"You're not taking this seriously," his stepmother, Aiko, snapped, her voice cold.

"I am," Shinichi muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Clearly not," she retorted, crossing her arms. Her gaze bore into him, her expression void of the warmth she used to have when he was younger. "You're sloppy, unfocused. At this rate, you'd be useless in a real fight."

The words stung more than Shinichi wanted to admit. "I'm trying," he said, his voice firmer this time.

Aiko's lips tightened into a thin line. She stepped closer, her movements sharp, and before Shinichi could react, her hand lashed out, slapping him across the face.

The sound echoed in the quiet room.

For a moment, Shinichi was too stunned to speak. His cheek stung, and his chest tightened with a mix of anger and disbelief. "What the hell was that for?" he demanded, his voice shaking.

"You need to toughen up!" Aiko's voice was ice. "Do you think the world will show you mercy because you're powerless? You're a burden, Shinichi. To me, to your father, to everyone. If you can't fight, you're just waiting to die."

Her words hit harder than her slap ever could.

Shinichi clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought back tears. He wanted to yell, to argue, to tell her how unfair she was being—but deep down, he knew she was right. Without powers, he was vulnerable in a world where strength meant survival.

Aiko stepped back, her gaze softening for a fleeting moment before she turned away. "Practice is over," she said flatly, leaving the room without another word.

Shinichi sank to the floor, his body trembling. He pressed a hand to his cheek, the heat of her slap still lingering.

For as long as he could remember, Aiko had been a second mother to him. She'd once been kind, patient, and understanding. But something had changed over the years. Her tolerance for his weaknesses had faded, replaced by a cold indifference that cut deeper than any physical wound.

As the door slid shut behind her, Shinichi sat alone in the dimly lit room, the weight of his stepmother's words crushing him.

==============================

Later that night, Shinichi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The events of the day replayed in his mind, each moment more painful than the last. He thought of his father, always so distant, so preoccupied with his work at Mark 11. He thought of Misuki, her smile a rare light in his life. And he thought of Aiko, her slap a brutal reminder of his helplessness.

"I'm not useless," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible in the stillness.

But even as he said it, doubt gnawed at him.

The world outside continued its march forward—guilds battling rogue Megas, governments enforcing strict regulations, cities rebuilding in the aftermath of the comet. And Shinichi, powerless and ordinary, felt like a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things.

He clenched his fists under the covers, his resolve hardening. If his stepmother wanted him to prove himself, he would. If the world demanded strength, he would find a way to survive, powers or not.

But deep down, a small voice whispered a question he didn't dare voice aloud.

What if she's right?

What if I really am just a burden?