City hummed beneath a low, waking sky. Neon signs clung stubbornly to the last traces of night—ghosts refusing to fade.
A young girl—no older than eleven—walked alone along the cracked sidewalk, her backpack heavier than it should be.
She paused beneath a flickering streetlamp, eyes wide and locked onto the grainy video playing on her device.
Akaito.
Moving like a shadow, dismantling Endeavor with a precision no pro should've fallen to. Not that fast. Not that clean.
Kairi's chest tightened.
That name—Akaito—wasn't just something from the news or whispered through alleys. It lived in her mother's voice.
Soft. Warm. Unshakable.
She remembered sitting cross-legged on the worn futon, the room dim and quiet, her mother's voice wrapping around her like a lullaby made of steel.
"He didn't fight monsters or supervillains back then," her mother whispered, reverence in every word.
"He hunted the ones no one dared name—the mercs, the Yakuza, the ghosts who made people vanish. He was their nightmare."
Kairi blinked, eyes misting, her fingers tightening around the device.
⸻
And then came the other memory—the one that haunted her more.
The clinic room was quiet, too quiet. Machines beeped like tired hearts, and her mother's hand, once so strong, was frail in her own.
"They didn't want a daughter, Kairi," her voice cracked but didn't falter. "They wanted a weapon. They took his DNA... and mine. That's all we were to them—ingredients."
Kairi had stared, heart pounding.
"But the moment I held you," her mother said, brushing trembling fingers through her hair, "I didn't see an experiment. I saw my little girl. My miracle."
"So I ran."
Kairi wiped her eyes as she stood once more beneath the flickering lamp. A gust tugged at her red hair. Somewhere far off, a train groaned across the tracks.
Her mother had been gone for months. The illness moved faster than anyone expected.
Since then, she'd been searching.
Alone. Quiet. Unrelenting.
But now...
She looked back down at the video.
Akaito was back.
Not a myth.
Not a ghost.
Real. Alive.
She wasn't chasing a story anymore. She was chasing blood.
And when she found him—when their eyes finally met—she would ask the only question that mattered:
"If I was made from you... what am I meant to become?"
She slipped the device into her bag, took a breath, and walked into the rising dawn.
⸻
Rooftop – Late Afternoon, The Day After USJ
The sun cast long golden streaks over the city, cutting through the haze of a recovering sky.
Akaito stood at the rooftop's edge, coat shifting gently in the breeze. From this height, Musutafu looked quiet. Ordinary.
But he knew better.
He could still smell the tension in the air. The aftermath of chaos lingered like smoke after fire.
Footsteps approached behind him—steady, but heavy with fatigue.
"I figured I'd find you up here," said All Might.
Akaito didn't turn. "You told the teachers who I am."
A pause. "What makes you say that?" All Might asked.
"You just confirmed it," Akaito replied, voice flat.
All Might sighed and stepped beside him. The sun hit half his face—half a legend, half a man nearing his end.
"You saw what happened at USJ," he said quietly. "The villains weren't posturing. They came coordinated. Ready. That warp user—Kurogiri—he knew our patterns. And the Nomu..."
He exhaled slowly.
"That thing was made to kill me."
Akaito's jaw tensed. "And it give a fight for i can see."
All Might nodded. "Yes. And every time I use my power now, I feel it burning away. My time's nearly up."
They stood in silence, listening to the distant buzz of the city.
"The students fought well," All Might said. "Better than I expected. But they're still children. And now the world knows U.A. isn't untouchable."
He turned to Akaito, eyes darkened by worry, not pride.
"Japan doesn't need another symbol. Not now. It needs something real—someone the darkness still fears."
Akaito didn't answer immediately. His eyes followed a trail of birds carving through the sky.
Then: "I'll go to U.A."
All Might blinked. "You will?"
"I'll speak to the staff," he said. "If they want my help... they'll have it."
A breeze moved between them, quiet and uncertain.
All Might placed a hand on Akaito's shoulder—not as a symbol, but as a man. A dying man asking for help.
"Thank you."
Akaito looked toward the school in the distance. The weight of what was coming pressed against his senses.
"This isn't just about villains anymore," he said. "It's about what's coming next—and what we'll have to become to face it."
And with that, he turned from the edge, the sun casting a long shadow behind him as he walked toward the door.
⸻
Quiet Street – Dust
The street was nearly silent, bathed in the soft orange glow of a dying sun. Shadows stretched long across broken pavement. The air smelled faintly of rust and rain.
Akaito walked alone.
The black coat rippled with every step, his masked face tilted downward in thought. Even now, even in peace, he moved like a ghost—half there, half memory.
He turned down a narrow side street. At its end stood an old wooden house, half-swallowed by ivy. His home—or the closest thing left.
He reached the gate.
Stopped.
A presence.
Not sound. Not scent. Just a feeling—like the world had tilted a few degrees without warning.
He turned.
And saw her.
A girl stood across the street, framed by fading light. Short red hair caught the wind. Her backpack hung crooked on her shoulder. She didn't speak. Didn't run.
Just watched.
Their eyes met.
Not fear. Not anger.
Searching.
For a moment, everything around them blurred—noise, color, time.
Akaito felt something stir deep inside. Something buried beneath years of blood and silence.
Recognition.
She said nothing.
Neither did he.
But something passed between them in that instant—ancient, invisible, unbreakable.
Connection.
The wind shifted, carrying the whisper of a beginning.
And the world held its breath. City hummed beneath a low, waking sky. Neon signs clung stubbornly to the last traces of night—ghosts refusing to fade.
A young girl—no older than eleven—walked alone along the cracked sidewalk, her backpack heavier than it should be.
She paused beneath a flickering streetlamp, eyes wide and locked onto the grainy video playing on her device.
Akaito.
Moving like a shadow, dismantling Endeavor with a precision no pro should've fallen to. Not that fast. Not that clean.
Kairi's chest tightened.
That name—Akaito—wasn't just something from the news or whispered through alleys. It lived in her mother's voice.
Soft. Warm. Unshakable.
She remembered sitting cross-legged on the worn futon, the room dim and quiet, her mother's voice wrapping around her like a lullaby made of steel.
"He didn't fight monsters or supervillains back then," her mother whispered, reverence in every word.
"He hunted the ones no one dared name—the mercs, the Yakuza, the ghosts who made people vanish. He was their nightmare."
Kairi blinked, eyes misting, her fingers tightening around the device.
⸻
And then came the other memory—the one that haunted her more.
The clinic room was quiet, too quiet. Machines beeped like tired hearts, and her mother's hand, once so strong, was frail in her own.
"They didn't want a daughter, Kairi," her voice cracked but didn't falter. "They wanted a weapon. They took his DNA... and mine. That's all we were to them—ingredients."
Kairi had stared, heart pounding.
"But the moment I held you," her mother said, brushing trembling fingers through her hair, "I didn't see an experiment. I saw my little girl. My miracle."
"So I ran."
Kairi wiped her eyes as she stood once more beneath the flickering lamp. A gust tugged at her red hair. Somewhere far off, a train groaned across the tracks.
Her mother had been gone for months. The illness moved faster than anyone expected.
Since then, she'd been searching.
Alone. Quiet. Unrelenting.
But now...
She looked back down at the video.
Akaito was back.
Not a myth.
Not a ghost.
Real. Alive.
She wasn't chasing a story anymore. She was chasing blood.
And when she found him—when their eyes finally met—she would ask the only question that mattered:
"If I was made from you... what am I meant to become?"
She slipped the device into her bag, took a breath, and walked into the rising dawn.
⸻
Rooftop – Late Afternoon, The Day After USJ
The sun cast long golden streaks over the city, cutting through the haze of a recovering sky.
Akaito stood at the rooftop's edge, coat shifting gently in the breeze. From this height, Musutafu looked quiet. Ordinary.
But he knew better.
He could still smell the tension in the air. The aftermath of chaos lingered like smoke after fire.
Footsteps approached behind him—steady, but heavy with fatigue.
"I figured I'd find you up here," said All Might.
Akaito didn't turn. "You told the teachers who I am."
A pause. "What makes you say that?" All Might asked.
"You just confirmed it," Akaito replied, voice flat.
All Might sighed and stepped beside him. The sun hit half his face—half a legend, half a man nearing his end.
"You saw what happened at USJ," he said quietly. "The villains weren't posturing. They came coordinated. Ready. That warp user—Kurogiri—he knew our patterns. And the Nomu..."
He exhaled slowly.
"That thing was made to kill me."
Akaito's jaw tensed. "And it give a fight for i can see."
All Might nodded. "Yes. And every time I use my power now, I feel it burning away. My time's nearly up."
They stood in silence, listening to the distant buzz of the city.
"The students fought well," All Might said. "Better than I expected. But they're still children. And now the world knows U.A. isn't untouchable."
He turned to Akaito, eyes darkened by worry, not pride.
"Japan doesn't need another symbol. Not now. It needs something real—someone the darkness still fears."
Akaito didn't answer immediately. His eyes followed a trail of birds carving through the sky.
Then: "I'll go to U.A."
All Might blinked. "You will?"
"I'll speak to the staff," he said. "If they want my help... they'll have it."
A breeze moved between them, quiet and uncertain.
All Might placed a hand on Akaito's shoulder—not as a symbol, but as a man. A dying man asking for help.
"Thank you."
Akaito looked toward the school in the distance. The weight of what was coming pressed against his senses.
"This isn't just about villains anymore," he said. "It's about what's coming next—and what we'll have to become to face it."
And with that, he turned from the edge, the sun casting a long shadow behind him as he walked toward the door.
⸻
Quiet Street – Dust
The street was nearly silent, bathed in the soft orange glow of a dying sun. Shadows stretched long across broken pavement. The air smelled faintly of rust and rain.
Akaito walked alone.
The black coat rippled with every step, his masked face tilted downward in thought. Even now, even in peace, he moved like a ghost—half there, half memory.
He turned down a narrow side street. At its end stood an old wooden house, half-swallowed by ivy. His home—or the closest thing left.
He reached the gate.
Stopped.
A presence.
Not sound. Not scent. Just a feeling—like the world had tilted a few degrees without warning.
He turned.
And saw her.
A girl stood across the street, framed by fading light. Short red hair caught the wind. Her backpack hung crooked on her shoulder. She didn't speak. Didn't run.
Just watched.
Their eyes met.
Not fear. Not anger.
Searching.
For a moment, everything around them blurred—noise, color, time.
Akaito felt something stir deep inside. Something buried beneath years of blood and silence.
Recognition.
She said nothing.
Neither did he.
But something passed between them in that instant—ancient, invisible, unbreakable.
Connection.
The wind shifted, carrying the whisper of a beginning.
And the world held its breath.