The BalanceKeeper

The skies over U.A. High were deceptively clear, a bright blue canvas untouched by clouds. But inside the classroom of Class 1-A, the air hung heavy, thick with an unspoken weight that pressed against Yumi's chest. The silence wasn't just quiet—it was suffocating, a void that seemed to swallow sound and hope alike.

Aizawa stood at the front of the room, his arms crossed, his tired eyes scanning the students with the same unyielding intensity he always carried. His voice, low and gravelly, cut through the stillness. "The U.A. Sports Festival is tomorrow. Security has been tripled this year. Every major Hero Agency will have eyes on you. This is your moment to prove what you're made of. Don't waste it."

Some students shifted in their seats. Bakugo leaned back, his chair creaking under him, his scowl as sharp as ever, though there was a glint of anticipation in his crimson eyes. Kirishima leaned over to whisper something to Kaminari, who nodded with a flicker of excitement that didn't quite reach his usual spark.

Todoroki sat rigid, his dual-colored eyes fixed on some distant point, his face a mask of cold focus. Iida adjusted his glasses, his posture perfect, radiating determination.

But Yumi's gaze wasn't on them. It wasn't on Aizawa, either, or the chalkboard behind him, or the faint hum of the air conditioning.

Her eyes were locked on a single, empty desk in the back of the room. A hollow space that seemed to pulse with absence.

Kael's seat.

It had been over a month since the USJ incident—a chaotic blur of villains, fear, and blood that still haunted her nightmares. A few weeks since her father's death, a loss that had carved a jagged hole in her heart. And just as long since Kael had vanished, leaving nothing but rumors and a capture-on-sight order branding him a rogue. *Equinox*, they called him by his Vigilante name now. A Quirk thief. A danger. A traitor.

The desk remained untouched, a silent monument to the boy who'd once sat there. No one spoke of it openly—not the students, not the teachers. Even Aizawa, who never minced words, only mentioned Kael in clipped, professional tones when he had to. The rest of the class avoided the topic like it was a live wire, crackling with too much pain to touch.

Yumi's hand rested on her notebook, her fingers tracing the worn edges of the cover. She hadn't opened it all class. She couldn't. Her mind was too full, too heavy with the weight of memories that clung to her like damp clothes after a storm. She could still see him there, in that empty seat—Kael, with his white hair falling into his eyes, tapping his fingers impatiently against the desk during Aizawa's lectures. The way he'd tilt his head, just slightly, when he was thinking too hard. The rare, fleeting smirk he'd flash when she said something that caught him off guard.

He was gone. And yet, he was everywhere.

Still in the way her heart ached when she passed his locker in the classroom. Still in the echo of his low, steady voice in her memories. Still in the way her chest tightened every time she thought of him out there, alone, hunted.

Still with her.

Aizawa's voice droned on, something about strategy and preparation, but the words slid past her like rain on glass. She couldn't focus. Not when the absence at the back of the room was louder than anything he could say.

Her fingers tightened around her pencil, the wood biting into her palm. She wanted to scream, to demand answers from someone—anyone. Where was he? Was he hurt? Was he even still—

"Yumi."

Aizawa's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, sharp but not unkind. She blinked, her vision swimming as she lifted her gaze to meet his. His eyes, usually so unreadable, held a flicker of something softer. Understanding, maybe. Or pity. She wasn't sure which was worse.

"You're excused if you need be," he said, his tone steady, no trace of judgment or expectation.

Her throat tightened. She wanted to protest, to insist she was fine, but the lie wouldn't form. Instead, she managed a faint, "Thank you," her voice barely above a whisper. She stood slowly, her movements mechanical, gathering her notebook and bag with hands that felt disconnected from her body.

As she moved toward the door, she felt the weight of her classmates' eyes on her. Uraraka's soft, worried gaze lingered the longest, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Todoroki's stare was quieter, more thoughtful, his heterochromatic eyes unreadable but heavy with something she couldn't name. Bakugo didn't look up, but his shoulders tensed, like he was holding back a comment. The rest of the class blurred into a sea of silent sympathy.

Yumi didn't look back. She couldn't.

The hallway was a stark contrast to the classroom—empty, quiet, the only sound the muffled hum of lessons continuing behind closed doors. Her footsteps echoed, too loud in the stillness, each one a reminder of how alone she felt. The farther she walked, the tighter her chest became, like a rope was winding around her ribs, pulling taut with every breath.

By the time she reached the apartment she'd shared with Kael, her hands were trembling so badly she fumbled with the key. The door clicked open, and she stepped inside, only to be hit by a wave of stillness that felt like a physical force. The air was heavy with the scent of him—his cologne, faint but unmistakable, a ghost that refused to fade.

His coat still hung by the entrance, slightly askew, as if he'd tossed it there carelessly after a long day. His boots sat by the wall, scuffed from training, one slightly tipped over like he'd kicked it off in a hurry.

She closed the door behind her, the soft click sounding final, like a gate sealing shut. For a moment, she stood frozen, her bag slipping from her shoulder to the floor. Her eyes traced the familiar lines of their shared space—the small kitchen where they'd argued over whose turn it was to cook, the couch where they'd stayed up too late watching terrible movies, the faint dent in the wall from when Kael had accidentally thrown a training weight too hard during one of their late-night sparring sessions.

Everything was the same. And yet, nothing was.

Her legs carried her to his room before she could think better of it. The door creaked as she pushed it open, revealing a space frozen in time. His bed was unmade, the blanket bunched at the foot like he'd just rolled out of it. A stack of books sat on his desk, their spines worn from use. A single pen lay beside them, uncapped, as if he'd set it down mid-thought and never come back.

Yumi's breath hitched. She crossed the threshold, her fingers brushing the doorframe as if to steady herself against the flood of memories threatening to drown her. She could see him so clearly—sitting at that desk, his head bent over a notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration. The way he'd glance up when she entered, his eyes softening just for her. The way he'd tease her about her terrible taste in music, his voice low and warm, or how he'd listen when she rambled about her fears, never interrupting, just letting her spill her heart until she felt lighter.

She sank onto the edge of his bed, her hands pressing into her knees, fingers digging into the fabric of her uniform. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight, and she closed her eyes, trying to hold onto the fading warmth of those memories. But the harder she tried, the more they slipped through her fingers, like sand spilling from a broken hourglass.

"Kael…" Her voice cracked, barely audible, as she buried her face in her hands. The tears came unbidden, hot and relentless, streaming down her cheeks and soaking into her palms. She didn't try to stop them. She couldn't. Not here, in the one place where he still felt real.

"I don't know where you are," she whispered, her words trembling in the quiet. "I really don't know if you're hurt, or scared, or if you're even still—" She choked on the word, her chest heaving as she shook her head fiercely. "No. You're alive. I know you are. I can feel it."

Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. She could still see him in her mind's eye—the way he'd looked that day, his expression unreadable but his eyes heavy with something she hadn't understood at the time. Regret, maybe. Or resolve. He'd stood beside her, next to her father's casket, his hand on her shoulder, his voice quiet as he'd said, "Grow strong. Become the Hero your father knew you could be. Protect the ones who suffer like we did. Be the light he was. Be better than me."." And then he was gone.

She hadn't completely realized it was the last time she'd see him.

"Why didn't you let me come~?" she murmured, her voice raw. "You didn't have to do this alone. You didn't have to carry it all by yourself."

The tears fell faster now, her body shaking with the force of her grief. She lay back on the bed, curling onto his pillow, burying her face in the fabric. It smelled like him—faint, but enough to make her heart twist. She clutched the pillow to her chest, her sobs muffled against it.

"I would've gone with you," she whispered. "I would've fought for you. I would've—" Her voice broke, and she pressed her face harder into the pillow, as if she could hold onto him through the scent alone. "You didn't have to leave me behind."

Her mind replayed every moment, every conversation, searching for the signs she'd missed. Had he been planning it all along? Had he known he was going to run? She remembered the way he'd looked at her that last day, his eyes lingering a little too long, his voice softer than usual. She'd thought he was just being his usual overprotective self. But now, those words felt like a goodbye. Like she would never see him again.

"I should've known," she said to the empty room. "I should've known something like this would have happened. I should've stopped you. And yet…"

But she hadn't. And now he was gone, labeled a Vigilante, Criminal, and even a Villain, hunted by the very heroes they'd both dreamed of becoming. The weight of it was crushing—the injustice, the fear that she might never see him again. That he might be lost to her forever, out there in a world that saw him as a monster.

She sat up slowly, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her uniform. Her face was red and raw, her eyes swollen, but beneath the grief, a spark of clarity flickered to life. She looked around the room, at the pieces of him he'd left behind—the books, the boots, the coat—and felt a surge of determination.

"I'm going to find you," she said, her voice quiet but steady, like a blade honed sharp. "No matter where you are, no matter what they say about you. I'll find you."

She stood, her hands clenching at her sides. The tears still stung her eyes, but they no longer felt like surrender. They felt like fuel.

"You didn't leave because you wanted to," she said, her voice growing stronger. "You left because you thought you had to protect us. Protect me. But you were wrong, Kael. You don't get to decide that for me."

She stepped toward the window, the sunlight pouring in, warm and golden, a stark contrast to the cold ache in her heart. Outside, the sounds of Japan carried on—the sounds of life, heroes out patrolling the streets. The world moved forward, oblivious to the void in her life.

But Yumi wasn't oblivious. She carried that void with her, a constant reminder of what she'd lost—and what she refused to give up on.

"I'm going to be a hero," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but laced with iron. "Not just for me. Not just for the world. For you. To prove you're not what they say you are."

She turned back to the room, her eyes settling on his coat. She reached out, her fingers brushing the worn fabric, and for a moment, she could almost feel him there—his warmth, his presence, his quiet strength.

"I love you," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. They hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, but true. "I always have. And I'm not giving up on you. Not ever."

She straightened, her resolve hardening like steel in a forge. The Sports Festival was tomorrow, a chance to show the world what she was capable of. But it was more than that. It was a step toward finding him. Toward bringing him home.

"That's a promise." she said, her voice steady now, unbreakable.

Outside, the sun blazed. The world was alive, vibrant, moving toward a future full of hope and glory. But here, in the quiet of Kael's room, Yumi made a vow of her own.

And nothing—not the government, not the Hero system, not even Kael himself—would stop her from keeping it.

…