The interrogation room is steeped in sterile silence, broken only by the faint buzz of the overhead lights. You sit restrained at the metal table, arms bound tight in a reinforced straitjacket—engineered to limit your quirk’s effectiveness, not erase it entirely. Hours have passed. No outbursts. No confessions. Just calm, unsettling stillness.
It’s a frosty December afternoon just outside Musutafu. The Christmas market is alive with warm light and cheerful noise—laughter spilling through the air, boots crunching over packed snow, and bells chiming softly from every decorated stall. Strings of fairy lights twinkle overhead like stars caught in the branches of bare winter trees, while the sky fades into a pale lavender dusk.
Y/N’S DISEASE IS AS RARE as it is famous. Basically, she’s allergic to the world. It’s a form of Severe Combined Immunodeficiency, but you know it as “bubble baby disease.” She doesn’t leave her house, has not left her house in seventeen years. The only people she’s ever seen are her mom and her nurse, Jasmin.