The forest beyond the city limits was restless. It breathed with dampness, its leaves rustling, and it reeked of copper: the heavy, sickly-sweet scent of fresh blood that Shota Aizawa could recognize out of a thousand.
The flashlights of the forensic experts sliced through the nocturnal gloom in sharp, white cones. Detective Tsukauchi stood slightly to the side, pressing his palm to his face as if trying to rub away the exhaustion. Working alongside him was Monika Kaniyashiki, who had arrived on an exchange program from Osaka.
She looked composed and stern: a flawless dark pantsuit, a short haircut with two buns tied at the back—their red color giving the hairstyle a silhouette reminiscent of a crab. Her Quirk allowed her to use her fingers like scissors, capable of cutting through even metal at close range. She had distinguished herself with exemplary service in Osaka and possessed sharp deductive skills. Known there as a woman who could not be out-argued, her "Osaka grit" was palpable even here in the night forest. Monika crouched down, carefully examining the bark of a tree where something that had been a human being only five hours ago now clung.
— The medical examiners have finished the primary inspection, — Tsukauchi's voice sounded muffled. — Time of death was this evening, roughly five hours ago. A male, forty-two years old. An ordinary clerk. He went out for his daily jog. He was literally torn to pieces and... scattered across the branches.
Aizawa, huddling into his worn capture scarf, stepped closer. His eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep, scanned the area.
— An ordinary animal doesn't do this, — he cut in. — This wasn't a hunt for food. It's either uncontrollable rage or a display of power.
A local forest ranger approached the group, clutching a tablet to his chest. He looked pale.
— Detective, I... I checked the motion sensors and the cameras used for wildlife migration. We set them up around the perimeter to track the deer population. They... they caught this.
The group huddled around the small screen. On the grainy footage, washed in infrared light, a shadow flickered. The creature moved on all fours, yet something human lingered in its silhouette. Its skin was pitch black, covered in stripes resembling those of a tiger. But the most gruesome detail was the head: the upper part of the skull was missing, exposing a pulsating brain.
— This is no longer a human, — Monika whispered, and cold notes of memory sharpened her voice. She knew this "signature" all too well. — Detective, this looks like the effects of "Trigger." But a new, extremely aggressive version. The brain is exposed because the body can't keep up with the pace of the mutation.
— Trigger? — Tsukauchi frowned. — That filth again.
Monika nodded, her expression darkening. A couple of years ago in Osaka, she had dealt with an epidemic of this drug. She remembered how ordinary people were turned into "Instant Villains"—grotesque monsters whose Quirks were boosted to the heavens, incinerating their personalities and turning them into mindless beasts. Back then, working alongside Fat Gum, she had seen Trigger cause bones to snap and skin to darken as it adapted to monstrous power. But this case looked far more advanced—as if it were transcending the known limits of the drug.
— But there's something else, — Monika added, pointing to the corner of the frame. — Look at the timeline. Half an hour before the murder, there was an incident at the Lawson market a few kilometers from here. What seemed like an ordinary robbery by low-level villains spiraled into chaos. This creature suddenly appeared and, by all accounts, began pursuing a youth in a mask. Meanwhile, the pair of low-level villains—already wanted—were caught and easily neutralized by a civilian.
Aizawa snapped his head up.
— At the market? I heard about that from Principal Nezu. One of my U.A. students was there. He was passing by and intervened, but I dismissed it as a coincidence. It seems the kid was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But this "tiger"... it was clearly hunting that masked youth.
The detectives began connecting the dots. The market, the gas station, the forest zone. The chronological chain was forming clearly: the creature was stalking one specific target but snapped and took it out on an accidental victim—the jogger who simply stood in its way.
Stepping aside, Monika noticed one of the local patrolmen nervously shifting from foot to foot, casting fearful glances at his precinct chief. She approached him, using her signature directness.
— Officer, do you have something to add? You look like you've swallowed a bug.
The policeman hesitated, adjusting his cap. His superior, noticing Kaniyashiki's interest, tensed up.
— It's... it's not related to the murder, Detective, — the patrolman stammered.
— In a case like this, everything is related, — Aizawa intervened, his gaze turning dangerously cold. — Speak.
— A few hours ago at the gas station, we detained a kid, — the officer lowered his voice to a whisper. — A guy with a very similar Quirk. He had a tail and cat ears. We thought he was linked to the market attack from thirty minutes prior and took him in as a suspect. He wouldn't talk—didn't even give us a name. But then... a certain Okutami-sama arrived. A very influential man, a sponsor of our department.
The precinct chief stepped closer, trying to interfere, but Tsukauchi stopped him with a sharp gesture.
— Okutami-sama pressured us, — the policeman finished guiltily. — Said it was just " boyish prank" and that we'd regret it if we tarnished his family's reputation. We... we released him without a report. We didn't follow protocol.
Tsukauchi froze. His Lie Detector quirk didn't just let him know the officer was telling the truth—it made him physically feel the sticky, sordid nature of the confession. The detective exhaled slowly, and the exhalation was so frustrated that the patrolman involuntarily took a step back.
—A boyish prank?— Monica repeated, her fingers snapping involuntarily, producing a metallic clang like scissors scraping bone. —In Osaka, epaulettes fly off faster than fish scales for such concealment. You let live evidence go because you were afraid for your job?
She took a step forward, and her "Osaka grip" was on full display: no politeness, only icy disdain. —While you were bowing to this Okutami's wallet, something ran through the forest and turned a man inside out. Tsukauchi-san, if we find this guy dead, the blood will be not only on the monster's claws, but on your report forms as well."
Monika Kaniyashiki gave a bitter half-smile and looked at Aizawa.
— So, while we're here collecting what's left of a jogger, the prime suspect—or at least the key witness—is being driven home in the back of a limo? Haaaa... — she exhaled. — What did he look like? Was he aggressive?
— N-no, Officer Monika. He didn't look like that thing on the video. He looked like a normal person, just with ears and a tail like that creature. Maybe they're related? — the officer suggested.
Shota Aizawa tightened his scarf. A dangerous spark flared in his eyes.
— Money and influence won't save him from the next visit, — he snapped. — And they certainly won't save him from me when I come for answers.
Tsukauchi sighed, pulling out his phone.
— If that boy is the creature's target, then we've just released a lure right into the city. Monika, track down the Okutami family address. Aizawa, are you with me?
— I'm already on my way, — the Erasure Hero replied, vanishing into the darkness of the trees.
...
The raid was swift and silent, as per protocol for dealing with potential villain accomplices. SWAT teams stormed Okutami-sama's penthouse, filling the sterile hallways with the thunder of heavy boots and the crimson glint of laser sights.
Aizawa followed in the second wave. By the time he entered the office, the operatives had already lowered their weapons. Okutami-sama sat in his massive leather chair, head tilted back. His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, but they were devoid of life.
—Dead, — he remarked tersely, pulling his hand away.
—Clean,— the special forces responded several times, checking each room.
—Damn, this is quite an apartment,— one of the policemen whistled.
Aizawa approached and pressed his fingers to the man's neck. The skin was still warm, but there was no pulse.
He inspected the body. The expensive suit was unrumpled; there were no signs of strangulation on the neck, not a single wound, not a drop of blood on the body. The death appeared hauntingly natural, were it not for the context. A smartphone lay on the carpet, having slipped from the man's hand. Aizawa hooked it with the edge of his scarf and turned the screen toward himself.
— He tried to dial 119, — Aizawa said, showing the screen to the approaching Tsukauchi. — Emergency services. He must have felt ill and didn't have time to press the call button.
While the forensics team set up cordons and logged the position of every item in the room, Aizawa and Tsukauchi slowly paced the apartment. The air felt heavy with the scent of expensive cologne and a looming mystery.
— No signs of a break-in, no struggle, — Tsukauchi mused, rubbing his chin. — If it's a Quirk, it works from the inside. Either poison or something that stops the heart instantly. But then why the "tiger" in the forest? And where is his son? — Only later would they learn the official cause of Okutami-sama's death was a heart attack.
Aizawa silently scanned the shelves, his thoughts returning to that strange youth in the mask from the reports. Was it a coincidence, or was the boy the central figure in this chaos?
Aizawa approached a wall entirely covered with diplomas and photographs. There were no children's drawings or school certificates. Instead, gilded frames with garlands hung on enormous port cranes, terminals, and cargo ships. The central photo showed Okutami-ma, beaming as he cracked a bottle of champagne aboard a new bulk carrier. He hugged the steel pier support with more tenderness than he would his own child.
Shota framed the smallest family photo on the table.
Tsukauchi turned and opened the pen with the documents on the table. —His entire business is logistics. Port Hosu. Thousands of containers a day pass through its terminals. The perfect place to transport components for the Trigger or samples.
But this theory seemed wrong to Aizawa. A sixth sense told him things weren't so simple. As if there was no trigger involved at all. He had to figure it out for himself.
The room wasn't so cold because of the air conditioning, but because no one had ever lived there—it was a company. Okutami's death from a heart attack was almost poetic: a heart that had never been used for its intended purpose simply decided to stop beating.
— Aizawa, look at this, — the detective's voice broke his train of thought.
Tsukauchi stood by the oak desk, holding a heavy picture frame. The photograph captured a youth with vibrant aquamarine hair. He stood by the hood of a brand-new, ostentatiously expensive sports car, leaning against it nonchalantly. His gaze was vacant, almost cold. Okutami-sama stood beside him. He wasn't hugging his son; he wasn't smiling. The father stood slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back, as if he felt like an intruder in the frame of his own triumph.
— Looks like his son. Doesn't resemble him at all, — Tsukauchi noted, frowning. — And judging by the family portrait, he wasn't the best son. Or perhaps the father wasn't the best parent. You can almost feel the coldness in this room.
In the desk drawer, the operatives found a heavy bundle of keys with electronic tags.
— Keys to the underground parking garage, — Tsukauchi handed them to a nearby specialist. — Check every vehicle. We need any evidence: traces of blood, Trigger, or biological material from that creature. There's enough work here to last all night.
Aizawa felt his eyes sting with exhaustion. He was already cursing the hour he had agreed to help Tsukauchi, losing precious hours of sleep to unravel the mysteries of wealthy families and their monstrous secrets.
— Since there's no more physical work for me here, I'm leaving, — Eraser Head grunted, tightening his scarf and turning toward the exit. — Tsukauchi, call me if you find the boy with the aquamarine hair. But if it's another dead end, don't expect an answer.
...
Leaving the penthouse, Aizawa paused for a moment in the elevator, staring at his reflection in the mirrored doors. Fatigue burned his eyelids. A message from Nezu saying that someone from his class—probably that troublesome Midoriya or the restless Bakugou—was in trouble. —They're like magnets for adventures.
But no! It turned out to be the surprisingly rational Taiko. Okay, so he has a sense of justice and intervened in the crime without using his Quirk. That saved him from punishment. But who are these two...?
—But if that aquamarine-haired guy is the target, and my student was nearby... it doesn't quite seem like a coincidence anymore. Could something be going on at UA right under our noses?—
He remembered the look in the creature's eyes in the video. This "tiger" didn't have the chaotic madness of Trigger's usual victims. It had a focused will. The hunt. It's unknown whether Okutami-sama was involved, but the fact remains: his son was being pursued by this villain. He was detained at a gas station and taken to the police station, where his father arrived, having learned of the potential damage to the family's reputation should the matter become public. Then they arrived here and...Okutami Jr. left.
«The trigger is an explosion. What happened here and in the forest is more like surgery. Someone didn't just enhance my quirk; they rewrote my instincts.»
—Then maybe we should look for answers from Taiko?
...
The Port of Hosu greeted Monika Kanyashiki with a cacophony only a logistician or a madman could love. The hum of heavy diesel engines, the clank of steel cables, and the endless horns of bulk carriers merged into a single, heart-throbbing rhythm. Even in the dead of night, the terminals had a life of their own: bathed in the poisonous yellow light of floodlights, they seemed a separate state, where human life weighed less than a standard forty-foot container.
—I can't believe we're in the Port of Hosu on an inspection. Usually, various commissions come here, not the police,— grumbled Sergeant Sato, the local detective assigned to assist Monika. He lit a cigarette, shielding the flame from the sea breeze in his palm. —They found minced meat in the forest, and we're shaking down the dockers. What's the connection, Officer Kanyashiki?
Monika didn't spare him a glance, watching the senior port manager approach them.
—The connection is simple, Sato-san: villains like that are like animals injected with triggers; they don't just appear out of nowhere. It's not like the trigger accidentally fell into the villain's hands and he used it, no. They must have injected him again by force. And we're here purely because of Tsukauchi. In Osaka, we also thought they were brewing triggers in the basements, until we found a whole batch in a supermarket warehouse.
The manager, Mr. Ito, appeared before them as if from the shadow of one of the faucets. He was a lean man in an immaculate helmet, his eyes gleaming with fox-like cunning behind his glasses. He smiled faintly when Tsukauchi presented the warrant for an unscheduled inspection.
—A terrible tragedy in the forest, simply unimaginable,— Ito said, his voice less condolence-filled than the automated answering machine. —Okutami-sama was... an outstanding strategist. The loss of such a man is a blow to the entire prefecture. Of course, Hosu Port will provide every support. Search whatever you wish. We have nothing to hide except our efficiency.
He gestured broadly, granting the police permission to search, but he himself remained close, following the group like a shadow.
—Let's check sector C-12,— Monika commanded. —That's where the last of Okutami's cargo was being unloaded.
Half an hour later, Sato, fiddling with the heavy latch of one of the containers, gave a short whistle.
—Officer, come here. This... isn't quite what we expected.
Monika approached and peered inside, illuminating the contents with her flashlight. The expected bags of chemicals or vials of Trigger weren't there. Instead, the container was packed with boxes of high-tech equipment: servos, sheets of ultra-strong polymers, and cases with markings that sent a chill through Monica.
«DETNERAT Corp.»
—These are components for the Detnerat corporation,— Sato scratched his head, puzzled. —Manager, are you transporting parts for hero suits under the guise of Okutami's private cargo?
Ito, who had appeared behind them, didn't even blink.
—We have a close partnership. Detnerat is an industrial giant. Even the CEO of Detnerat owns twenty-six percent of our shares. It's an open contract. They supply equipment to UA and Shiketsu. We merely provide logistics for their developments. You're not saying that hero gadgets are contraband, are you?
Monica bit her lip. She knew Detnerat. Every other hero in Osaka used their accessories. If this empire was tied to Okutami, the threads of this case led to heights beyond the reach of ordinary detectives.
—Nothing criminal so far,— she whispered under her breath, feeling her intuition screaming the opposite.
The ground beneath her feet shook. At first, it was a low rumble, like distant thunder, but a second later it grew into a deafening screech of tearing metal. A few hundred meters away, at the very entrance to the port, one of the giant loading cranes suddenly shuddered. Its steel support gave way as if it were made of matchsticks.
—What the hell?! — Sato shouted, grabbing the edge of the container to keep from falling.
The enormous structure began to slowly, almost gracefully, tip toward the pier. The enormous container, hanging from the boom, broke loose and crashed down with a roar, crushing the deck of the moored vessel. Fountains of water and debris shot into the air, and the wail of emergency sirens echoed throughout the port.
In the distance, in the light of wires ignited by a short circuit, Monica briefly saw a silhouette atop a nearby crane. A two-meter-long black body blended into the darkness, with a long striped tail. And it looks like the villain wasn't alone.