once, not in all the months since his return.
He wasn't exactly a stranger. He knew he was famous, well-known worldwide for his actions, for what he had survived. Yet, there had been nothing. No reporters knocking on his door, no camera crews showing up outside the hospital, no invasive questions being thrown his way. No headlines. No sensationalized stories.
But there had been none of that. Not a single person with a microphone shoved in his face, not a single reporter eager to get the inside scoop on the boy who was nearly killed in the USJ attack. Even the scientists, the ones who usually thrived on studying Quirks, hadn't come knocking at his door, not even to learn more about Kaiju.
It didn't make sense.
It was odd. It was unnerving, honestly.
He had thought maybe it was just a matter of time, but the fact that it hadn't happened at all… It felt like something was off.
Yu had to be involved. Nezu too, he imagined.
He made a mental note to ask them about it later. If they had kept the press off his back, he should probably thank them.
Again.
For now, he just needed to get through this.
His pace stayed steady as he turned the last corner, finally reaching Recovery Girl's office. He knocked once before pushing open the door.
The familiar scent of antiseptic and herbs greeted him. The old hero was seated at her desk, eyes flicking up from a stack of paperwork as he stepped inside.
"Ah. About time you showed up," she said, voice sharp but not unkind.
Shinji shut the door behind him, exhaling slowly as he stepped further into the nurse's office. Recovery Girl—Chiyo Shuzenji—sat at her desk, watching him with her usual no-nonsense expression. Despite her small stature and aged features, there was nothing frail about the way she carried herself.
He had barely taken two steps before she gestured for him to sit on the examination table.
"Come on, don't just stand there. You've given me quite the mystery to solve, young man."
Shinji hesitated only briefly before moving to sit down, shifting his bag onto the floor beside him. He was used to being looked at with concern—too used to it, honestly—but the way Recovery Girl's sharp eyes scanned him made something unsettled coil in his chest. She was analyzing him, picking apart every detail before he even spoke.
She clicked her tongue. "I don't like anomalies in my patients, and you, dear, are nothing but anomalies right now."
Shinji let out a dry breath of amusement. "Yeah, I've been hearing that a lot lately."
"Good. Means people are paying attention." She leaned in slightly, scrutinizing his face. "Now, tell me—how do you feel? And don't give me that 'I'm fine' nonsense. I want details."
Shinji sighed, his gaze shifting to the floor. "Honestly? I feel normal. Or… as normal as I can, I guess." He gestured vaguely to himself. "No lingering pain, no exhaustion, no brain fog. I remember waking up and expecting… something to be wrong, but it wasn't."
Recovery Girl hummed, not looking entirely convinced. "And the coma? No disorientation? No motor skill issues?"
"None," Shinji confirmed. "My memory's still patchy in places, but it's filling in."
She made a small noise in the back of her throat and picked up his chart, flipping through it. "Well, that makes one of us. Because I have absolutely no idea how you're sitting here like nothing happened."
Shinji raised a brow. "Didn't the hospital run tests?"
"They ran everything," she said, shaking her head. "CT scans, blood work, neurological assessments—everything. And every single result should point to you still being unconscious or, at the very least, barely able to move."
That got his attention. "Barely able to move?"
She shot him a sharp look. "You took an absurd amount of damage, young man. Your body should still be in recovery mode. Your muscles should be torn, your nerves should be struggling to function properly, and yet here you are, walking around like nothing happened. Even if I chalk it up to a regenerative Quirk—which you don't have—it still doesn't explain the sheer speed of your recovery."
Shinji was silent for a moment, digesting that. He knew his recovery was fast, but hearing it laid out like this made it sound even more unnatural.
"…So what does that mean?"
Recovery Girl sighed, setting the chart aside. "It means you're an anomaly. And anomalies make me nervous." She looked at him with sharp, assessing eyes. "I don't like things I can't explain, Shinji. And right now, your very existence is a medical contradiction."
Shinji exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. That makes two of us."
She studied him for a moment longer before clicking her tongue again. "Well, nothing I can do about that right this second. I still want to run a few tests of my own, just to get a better picture of what's going on with you."
Shinji nodded. "That's fair."
She moved to grab some equipment, pausing briefly to glance at him over her shoulder. "And don't think this gets you out of taking care of yourself. If you start feeling anything unusual—headaches, dizziness, fatigue—you tell me. No playing hero with this."
Shinji smirked slightly. "Isn't that the whole point of the school?"
Recovery Girl shot him a look. "Don't get smart with me, boy."
Shinji actually cracked a small smile at that one. Maybe things were still a mess, but at least for now, he had something solid to hold onto.
Recovery Girl turned back to him, her expression shifting into something sterner. "And another thing—I heard you were arguing with the hospital staff."
Shinji tensed slightly, not expecting the sudden shift. "I wouldn't call it arguing exactly…"
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't try to downplay it. I know you, Shinji. You absolutely argued."
Shinji sighed, running a hand over his face. "They wanted to keep me there indefinitely. I had to push back, or I'd still be stuck in that bed doing nothing."
Recovery Girl huffed. "You should still be in that bed, young man. Do you understand the kind of damage you sustained? The kind of stress your body was put through? Your brain? The fact that you're even standing here is absurd, and instead of easing back into things like a sensible person, you're already picking fights with doctors?"
Shinji frowned but didn't snap back. He understood her concern, even if he didn't entirely agree.
"I just…" He exhaled. "I needed to do something. Laying there, being treated like I'm fragile—it was driving me insane. I figured being back here, around people I actually know, would be better for my recovery than sitting in a hospital room all day."
Recovery Girl sighed, shaking her head. "Stubborn brat. You are fragile, whether you want to admit it or not. And this behavior isn't new—I know you've spent years pushing yourself past what's reasonable."
Shinji looked away, jaw tightening. "I've had to."
A beat of silence passed between them. Recovery Girl's expression softened slightly, but only just. "I know, dear. And I know why you're fighting so hard to act like everything is fine. But you have nothing to prove here. Not to me, not to your classmates, not to anyone. Pushing yourself like this won't fix what happened to you."
Shinji swallowed. That part stung more than he wanted to admit.
She sighed again, rubbing her temple. "Look, I'm not saying you have to be locked up in a hospital indefinitely. I understand why you pushed to come back. But you need to be smart about this. No more overexerting yourself, no more acting like you're invincible. You hear me?"
Shinji nodded, quieter now. "I hear you."
She gave him a pointed look. "And you'll actually listen?"
A pause. Then, reluctantly— "Yes, ma'am."
Recovery Girl exhaled, nodding in approval. "Good. Now sit still, so I can finish these tests before you go running off and getting yourself into more trouble."
Shinji let out a breath, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. Maybe she had a point. Maybe pushing himself so soon wasn't the best idea.
But that didn't change the fact that he needed to keep moving. Because stopping—letting himself dwell—was a far worse fate.
—
Shinji let out a quiet sigh as Recovery Girl finished her tests; the routine exhausting despite how little effort it actually took from him. She was thorough, checking his reflexes, blood pressure, and overall motor function. She made a few notes—probably for the hospital doctors who would no doubt be looking at the same damn charts later—and then finally leaned back with a scrutinizing look.
"You're stable enough for now," she admitted, though her tone carried clear disapproval. "But you're still going back to the hospital for more testing."
Shinji groaned. "Great. More of this."
Recovery Girl arched an eyebrow. "Oh, don't start. You're lucky they let you come here at all."
Shinji didn't argue, even though he really wanted to. Instead, he stood, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Yeah, yeah. I'll head back now before they send someone to drag me there."
She gave him a look. "Good. And no more stunts, Shinji. I mean it."
He held up his hands in mock surrender, a wry smirk tugging at his lips. "You act like I'm the biggest troublemaker in the world. Wish I could do something without shutting down half the time."
Recovery Girl didn't miss a beat. "You know that's not what I meant." Her voice was firm but not unkind, eyes sharp as she looked him over. Then, almost casually, she added, "And yet, you just raised your right hand without hesitation."
Shinji blinked.
His smirk faded.
Slowly, deliberately, he glanced down at his hand—the one that had been practically useless without his Quirk. The right hand that had, until now, only ever responded in short bursts, with agonizing inconsistency. And yet, just now…
He flexed his fingers. They moved. No hesitation, no lag, no unnatural stiffness.
He hadn't even thought about it.
Shinji's mouth opened, but no words came out. His mind raced through the implications, through the months—years—of struggle, of limitations. His right arm had always been unreliable, a frustrating reminder that no matter how much he trained, there were things he couldn't change.
So why now?
Why was it working now?
"I…" His voice trailed off, unsure.
Recovery Girl watched him closely. "You didn't even notice, did you?"
Shinji swallowed, lowering his arm slowly, as if it would stop responding the moment he acknowledged it. "No. I didn't."
She hummed, stepping closer. "That's… interesting."
That was one way to put it.
Shinji's stomach twisted, his mind flashing back to before—to the Breach, to the Specter, to the deal he had made.
Had it changed him more than he thought?
Had it fixed him?
The thought barely had time to settle before a familiar, unwelcome sensation crawled up his arm—numbness, dead weight. His fingers twitched once, then stilled, and just like that, his right arm fell limp at his side, useless as ever.
The momentary clarity, the impossible ease with which he had moved, was gone.
Like it had never been there at all.
Shinji clenched his jaw, a sharp spike of frustration cutting through the confusion. His mind whirled, grasping at explanations, at anything that made sense. It wasn't just a fluke—he knew what he felt, what had happened. His arm had moved without hesitation. He hadn't even thought about it.
And now? Nothing.
Like something had flipped a switch.
Like something had given him that moment of function and then taken it away.
Recovery Girl's keen eyes flickered between his expression and his arm, her usual scolding replaced with something more measured. "…Shinji."
He forced himself to look at her, at the understanding in her gaze.
"I take it that's not normal," she said, not a question, but an observation.
Shinji exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers—not that it did anything. "No. It's not."
Another pause. Then, softer, "And I assume you don't know why it happened."
Shinji swallowed. His mind screamed at him to lie, to deflect, to say it was nothing.
But he couldn't.
"…No," he said instead. "I don't."
Not yet.
Shinji turned toward the door his left hand reaching out and resting on the door handle. "I should get going, or the doctor might send someone after me." he muttered. His voice was low, as if he didn't really care for what the doctor did.
Shinji stepped out of the nurse's office, his thoughts a tangled mess as the door clicked shut behind him. His right arm still tingled with the phantom sensation of movement, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving nothing but the familiar dead weight.
He rolled his shoulder absently, but there was no real use in testing it. He already knew.
Recovery Girl had said nothing as he left, but he could feel her eyes on his back, heavy with something unspoken. She remained in her office, watching him disappear down the hall with a quiet sadness in her gaze.
He's too young to be dealing with this.
Too young for this kind of exhaustion. Too young for the things he had seen.
But there was nothing she could say to change that.
Shinji made his way through the school, barely registering the passing students, the occasional glance in his direction. His mind wasn't here. His body moved on instinct, carrying him outside, toward the main gate. The cool air hit his face, crisp and open beneath the sky, but it didn't make him feel any lighter.
Then, the voice.
"Your right arm isn't my doing."
Shinji didn't react beyond a slow blink. He had been expecting the Specter to speak up.
"Can't say what's happening, honestly." There was something like frustration in its tone, a rare admission of not knowing. "It's as if your brain thinks the arm is gone."
Shinji let out a short, sharp breath.
Yeah. He already knew that.
The thought sat heavy in the back of his mind, barely acknowledged, but there all the same.
The walk to the hospital wasn't long—UA had it built close for emergencies, for quick transport if a student or teacher ever got hurt in the field. He'd heard before that Nezu also used it as a teaching tool, taking hero students there for field trips, showing them what kind of injuries they might see when they went pro.
But Shinji wasn't on a field trip. He was the subject.
The closer he got, the harder it was to ignore the feeling creeping up his spine. The walls of UA had been familiar, a structure he could navigate, but the hospital? He had spent more time there unconscious than awake. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that.
His pace slowed as he neared the building. The air smelled too sterile, too clean, the faint scent of antiseptic already burning in his nose. The automatic doors slid open as he stepped inside, and the atmosphere changed instantly. The quiet hum of machinery, the faint murmur of doctors and nurses moving between rooms—it all felt distant, but familiar in a way he wished it wasn't.
He was here. Again.
He exhaled sharply, forcing his shoulders not to tense. This was just another thing to get through. Another test. Another fight.
At least this one wouldn't leave scars.