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The sun rose over Yokohama in streaks of gold and violet, warm and deceptive. For most people, it was a new beginning. For Kenji Miyazawa, it was another day pretending everything was fine.
He hadn’t eaten in two days.
At first, it wasn’t intentional. The Agency had been busy — a chain of petty crimes escalating into something bigger — and Kenji, with his bright smile and endless optimism, had been running errands from dawn until midnight. He’d told himself he would eat later. But later never came.
Then he started to notice something strange. The hungrier he was, the stronger he felt. His legs carried him faster, his punches hit harder, his senses sharpened until the world pulsed around him like a living thing. His ability, Undefeated by the Rain, always relied on his connection to the earth — but now, it felt alive in him.
And that scared him.
“Kenji, you look pale,” Kunikida said one morning, lowering his notepad as the boy stumbled into the office.
Kenji laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m fine! Just didn’t have breakfast yet. The sun was so nice today, I forgot to eat!”
Atsushi frowned. “You… forgot? You’ve been skipping meals lately. I noticed.”
“Ahaha, well, I’m trying something new!” Kenji grinned. “My ability seems to like it when I’m empty. It’s like… the less I take in, the more I can give out.”
Dazai, slouched on the couch, cracked one eye open. “That’s not how abilities work, Kenji-kun. Starving yourself to feel powerful — that’s how you end up in the hospital, or worse.”
But Kenji only smiled. “I’m fine, Mr. Dazai. The earth takes care of me.”
The others dropped it, but Dazai’s stare lingered a little longer. He’d seen that expression before — the kind of peaceful self-destruction that came from someone who believed their pain was holy.
The mission came a few days later.
A rogue ability user had taken refuge in an abandoned factory, warping the structure around him with waves of destructive gravity. No one could get close without being crushed.
Kenji volunteered.
He’d gone without food for four days now. His body ached, but his veins burned with power. The moment his bare feet touched the cracked earth outside the factory, he felt it — the hum of the soil, the vibrations of the steel, the very pulse of the ground beneath his toes.
He stepped forward.
Every movement was effortless. His ability roared awake like a creature set free. The collapsing walls stopped before him. The ground shifted and carried him upward, as if the earth itself was protecting him.
Atsushi and Kunikida watched in disbelief. “He’s… unstoppable,” Atsushi whispered.
Inside, the enemy screamed, “What are you?!”
Kenji smiled gently. “Just a boy from the countryside.”
Then he crushed the gravity field in one effortless motion, his hand pressing into the dirt as the entire structure calmed around him.
The mission was a success. But Kenji didn’t come back.
Atsushi found him collapsed behind the factory, barely breathing. His pulse was shallow, his skin cold and clammy. He hadn’t eaten or drunk water in nearly five days.
They rushed him to the hospital.
Kunikida paced in the hallway. “This is what I was afraid of. He’s pushing his ability too far. His body isn’t a machine — it can’t run on nothing.”
When Kenji finally woke, he smiled weakly at them. “You’re all worrying too much. The earth feeds me.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Dazai said flatly. “It’s feeding from you.”
Kenji blinked, confused.
“You think your ability is kind, but it’s not. It’s a contract — one that demands balance. The stronger you become, the more it takes back. You’re starving because it’s eating through you, Kenji.”
The boy’s smile faltered for the first time.
Kenji tried to eat after that. He really did.
But food began to taste like dust. His body rejected every bite — nausea, headaches, trembling hands. When he touched the soil, the symptoms vanished. He felt alive again, even as he grew thinner and weaker.
He started spending his nights outdoors, sleeping in the grass behind the Agency. “It’s peaceful here,” he’d tell Atsushi when he was found. “The earth listens.”
Sometimes, Atsushi would find him kneeling in the dirt, palms pressed flat, whispering something. Prayers, maybe. Apologies.
A landslide had struck the outskirts of Yokohama, and dozens were trapped under debris. Kenji arrived before anyone else. The rain was cold and heavy, but he didn’t feel it. The earth was screaming beneath him — crying out in pain, asking to be freed.
He pressed his hands into the mud. “I’ll help you,” he whispered.
His ability surged like a tidal wave. The ground shifted, split, moved — rescuing those trapped, holding collapsing trees in place, lifting entire slabs of stone. The effort should have killed him, but he didn’t stop.
When the others arrived, they found him standing in the rain, trembling violently, his eyes glowing faintly gold.
“Kenji!” Atsushi shouted.
He turned, smiling faintly. “They’re safe… see? The earth helped me again.”
Then his legs gave out, and he collapsed face-first into the mud.
He survived — barely.
Yosano spent days keeping him alive, forcing nutrients into his body, stabilizing him. When he finally woke, there was no smile. Only silence.
He looked down at his hands, pale and trembling. “It feels like the earth is… angry with me now.”
Dazai sat beside him, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “It’s not anger, Kenji-kun. It’s warning you. You gave too much of yourself. If you keep doing that, there won’t be anything left to give.”
Kenji’s eyes filled with quiet tears. “But helping people makes me happy.”
“I know,” Dazai said softly. “But you can’t save others by destroying yourself.”
For a long time, Kenji didn’t respond. The sunlight through the window painted his face gold, and he whispered, almost to himself:
“Maybe I got too comfortable with the idea of starving.”
And when he finally stepped outside again — shoes on, hat tilted low — he carried a piece of bread in his hand. He stared at it for a long time before taking a bite.
The wind rustled softly. The earth didn’t protest this time.
Just listened.