The air inside the museum grew heavy, as if the echo of gunfire and screams had left an invisible scar. Miyako kept her crooked smile, her fingers caressing the cold surface of the small grenade that rested in her palm. The vial quivered slightly with the tremor of her hand, and she murmured, almost in song:
"Just three, my precious ones… I can't waste you…"
The voices within her laughed in unison.Her father, stern: "Three won't be enough to bring down a hero."Ren, mocking: "You'll probably miss the first one."Her mother, softer but poisonous: "Don't squander them; save them for the one who truly deserves it."
Miyako lifted her gaze, eyes wide, gleaming with madness."Shut up, all of you!" she whispered, breaking into a nervous giggle. "He's the one."
Isamu Tenjō had already dealt with the thieves in his sector. His breath was steady, his posture upright, his skin glinting beneath the artificial lights of the museum. When he stepped towards her, the floor itself seemed to rumble. Miyako raised the grenade, ready to hurl it, but in a blur Isamu appeared before her, seizing her arm with iron strength.
The shock froze her for an instant. Then she burst into shrill laughter, the sound bouncing off the ruined walls."Oh, you're quick!" she exclaimed, tilting her head. "But not quick enough."
With her free hand Miyako reacted like a spring: she drew the sub-machine gun concealed beneath her jacket and fired, not at Isamu's chest, but at the vial she held. Glass shattered into a thousand shards, releasing the silvery liquid that splashed across them both.
The hero staggered back, letting her go, as though the weight of his invulnerability had suddenly slipped from his body. He tried to harden his skin, to call forth the familiar steel armour of his power, but nothing answered. His eyes widened in confusion, as if he couldn't comprehend what had just happened."What…?" he murmured, staring at his hands.
Miyako took a couple of steps back, smiling through gritted teeth."Oops… looks like someone's forgotten how to be a hero."
From the far side of the hall, through smoke and rubble, the crimson figure had finished with his own share of thieves. Scarlet Spark — athletic frame, armour crackling with energy — had done what he did best: move like lightning and dispense justice with precision. The last thug dropped, convulsed, before collapsing upon a carpet of shattered gilt.
Scarlet turned away from his victim with mechanical ease: picked up a fallen device, examined a damaged panel, and barked an order to the squad of agents arriving behind him."Secure the side hall; check for tech, possible explosives."
His footsteps echoed as he strode towards the central chamber. Crimson light from his armour streaked across the columns as he passed. Drawing closer, he saw Isamu still reeling from the effect of the liquid, and Miyako in the shadows with the most dangerous smile he'd seen in a long while.
As he advanced, Scarlet cast Isamu a curt warning."Are you finished?" he asked, voice clipped.
Isamu, still shaken, managed a stiff nod.
Scarlet's gaze locked on Miyako. For an instant it was cold, sharp, not merely professional but personal — as though he recognised a ghost from the past. The atmosphere tightened; the crowd drew back; the museum itself seemed to hold its breath.
Miyako's inner chorus flared like wildfire."It's him!" Ren shrieked inside her skull, fierce, shrill."He tore our lives away," her father intoned, heavy as a sentence."Mark him, kill him, make him pay," her mother crooned, sweet and cruel.
The pressure in Miyako's chest grew unbearable. Her pulse hammered violently. Scarlet took another step, assessing: one man stunned by the sudden loss of power, and a shadow with a weapon aimed, smile on her lips. In a fraction of a second he understood this was more than an incident.
Isamu, regaining some composure, barked a warning:"Be careful! She's dangerous!"
Scarlet readied himself, but Miyako, consumed by the storm within, could no longer restrain herself. Her laughter broke, shrill and feral, and she unleashed a hail of bullets at Scarlet — a frenzied outpouring of long-stored hatred. Bullets screamed, smoke roared, and Scarlet, feline in his movements, dodged each projectile as if they were no more than bothersome insects.
He countered: a crimson beam sliced through the air, detonating against a column and scattering shards that crackled around them. Miyako coughed, smoke clawing her throat. Within the haze her figure flickered and, almost instinctively, vanished: invisibility wrapped her like a cloak.
Scarlet pressed forward, sweeping the chamber with his beams; Isamu, still unsteady, tried to muster a defence. Miyako, unseen, slipped into a side gallery, weaving between shattered statues and torn canvases, her heart racing, the voices fading as she moved away from the battle's core.
She leaned against a cold wall, gasping, eyes closed as her fury ebbed. She whispered, her voice a frail thread:"Don't worry… I haven't forgotten. Next time, Scarlet — you're mine."
And noiselessly she melted into the shadows of the museum, leaving behind a confused hero, another on high alert, and the promise that this was only the spark of war.
A few hours later…
The apartment door slammed shut and Miyako hurled her coat onto a chair. She paced, feet dragging, restless as a caged beast."Why? Why did that bloody Scarlet fool have to be there?" she screamed, slamming her fist against the table.
The voices were immediate, as though they had been waiting."Because he's always where you don't need him," Ren sneered, laughter drilling into her skull."He ruined everything, just as he ruined our lives," her father growled, tolling like a funeral bell."But… you can try again, darling. Next time will be better," her mother purred, venom wrapped in maternal sweetness.
Miyako clenched her teeth. She slumped onto the sofa and stared at the two small crystal grenades resting on the table, glinting beneath the flat yellow light. Only two. The first had been squandered by Scarlet Spark's presence, as though the universe itself mocked her.
"I still have his address," she muttered, eyes gleaming with twisted fire. "If it hadn't been for that damned Scarlet… Isamu would already be dead."
She snatched up her coat from the floor, brushed it clean as if nothing had happened, and hurriedly stuffed the folding sub-machine gun and the two remaining vials into its pockets."Two chances, my Isamu," she sang hoarsely. "Let's see if you're as lucky when there's no red fool in the way."
The wall clock marked deep into the night. Miyako swung the coat over her shoulders and stepped into the cold street.
The road to the hero's home was almost deserted, lamplight flickering and lending the district a decayed air. With each step, the voices returned, sharper, cutting like blades into her skull."Don't waste time — kill him now!" Ren shrieked."He's weak; without his steel skin he's nothing," her father thundered."Finish him, and then… then go for Scarlet," her mother crooned.
Miyako clutched her head, pressing hard, trying to drown out the noise."Shut up, shut up, shut up!" she screamed, spit flecking her lips.
A couple across the street halted at the outburst. They stared for a moment, then crossed hurriedly away upon seeing her deranged expression. Miyako glanced at them, chuckled darkly."Fear… yes, they're all afraid…" she murmured, faint satisfaction colouring her tone. "But it's not me they should fear."
The pain in her head receded, ebbing like a tide. Her breath evened, and the madness in her eyes steadied into that eerie calm before the storm.
In the distance, beneath failing lamplight, a figure approached. She recognised the silhouette instantly: Isamu Tenjō, walking home alone with the ease of a man convinced his duty was complete. No guards, no companions — only the faith of a hero who trusted in his own impenetrable skin.
Miyako smiled, and the curve of it was perilous."Solitude doesn't suit you, hero," she whispered.
And in a blink her body vanished. Invisibility cloaked her completely as she shadowed his advance towards his door."This time… you're mine," she promised under her breath.
She floated through the house like a phantom, trailing the hero's firm steps. Isamu Tenjō's mansion was not ostentatious like those of mob bosses she'd infiltrated before, but its austerity commanded respect: marble walls, carpets swallowing sound, solemn paintings hung with precision. It was the home of a man who lived by discipline, not by luxury.
The voices accompanied her progress, weighing in at every turn."Do it now, behind him — quick and clean," Ren urged, impatient."No, no, face to face. Let him look you in the eye as he falls," her father decreed, severe."What a charming study," her mother sang, soft, poisonous. "Perfect for an intimate wake."
Miyako smiled, fingers stroking the trigger of her weapon as she followed. The thought of ending a rank-A hero made her blood race with anticipation.
At last, Isamu opened the door to a large study: walls lined with books, a heavy dark-wood desk, a vast window drenched in moonlight. He stepped in, shrugged off his coat onto a chair, and stood still.
"No more games," he declared, voice firm, clear.
Miyako froze. A second later her invisibility unravelled like smoke, exposing her silhouette."What…?" she whispered, genuinely startled.
Isamu turned calmly, fear absent from his gaze."I knew you'd been tailing me since the corridor. Your steps, light though they were, couldn't deceive me." He straightened, his eyes steeled with resolve. "I wouldn't fight you in the street. Innocents must not suffer for this."
Miyako barked a dry laugh, cocking her head."How noble… how boring."
"No matter what strange weapons you wield," Isamu retorted, firm as rock, "you will lose. And then you'll pay — in prison."
Miyako regarded him with that crooked smile dripping with madness."Oh, darling… we'll see about that."
And then everything erupted into motion.
Isamu charged like a bull, his skin hardening to a metallic gleam. Miyako fired rapid bursts, but bullets sparked uselessly against him. The hero pressed on, step after step, relentless as a living mountain of steel."Move, doll, move!" Ren roared in her head.
Miyako flung herself aside, dodging by a hair a devastating punch that splintered a bookcase behind her. Wood and tomes exploded into the air. The blast knocked her sprawling, but she sprang up at once, laughter fractured with both pain and delight."That hurt, idiot! But I love it…"
She kept firing as she retreated, but the hero blocked it all with ease. At last Miyako thrust a glittering vial from her coat, waving it like a prize.
Isamu recognised it instantly."That trick won't fool me again."
Before she could throw it, he lunged and crushed it in his hardened hand. Glass cracked, liquid spilling uselessly over the carpet.
For the first time in the fight, Isamu smiled."It's over. That was your only ace."
Miyako's eyes widened, feigning panic. She stumbled back a step."N-no… it can't be!"
The voices erupted in wild laughter and cries. Her father scolded, her mother wailed, Ren screamed curses at Isamu. And she, at the heart of the storm, lowered her head as if beaten.
Isamu advanced, confident."Surrender. You've nothing left. Give yourself up and you'll live."
A tense silence thickened the room. Miyako slowly raised her head. Her smile returned, crooked, diabolical."Who said I only had one?"
She whipped out another vial, identical to the first, and hurled it straight at the hero's chest. Isamu's eyes widened in horror. He hadn't expected a second. He was too close to avoid it. The glass burst against his hardened skin, spraying vapour across him.
And the impossible happened: weakness. The weight of his power crumbled; his skin was no longer steel but vulnerable flesh."No… no, it can't be!" he gasped, clutching at his chest.
Miyako was already upon him, sub-machine gun in hand."Oh, but it can, hero. The trick was making you believe you'd already won."
She pulled the trigger.
A close burst tore through Isamu's torso. This time the bullets did not ricochet. They ripped into flesh, shredding muscle and bone. Blood poured in dark streams, soaking the carpet, the desk, even the books of his study.
Isamu staggered, stumbling backwards, unable to comprehend what had happened."Impossible… I… I was…" he faltered, collapsing to his knees.
Miyako leaned close, eyes ablaze with lunacy."Your mistake was thinking I play fair."
She delivered the final shot to his forehead. The hero's body crashed to the floor, bleeding into silence.
Miyako straightened, blew smoke from the weapon's barrel, and spun on her heels with a jaunty step."One less on the list," she sang with mockery, while the voices applauded and laughed as though watching a play.
She left the study behind, trailing blood, powder and silence.
The next day…
Night lay over the city like a heavy shroud. In a dim apartment, Miyako sat on her battered sofa with a plate of food before her. The television flickered on the wall, filling the room with a constant murmur. Curled beside her like a living shadow, Kuro purred as she idly stroked his back.
She chewed slowly, savouring each bite more than it deserved. The news caught her attention."…the disappearance of rank-A hero number 57, Isamu Tenjō, has been reported. Authorities state he has not been seen since last night. The Hero Association has dispatched search teams, though at this time no possibility is being ruled out…"
Miyako set her fork down and began to laugh — first a low murmur, then sharp cackles filling the apartment. Kuro, unbothered, lifted his head, amber eyes fixed on her, and mewed softly.
"Did you hear that, Kuro?" she said between laughs, stroking his head. "'Missing'. Poor fools… they've no idea."
She leaned closer, staring at him as though he were her sole confidant."I made him disappear. Me. I finished the hero Isamu Tenjō." She whispered it almost tenderly, like a child confessing a secret.
Kuro mewed again, as if in approval, and curled back against her. Miyako smiled, fingers combing his dark fur."You're the only one who understands me, you know? The only one who listens." She sighed, though her smile stayed — crooked, satisfied. "One less in this world. And me… I'm still hungry."
The television continued to broadcast images of the Hero Association's search parties, while Miyako resumed her meal. Laughter spilled between mouthfuls, and Kuro's purrs filled the lair's silence.
The city slept, but for Miyako this was no ending.It was only the beginning.