The botanical garden was exactly as terrible as Haruto had feared.
"Isn't this wonderful?" his mother asked, spreading out a picnic blanket near a fountain.
The fountain was surrounded by approximately four thousand plants, all of which started talking the moment Haruto got within ten feet.
HELLO!
NEW PERSON!
IS THAT A CHILD?
HE FEELS DIFFERENT!
CAN HE HEAR US?
Haruto pressed his hands over his ears, which did absolutely nothing because the voices were in his head.
"Haru? You okay, buddy?" His father knelt down, concerned.
"Loud."
"The fountain?"
"The plants."
Understanding crossed his father's face. "Right. Of course. Do you need to leave?"
Haruto wanted to say yes. Wanted to run back to the car and hide until this was over. But his mother looked so excited, and this was supposed to be a special birthday outing, and—
"I'll be okay," he said.
His father squeezed his shoulder. "Let us know if it gets too much."
They set up the picnic while Haruto tried to implement Tamaki's filtering techniques. Narrow focus. Tune out the background. Like looking through a telescope instead of a window.
It... sort of worked.
The screaming became more like loud talking. Still overwhelming, but manageable.
"Better?" his mother asked, handing him a sandwich.
"Better," Haruto confirmed.
"Good! After we eat, we can explore the gardens! They have sections for different climates—desert plants, rainforest plants, even an underwater section with aquatic plants!"
Oh good. More plants. Just what I need.
Halfway through the sandwich, a tour group walked by, led by an enthusiastic guide.
"—and if you'll direct your attention to the left, you'll see our prized orchid collection! Some of these specimens are over fifty years old!"
The orchids, hearing this, immediately started complaining.
Fifty years in the same pot!
Do you know what that does to roots?
We have GRIEVANCES!
"The orchids seem agitated," Haruto observed.
His parents looked at the flowers, which were perfectly still.
"They look fine to me," his father said.
"Trust me. They're agitated."
"What are they saying?" his mother asked, curiosity winning over skepticism.
"They don't like their pots."
"Should we tell someone?"
"They've been complaining for fifty years. I don't think they'll stop now."
A small girl from the tour group noticed Haruto staring at the orchids.
"Are you talking to the flowers?" she asked.
"Maybe."
"That's weird."
"I know."
"Cool weird or bad weird?"
Haruto considered this. "Depends on the day."
The girl nodded sagely, as if this made perfect sense, and rejoined her group.
"You made a friend!" his mother said.
"I stated a fact to a stranger. That's not friendship."
"Close enough!"
After lunch, they explored the gardens. The desert section was surprisingly quiet—cacti weren't very talkative, apparently. The rainforest section was chaos, with every plant trying to out-shout the others for attention. The underwater plants just bubbled ominously.
They were passing through a rose garden when Haruto felt something strange.
One of the roses was... sick. Really sick. Dying, even, though it looked fine on the outside.
He stopped walking.
"Haru?" His mother looked back. "What's wrong?"
"That rose. It's dying."
"Which one?" His father scanned the bushes. "They all look healthy."
Haruto walked over to a large white rose, placing his hand gently on the stem. The plant's distress washed over him—disease, spreading through its roots, killing it slowly from the inside.
Without thinking, he pushed energy into it. Healing energy, like he'd done with the cherry tree all those months ago.
The rose responded immediately, color returning to its leaves, the sickness retreating.
"Haruto, what are you doing?" his mother asked, though her tone was more curious than scolding.
"It was sick. I fixed it."
"You can tell when plants are sick?"
"Yeah. This one had root rot."
"That's very kind of you, sweetie," his mother said.
A gardener appeared, pushing a wheelbarrow full of tools.
"Excuse me, did that child just touch the roses?"
"Yes, I'm sorry," his mother started, "he has a plant quirk and—"
"Which one did he touch?"
Haruto pointed to the white rose.
The gardener examined it closely, then pulled out a small device and scanned it. His eyebrows shot up.
"This rose was dying yesterday," he said slowly. "Advanced root rot. We were planning to remove it this afternoon."
"And now?" Haruto's father asked.
"Now it's... completely healthy." The gardener looked at Haruto with something like awe. "What did you do?"
"Fixed it," Haruto said simply.
"How?"
"Pushed energy. Made the sick parts stop being sick."
The gardener stared at him for a long moment. Then he pulled out a radio.
"Hey, Tanaka? You're gonna want to come to the rose garden. Yeah. No, you really are. There's a kid here who just cured root rot with his quirk."
Oh no. I've attracted attention. This is bad.
Within five minutes, three more gardeners had arrived, all looking at Haruto like he was some kind of miracle.
"Can he heal other plants?" one asked.
"How much energy does it take?" another wondered.
"Is this replicable or a one-time thing?"
"He's two years old," his mother said firmly, stepping between Haruto and the gardeners. "And this is his birthday outing, not a quirk demonstration."
"Of course, of course! We're just excited! Do you have a card? We'd love to contact you about—"
"No cards. No contact. He's two."
The head gardener—apparently Tanaka—held up his hands peacefully. "We understand. But if you're ever interested in having him visit again, we'd be very grateful. We have several specimens that are struggling, and if his quirk could help..."
He trailed off hopefully.
Haruto's mother looked down at him. "What do you think, Haru? Would you want to come back and help the plants?"
The plants in question all perked up, sensing the possibility.
YES!
PLEASE!
WE HAVE SO MANY PROBLEMS!
My leaves have spots!
My roots are cramped!
Someone planted me next to a FERN and we have NOTHING in common!
"Maybe," Haruto said cautiously. "If they stop yelling."
"The plants are yelling?" Tanaka asked, fascinated.
"They're very loud here."
"Because there are so many?"
"Because they all have opinions."
Tanaka laughed. "I've been a gardener for thirty years, and I've never heard it put quite like that."
They managed to extract themselves from the gardeners—after his mother took a business card "just in case"—and continued their tour.
"That was exciting!" his father said.
"That was stressful," Haruto corrected.
"You helped a plant! That's wonderful!"
"I helped one plant and now they all want help."
"Is that bad?"
"It's loud."
They ended up in a quiet corner of the garden, away from the main paths. A small grove of bamboo rustled peacefully in the breeze.
Haruto sat down, grateful for the relative quiet. The bamboo was calm, content, not demanding anything from him.
"Better?" his mother asked, sitting beside him.
"Better."
"Do you want to go home?"
Haruto looked around. The garden was beautiful, objectively. Lots of plants he'd never seen before. Interesting specimens from around the world. And the bamboo grove was actually nice.
"Can we stay here? In the quiet part?"
"Of course!" His mother pulled out a book. "Your father and I can read while you explore. Just stay where we can see you."
Haruto wandered through the bamboo grove, feeling each stalk as he passed. They were old—not as old as the cherry tree in the park, but established. Wise, in their way.
Hello, young one, they seemed to say. You're very powerful for someone so small.
I'm two, Haruto thought back. I don't feel powerful. I feel tired.
Power is tiring, the bamboo agreed. That's how you know it's real.
You sound like Gerald.
Who is Gerald?
My fern. He gives me life advice.
Ah, the bamboo said. Ferns are good at that. Small, but wise.
Haruto sat down against one of the bamboo stalks, closing his eyes. The grove was peaceful. The sounds of the garden faded to a gentle hum. Even the other plants' voices quieted here, as if the bamboo created some kind of buffer.
This is nice, he thought. I could stay here forever.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, his father was gently shaking his shoulder.
"Hey, buddy. We should probably head home soon. It's getting late."
Haruto blinked awake, momentarily disoriented. The sun was lower in the sky, casting long shadows through the bamboo.
"How long was I asleep?"
"About an hour. You looked peaceful, so we didn't want to wake you."
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize! Growing quirks use a lot of energy. It's good that you rested."
They walked back to the car, Haruto's legs wobbly from sleep. The plants called goodbye as they left, a cacophony of voices that made his head hurt.
COME BACK SOON!
DON'T FORGET ABOUT US!
WE STILL NEED HELP!
I'll think about it, Haruto projected back, too tired to form actual thoughts.
In the car, his mother turned around to look at him.
"Did you have a good birthday outing?"
"Yeah," Haruto said honestly. "The bamboo was nice."
"Just the bamboo?"
"The bamboo was the best part."
"What about healing the rose? That was pretty amazing."
"That was okay too."
His mother smiled. "High praise from you."
"I contain multitudes," Haruto said, and his father nearly drove off the road from laughing.
"Did you just quote your fern?" his mother asked.
"Gerald has good sayings."
"Gerald has been spending too much time with the oak tree," his father said.
"That too."
At home, Haruto went straight to the balcony to debrief with Gerald.
"How was the botanical garden?" Gerald asked.
"Loud. But the bamboo was nice. They said you're wise."
"The bamboo said that?"
"Yeah. Said ferns are small but wise."
"The bamboo is correct," Gerald said smugly. "I am very wise."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late. My head is very full of wisdom now."
Haruto laughed, surprising himself. When had he started genuinely enjoying his conversations with a plant?
"I healed a rose," he said. "The gardeners were impressed."
"Of course they were. You're impressive."
"I'm two years old and I talk to plants. I'm weird."
"Weird and impressive aren't mutually exclusive."
"I suppose not."
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the sunset. The city sparkled as lights came on, and somewhere a few streets over, Haruto could feel a tree complaining about graffiti.
Normal evening, he thought.
"Gerald?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think I'm getting too attached to people?"
The fern was quiet for a moment. "Is there such a thing as too attached?"
"If it interferes with what I'm supposed to do, then yes."
"And what are you supposed to do?"
"Change things. Fix things. Remove threats before they become problems."
"That sounds very lonely."
"It's necessary."
"Necessary things can still be lonely," Gerald pointed out. "The question is whether you're willing to pay that price."
Haruto didn't have an answer.
"Think about it," Gerald advised. "You have time. You're two. Despite what you keep telling yourself, you don't have to decide everything right now."
"The oak tree is a bad influence on you."
"The oak tree is ancient and wise. I'm lucky to learn from it."
"You're a six-month-old fern."
"A very wise six-month-old fern."
Haruto smiled, leaning back against the balcony railing. The evening air was cool, and he could hear his parents moving around inside, making dinner.
Maybe Gerald's right, he thought. Maybe I don't have to decide everything now.
Maybe I can just... be. For a while.
Before everything gets complicated.
"Thanks, Gerald," he said out loud.
"Anytime, small human. That's what friends are for."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it keeps being true."
Inside, his mother called him for dinner. Haruto stood, giving Gerald a gentle pat.
"Same time tomorrow?" the fern asked.
"Probably. If I don't cause any disasters between now and then."
"You'll be fine. You're getting better at not causing disasters."
"Only slightly better."
"Still counts."
Haruto went inside, where his parents had made his favorite dinner—rice with vegetables that, thankfully, didn't complain about being cooked.
It was a good birthday, he decided. Overwhelming, exhausting, but good.
And as he drifted off to sleep that night, surrounded by the quiet hum of plants and Gerald's steady presence, Haruto allowed himself to feel something he hadn't felt in either of his lives.
Content.
Just for tonight.