A warm breeze drifted across the UA courtyard.
Birds chirped. Sunlight spilled between the leaves. The city's scars had vanished, replaced by silence too deep for comfort.
And in that stillness—
She woke up.
Not in a lab.
Not in a void.
But in a real bed.
Soft blankets. Morning light on her face. The scent of rice and miso in the air.
The girl blinked slowly. Sat up.
Her reflection stared back from the mirror on the far wall.
Brown eyes. Pale skin. Shoulder-length black hair.
No wires.
No monitors.
No restraints.
Only a child.
New. Whole.
Downstairs, Eri stood by the breakfast table, still barefoot.
"I made eggs," she said.
The girl hesitated in the doorway. Nervous.
But Eri gave a soft smile.
"You don't have to eat if you're not ready."
The girl's stomach growled in response.
Midoriya chuckled behind his hand. "Guess that's a yes."
They sat together in silence.
Eri watched every bite. Just to be sure.
The girl glanced around between spoonfuls. Her gaze lingered on the photos on the walls. Smiling students. Laughing heroes.
One picture caught her attention—
Eri and Midoriya, smiling at a festival.
She stared at it for a long time.
Then whispered, "Was I ever… there?"
Midoriya set his cup down gently.
"No," he said.
"But now you can be."
Later that morning, Nezu stood at the observation deck, tail flicking.
"Her quirk signature is blank," he told Recovery Girl. "Just like before. No quirks. No anomaly."
"But she's stable," she replied. "Emotionally, physically. Even the memory partition is calming. Whatever Eri did... it worked."
Nezu nodded slowly.
"For now."
He turned back toward the glass.
"She's no longer a paradox. But she still came from one."
Outside, the girl walked beside Eri.
They didn't talk.
They didn't need to.
Every few seconds, she'd reach out, brush her fingers against flowers or fences or benches.
Like she was learning what the world felt like.
She watched bees. Clouds. Birds.
Everything was new.
Every second—hers.
That night, Aizawa appeared at Eri's room.
He paused at the door, seeing the two of them asleep.
Eri curled on one side of the bed.
The girl curled on the other.
Peaceful.
Whole.
He didn't say anything.
Just stood there.
Then turned off the hallway light and walked away.
Somewhere else—far away—beneath layers of cracked concrete and forgotten time...
Something pulsed.
Once.
Then again.
A flicker.
A hum.
And the faint echo of a voice.
Not hers.
Not Eri's.
"The Rewind wasn't clean."
Then silence.
Back in her sleep, the girl stirred.
Eyes fluttered.
A faint buzz in her skull.
Like an old tape rewinding too fast.
She didn't wake.
But her fingers twitched once.
Twice.
And outside the window—
The wind shifted backward for just a second.
To be continued.