Marks on My Soul

Chapter One

Kagome Higurashi had learned long ago that soulmates were supposed to be a blessing.

The delicate script etched into her skin since she was thirteen told a different story. Two marks. Two sets of words that would be spoken to her by two different people. In a world where soulmates were sacred, where families took pride in their children's destined matches, having multiple marks was... complicated.

Her older sister Ayame had made sure Kagome understood exactly how shameful it was.

"Two marks, Kagome? How greedy," Ayame had sneered on the day Kagome's second mark appeared. "Mother and Grandfather are mortified. The Higurashi name, tainted by your inability to be content with one soulmate like a normal person."

Seven years had passed since Kagome walked away from the Higurashi estate on her eighteenth birthday, and she still heard Ayame's voice in her quieter moments.

She shook her head, forcing the memories away as her phone buzzed insistently on the breakroom table. The harsh fluorescent lights flickered overhead as she glanced at the caller ID—the hospital's emergency line, the one that only rang when things were truly dire. Kagome's heart rate kicked up a notch as she grabbed the device before the second ring could finish.

"Higurashi speaking," she answered, already pushing away from the small table, her lukewarm coffee forgotten.

"Barrier-class hero needed immediately at UA High School. Mass villain attack at their training facility—USJ. Multiple casualties, class of first-years caught in the attack. We need your healing quirk NOW," the dispatcher's voice was clipped, professional, but Kagome could hear the underlying urgency that came from years of coordinating emergency responses.

Kagome was already moving, snatching her jacket from the back of her chair and her emergency kit from her locker. Her coffee sat abandoned, still steaming slightly. "I'm ten minutes out. Send me the coordinates," she said, shouldering her way through the breakroom door and into the hallway beyond.

UA High School. Japan's most prestigious hero academy, and someone had been bold—or stupid—enough to attack it. As she sprinted to her car, Kagome felt the familiar warmth of her quirk responding to her urgency. Six translucent petals of light flickered briefly around her before fading.

Shun Shun Rikka. Six flowers, six different abilities. In her past life, she'd wielded spiritual power against demons and monsters that would have given modern heroes nightmares. In this life, that power had manifested as a quirk—versatile, powerful, and largely kept secret.

The official records listed her as a support and healing hero. Underground work, mostly. She had a license, had done the training, but Kagome preferred to stay out of the spotlight. Let them think she was just another healer. They didn't need to know about Tsubaki's ability to reject and disintegrate, or how Koten Zanshun could split the very fabric of reality if she pushed hard enough.

Some things were better left unspoken. Just like her past life. Just like the fact that she'd once loved someone in an era long past, had fought in a war that this world would never know existed.

Kagome pushed down the old ache in her chest as she drove. That life was over. This was her reality now.

The USJ facility was chaos when she arrived, her car screeching to a halt in the makeshift parking area that had been cordoned off by police.

Police barriers formed a perimeter around the massive dome-shaped building, their blue and red lights creating an eerie strobe effect against the late afternoon sky. Ambulances lined the area, their back doors open as paramedics rushed between them. Heroes in various states of injury were being loaded onto stretchers, some conscious and protesting, others worryingly still. A purple-haired hero—the rescue hero Thirteen, if Kagome remembered correctly from the news coverage—was already being treated for what looked like quirk backlash, their space suit torn and scorched. Students in UA gym uniforms huddled together in tight clusters, some crying openly, others staring blankly at nothing with the thousand-yard stare that came from witnessing violence too young. Teachers moved between the groups, doing headcounts, offering comfort, their own faces pale with shock.