INT. HERO PUBLIC SAFETY HEADQUARTERS – STRATEGY CHAMBER – NIGHT
The lights are low. Monitors flicker with footage of Akaito's clash with Endeavor. Around a circular table, a group of Pro Heroes watches in tense silence.
Edge Shot stands near the projection screen, remote in hand. With a click, the footage pauses at the moment Akaito dodges a fire blast with elegant precision.
"Observe," Edge Shot's voice cut through the quiet. "First strike — brachial plexus. Immediate disruption to motor control."
He clicks forward.
"Second — beneath the lat. Subscapular nerve. Clean. Controlled."
Another tap of the remote. The image zooms in on Akaito's masked expression.
"This isn't brute strength," Edge Shot added, arms folding. "It's nerve work. Muscle manipulation. Surgical."
Snipe lets out a low whistle.
"Takes decades to move like that. Maybe more."
Midnight, lounging across two chairs in the back, smirks lazily.
"Decades? I don't mind a man with experience."
The room stirs.
Mt. Lady leans in with a grin.
"Red hair, eyes like rubies, moves like poetry? Where's he been hiding all my life?"
"Focus," Kamui Woods interjected, clearly flustered.
Midnight winked at him.
"Relax, wooden boy. We're just... appreciating."
Edge Shot ignores the banter, tapping the remote again. The frame zooms in on Akaito's stance.
"This wasn't a fight. This was... acupuncture with impact."
⸻
The door creaks open.
In walks Kida, a historian from the Hero Archives Division. His lab coat sways with urgency as he wheels in a cart stacked with ancient scrolls and digital tablets.
"Apologies," Kida said, breathless. "But you all need to see this."
The lights dim further as the projector hums to life.
A faded Edo-era scroll appears onscreen: A village in flames. Two armored warlords stand over kneeling peasants. And at the center — a barefoot man with crimson hair and red eyes, facing them alone.
"This legend dates back to the late Edo period," Kida explained. "Two warlords enslaved an entire region. Until he arrived."
Click.
The man takes arrow wounds. Burns. Keeps walking.
Click.
He cuts down the warlords with bare hands.
Click.
The village rejoices.
"No name," Kida continued. "Just whispers of a demon. Or a god."
The screen now flashes through history — blurry photographs, newspaper clippings.
1993.The Great Kanto Quake. A man pulling survivors from rubble. Another shows a lone figure wiping out a yakuza clan — unarmed.
"Every major disaster. Every time," Kida's voice dropped. "Same man. Same face."
Midnight slowly straightens, tone turning serious.
"He hasn't aged."
Edge Shot's voice turned to a whisper.
"That's not human."
"Akaito," Kida finished. "The first hero. Not registered. Not recognized. But always there."
The final image lingers — Akaito walking through fire, backlit by the blaze, the weight of centuries behind him.
⸻
EXT. U.A. HIGH – LUNCH YARD – DAY
A lively crowd of students clusters around a tablet, watching footage of Akaito's encounter with Endeavor on loop.
The screen flashes — red hair blurs, Endeavor slams into the ground.
"Yo!" Kirishima punches the air, practically vibrating. "Did you guys see that? He moved like— BAM! And Endeavor's down!"
Mina clutches her cheeks, eyes wide and sparkling. "Ahhh! He's soooo cool! If he even looked at me, I'd melt on the spot!"
Sero whistles low. "That speed... dude's like a ninja and a phantom rolled together."
Bakugo, leaning against a tree nearby, scoffs loudly. "Tch. Show-off. I'd blast his damn mask right off."
Kirishima elbows him with a grin. "C'mon, Bakugo! Admit it — even you're impressed!"
Bakugo scowls, arms crossed. "Shut it, shitty hair."
Ochaco leans in, eyes twinkling. "He really doesn't look that old, does he? But they said he's been around since the era before quirks?"
Jiro raises an eyebrow, tapping her earjack against her lip. "It's kinda spooky... like, how's that even possible?"
"Maybe he's a vampire," Kaminari jokes, throwing up finger-fangs. "Ooooh, immortal mystery hero~!"
Mina giggles. "Vampire or not, he's hot."
Tokoyami, arms folded, stands a bit apart, his voice low and thoughtful. "An immortal wandering the world... perhaps he bears a heavy burden."
Iida adjusts his glasses sharply. "Regardless of speculation, we should treat this figure with proper seriousness. If he's interfering in Pro Hero matters, protocol must—"
"—Whoa, relax, Iida," Kaminari laughs. "You sound like you're filing a report."
But in the middle of the chatter, Midoriya stays quiet.
He stands just outside the circle, gazing up at the clouds. His fingers tighten around his ever-present notebook, thumb nervously flicking the corner.
⸻
EXT. HARUSSO'S HOME – EVENING
Lanterns flicker. The setting sun casts long shadows across the porch. Birds chirp lazily in the trees.
Harusso, now elderly, sits cross-legged with a teacup. Beside him stands Keiko, unchanged by time, a silent monument in red.
Laughter rings out from within the house. A small girl dashes onto the porch, eyes wide with curiosity.
"Grandpa! Who's the cool man?" she asked, pointing at Keiko.
Harusso chuckled, sipping his tea.
"That's Keiko. He's an old friend."
The girl crept closer, eyes shining.
"Are you a ninja?"
Keiko gave a soft smile.
"Closer to a gardener these days."
Harusso gave a hearty laugh.
"Gardener, my foot! Instill remember when he'd drag me to every job he had — made me carry tools, sweep shrines, even serve tea to his cranky clients."
The little girl gasped, staring up at Keiko like he was some ancient warlord.
"So you were like... his boss?!"
Keiko chuckled.
"He complained the entire time."
"Only because you treated me like your personal assistant," Harusso fired back, grinning.
The shoji door slid open. More kids spilled out — giggling, wide-eyed.
"Can you teach us to fight like you?" one asked eagerly.
"Yeah! Show us how to dodge fire!"
Keiko raised a brow.
"Only if you finish your vegetables."
The kids groaned, but then burst into laughter.
"DEAL!"
⸻
INT. DINING AREA – NIGHT
A traditional low table overflows with food. The room hums with life — laughter, footsteps, chopsticks clinking.
Keiko sits at the edge of the gathering, content, but distant — a visitor from another era.
Harusso lifts his teacup.
"To the legends who never age — and the friends who never leave."
Keiko raises his in return.
"To borrowed peace."
They drink. The children bicker over dessert. The clamor of life swells.
INTERIOR. HARUSSO'S HOUSE – HALLWAY – NIGHT
The laughter fades behind Keiko as he steps out into a quiet hallway.
Dim lanterns cast soft shadows.
He walks slowly.
Photos line the walls — aged, slightly crooked.
He pauses.
A young Harusso, gap-toothed, wields a wooden sword with reckless glee.
Another photo — a summer festival. Paper lanterns. Dango. Harusso mid-bite. Keiko in the background, holding a paper fan. A rare, small smile.
Further down — birthdays, weddings, children. Time marching on.
Keiko isn't in all of them.
He stops at a new photo — Harusso surrounded by grandchildren, grinning wide.
Keiko lingers.
"They kept growing...and i don't" keiko softly said
He exhales, long and quiet.
Turns.
And walks back toward the porch.
⸻
EXIT. HARUSSO'S HOUSE – NIGHT
Keiko steps outside into the evening breeze.
Children run barefoot through the yard, laughter ringing.
Keiko gives Harusso a slight bow. They don't speak.
Harusso simply nods.
Keiko turns and walks into the night — a shadow beneath the lanterns, swallowed by the quiet.