MHA: UltraMan

The steady stream of hot water pounded against the tiled floor, the sound echoing softly through the room. Jackson stood beneath the spray, watching as the last traces of blood swirled down the drain. His wounds had already healed—his quirk ensured that—but the exhaustion clinging to his body felt deeper, heavier.

With a quiet exhale, he pressed a hand to his chest, fingers splayed against his skin. Something felt… off. Hollow.

Shaking the thought away, he turned off the water. The sudden silence pressed in around him, thick and suffocating. He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist before stepping out, his bare feet cool against the tiles.

The mirror was clouded with steam. He dragged a hand across the glass, revealing his reflection—dripping blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a face that looked far more exhausted than he wanted to admit. His jaw clenched. His fingers curled into a fist.

I need to be stronger.

A vibration on the counter pulled him from his thoughts. His phone screen lit up with a new message.

Dad.

Jackson smile and picked it up, swiping the steam from the screen with his thumb.

"How are you doing? It's been a while since you've been home. You should come by and visit—and bring that girl you like along."

His pulse jumped slightly at the last part. He exhaled sharply, typing a quick reply:

"I'm good. I'll swing by when I get the chance."

He deliberately left out any mention of her.

With another sigh, he set the phone down and ran a hand through his damp hair. His thoughts weighed heavy, but sitting here dwelling on them wouldn't change anything. Right now, all he could do was get dressed and keep moving.

When he returned to the lounge, Uta was sprawled across the sofa, legs swinging absentmindedly as she tapped away at a mobile game. The soft glow of the screen illuminated her face, her brow furrowed in focus.

Jackson smiled at the sight before sinking into the opposite couch. "So, Uta… how's your family?"

Her fingers stilled. Her legs stopped swinging. The question settled between them, thick and unspoken.

"Well…" She hesitated, her gaze flickering downward. "After my brother passed, I thought my old man would change. But he's the same as ever."

She gripped her phone tighter, her knuckles whitening. "When I have time, I visit my mom at the mental hospital." Her voice wavered, barely noticeable—but then, her frustration surged.

"I just want to knock some sense into that old man!" she burst out, her hair bristling as anger flared in her eyes. "But no—his obsession with surpassing All Might is still more important than his own family."

Her shoulders slumped, the fire in her gaze dimming as she stared at the floor.

Jackson didn't say anything. He just sat there, letting her words linger in the air. Sometimes, silence said more than words ever could.

After a while, the tension between them eased. Their conversation shifted to lighter topics—shared memories, dumb things they'd done, and what they'd been up to over the past month. Laughter filled the space where sorrow had settled.

But when Jackson casually mentioned his time in Mexico , Uta's expression darkened. Her smile faded. Her legs stopped swinging.

He noticed the shift immediately. "What? What's wrong?"

Before she could answer, the plane began its descent. The engines rotated upward, adjusting for a smooth landing. The hum of the aircraft filled the cabin as they neared their destination.

As Uta and Jackson walked down the ramp, she glanced at him, her voice quieter than usual. "So… did anything happen in Mexico? You know, with that girl?"

Jackson scoffed. "Nah, nothing happened." He shrugged before adding with a smirk, "Bradford, though? He managed to get Ava's number."

Nick Fury stopped beside Jackson, his gaze sharp as he took him in. "You look like hell, kid," he said, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Take the day off. You've earned it." Without waiting for a reply, he turned, barking orders to the agents nearby.

As Fury moved off, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents swiftly and quietly secured the prisoners, ushering them toward the next aircraft, their every movement calculated and precise.

As the S.H.I.E.L.D. aircraft ascended into the sky, Jackson stood there, speechless. What kind of game was Nick Fury playing? A day off?

"Jacky, c'mon, let's go!" Uta called, snapping him out of his thoughts. He followed her to a sleek white Mercedes SUV. When they climbed inside, the driver caught his attention.

"Oh, hi, ma'am."

The woman behind the wheel, with striking white hair, turned to smile at him as she started the car. "Well, if it isn't little Jack. How've you been?"

"I've been good," Jackson replied, settling into the seat. "Just been busy since becoming a pro hero."

"Yeah, we've been busy too. Ever since Uta released her first album, it's been non-stop. We're on track for her first concert, but it's been a hassle—everyone and their mother wants to see her perform."

"That reminds me about the concert," Jackson said, turning his head to look at Uta.

"It's going to be at the end of the month, on a Friday, in Tokyo," Uta grinned.

"Tokyo?" Jackson raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Yeah," Uta replied, her smile widening. "I wanted my first concert to be in the country I'm from."

The drive was quick, the car humming steadily as they made their way through the city under the bright afternoon sun. The car rolled to a stop in front of a hotel, the engine quieting to a soft purr. Her aunt turned to Uta, her gaze firm and unwavering.

"I'm going inside to get some rest," she said, her tone sharp. "This car's a rental, so don't mess it up. We've got a 10 a.m. flight back to Japan, so don't make us late."

She handed the keys to Uta with a quick, decisive motion, then stepped out of the car and walked into the hotel, her footsteps echoing on the pavement.

Uta watched her aunt disappear inside, then glanced down at the keys in her hand. She started the engine, the hum of the car filling the silence as she shifted into gear and drove off.

"So, where to now?" she muttered to herself, her eyes scanning the road ahead.