The administrative formalities for an American citizen named Marcus Kane, equipped with an impeccable dossier created by Batman's genius, were surprisingly simple. The modest check the Dark Knight had discreetly slipped him—a sum substantial enough to start a new life without raising suspicion—allowed him to book a flight and find a small, functional apartment in Tokyo's Nakano ward, known for its many second-hand manga and anime shops.
Arriving at Narita Airport, Marcus was immediately struck by the contrast. On one hand, the apparent serenity, order, and respect that prevailed. On the other, the relentless flow of life, the electric hum of a metropolis that never stopped. His superhuman senses were overwhelmed by a symphony of new smells—temple wood, incense, street food, the crowd—and sounds—polite announcements, the rhythm of footsteps, the rumble of underground trains.
His new apartment smelled of fresh tatami and paper. Sitting at his new desk, he researched the country's manga landscape. As Batman had hinted, this universe was rich and diverse, but it hadn't reached the level of absolute cultural dominance he knew from his own world. There were classics, successes, but the spark, the global phenomenon that redefined a genre, seemed to be missing. The idea that had been scribbled in a notebook since his arrival at the Watchtower suddenly took on a new urgency.
He opened a blank sketchbook. Across the pages, a world took shape. A world where almost everyone possessed a superpower, a "Quirk." A world where being a hero was a profession. He drew a determined but frail young man, born without a power in a world of superhumans, who dreamed more than anything of becoming a hero.
He called it My Hero Academia.
Days turned into weeks. Marcus, now Utopian by day and a mangaka by night, found a strange peace in this double life. He studied drawing techniques in specialized bookstores, immersed himself in local narrative codes, and worked tirelessly on his first chapter. In parallel, he patrolled the rooftops of Tokyo at dusk, his red cape a splash of color against the night sky, training to master his powers in the urban vastness. He intervened in minor crimes—a convenience store robbery, a restaurant fire—always discreetly enough to avoid headlines, but enough for rumors to begin circulating about a new hero in a white coat.
One evening, as he was sketching the design of the character All Might, the Symbol of Peace in his manga, his special League-issued phone vibrated. It wasn't a crisis alert, but a text message. The sender was an encrypted number, but he recognized the source.
< Unknown>: Survived your first steps as a mangaka?
< Utopian>:My editor hasn't thrown my manuscript out yet. I'm counting that as a win.
< Unknown>:Good. And Tokyo's rooftops? Are they suitable for training?
< Utopian>:They're perfect. A bit slippery when it rains, but perfect.
He smiled. He knew it was Shayera. Their discreet flirtation, begun during their sparring session, continued through intermittent messages. It was a breath of fresh air, a tangible link to his new life as a hero.
A few days later, an envelope slipped under his door contained a clipping from a Japanese newspaper. It showed a blurry photo of him, Utopian, subduing a thief. An article talked about this new "white knight" of Tokyo. Scribbled in the margin of the article, in a firm, familiar handwriting, was a single word:
"Noted."
It was Batman's word. He was being watched, protected. The League was watching over him.
Sitting at his desk, looking at the completed first pages of My Hero Academia on one side, and the newspaper clipping on the other, Marcus felt a deep sense of fulfillment. He had a mission as a hero, a passion as an artist, and the beginnings of a connection with someone. For the first time since waking up in that unknown apartment, he was no longer a blank page. He was writing his own story, panel by panel, page by page矜