Steve stood in the center of his base, gripping the cold, heavy Iron Pickaxe and Iron Axe.
He felt ready. His infinite water source was bubbling, his crops were planted, and his furnace was cooling after the intense smelting session.
He was about to descend into the earth, but the world outside was about to breach his isolation first.
He had just begun to clear a one-block-wide shaft in the floor of his base when a sound cut through the quiet forest—a distinct, repetitive thumping sound, too deep for a bird, too rhythmic for a natural phenomenon.
It was the beat of rotating blades: a helicopter.
Steve froze, dropping his Pickaxe.
The sound wasn't directly overhead, but it was close—close enough that his heart hammered against his ribs.
Military? Police? No. In this world, that sound usually meant Heroes.
He rushed to a small, gap-covered window in his wooden door and peered out.
Above the canopy, visible in a narrow, high-altitude gap, was a sleek, black aircraft—a high-end Hero transport drone, likely equipped with sophisticated surveillance gear.
He immediately dove away from the window, dropping to the dirt floor.
Too close. Too exposed. The sheer scale of his 10 x 8 block compound, stark and geometric against the organic curves of the forest, was a giant neon sign screaming 'ANOMALY'.
He focused his senses, not just listening, but trying to mentally "see" the system's reaction to the external threat.
His HUD remained calm—no health warning, no hostile mob indicator.
The threat was human.
Then, the thumping stopped, replaced by the rush of wind and the subtle shift of air currents above the canopy.
The drone had stopped, hovering almost directly over his compound.
Steve knew that standard surveillance cameras were weak against the dense canopy.
They weren't looking with optics; they were using a Quirk.
He realized the danger when a voice, amplified by a loudspeaker, echoed from the forest edge, oddly calm and professional:
"This is the Hero Sightseer of the Commission's Remote Reconnaissance Division. We have detected unauthorized construction in a protected zone. Please exit your structure with your hands visible. Resistance will be met with force."
Sightseer. Steve had read about him years ago.
His Quirk allowed him to perceive extremely faint visual data—thermal signatures, minute geometric irregularities, or subtle air pressure changes—over vast distances.
He hadn't seen the compound; he had seen the impossibility of the compound.
He had detected the unnatural right angles, the lack of weathering on the stone, the perfect cubic cuts in the ground.
Steve had less than a minute before the Hero descended.
He had to hide the evidence. Not his body, but the evidence of his power.
He ran to his Crafting Table, his mind racing. He had dirt, gravel, wood, and stone.
ACTION: CAMOUFLAGE.
He grabbed the massive stacks of Dirt and Gravel he had excavated from the trench and his initial mine shaft. He moved the dirt to his hotbar.
He began placing the blocks with lightning speed, covering every visible piece of unnatural construction.
He covered the sharp, cubic Cobblestone foundation with thick layers of rough Dirt, smoothing it down with his hand so it looked like a simple, earthen mound.
He covered the wooden walls with a thin layer of Dirt, making the structure look less like a cabin and more like a poorly constructed, overgrown root cellar.
He placed Gravel over the fence line, making the perimeter look like a natural, rough berm or ridge.
It was messy, frantic work. He barely managed to cover the fence gates and the front door, making them blend into the brown, earthy façade.
He left his one window open so he could observe.
The thumping returned, closer this time, accompanied by the rustle of leaves as a figure dropped through the canopy.
Hero Sightseer landed silently just outside the fence line.
He was a slender man in a dark green and gray jumpsuit, his mask covering everything but his eyes, which were protected by high-tech, layered lenses that hummed faintly.
Sightseer looked around slowly, his head tilting as his Quirk analyzed the area.
He saw a massive Oak Tree in front of him—the one Steve had punched down, now replaced by a blocky, flat stump.
"The thermal signature is consistent with a recent, massive heat source,"
Sightseer murmured into a wrist comm.
"A furnace. But the structure itself… It seems to be just a large mound of soil and gravel. No standard construction materials visible."
He walked towards the perimeter. Steve held his breath inside the dirt-covered house, his hands gripping the Iron Pickaxe.
Sightseer approached the dirt-covered fence.
He ran his hand across the unnatural smoothness of the dirt-covered Oak Fence.
"Analysis shows an extremely high density in the soil composition here,"
The Hero reported, sounding perplexed.
"Too firm to be natural, yet entirely composed of organic forest soil and crushed stone."
He stopped right in front of the mound that was Steve's house. He placed a boot on the dirt covering the Oak door.
"This is irregular. I'm going in. Prepare extraction."
Steve knew the moment the Hero breached the door, his system—the Crafting Table, the Furnace, the Bed—would be instantly revealed.
He had to stop him.
He silently brought his Stone Axe up, preparing to defend his secret, no matter the cost.