DATE: Post-Ota Ward Incident (+36 Hours)
LOCATION: United Nations Security Council – "The Black Room." Geneva, Switzerland.
CLASSIFICATION: OMEGA-LEVEL THREAT (EYES ONLY).
The air in the chamber was recycled, cold, and tasted of stale tobacco and fear.
This was not the General Assembly hall where politicians made speeches for the cameras.
This was the "Black Room"—a soundproof, lead-lined bunker buried three hundred feet beneath the streets of Geneva.
Twelve individuals sat around a circular table made of polished obsidian. These were the handlers.
The shadow directors of the CIA, MI6, the Chinese MSS, and the Japanese HPSC. They were the men and women who decided how the world survived the age of quirks.
For the first time in history, they looked small.
"The projection models have collapsed," the Chairman said. He was a man who had authorized drone strikes and toppled governments without blinking, but today, his hands were trembling as he held a lit cigarette. "We are no longer looking at a villain uprising. We are looking at a paradigm shift."
He pointed a remote at the massive wall-to-wall screen dominating the room.
"Phase One," the Chairman stated, his voice gravelly. "All For One."
The screen flickered to life. It showed a montage of chaos.
"When the Demon Lord resurfaced, we thought he died," the US Representative said, leaning forward. "Japan HPSC was destroyed easily"
"But he didn't just come back," the British Director interrupted, tapping a thick file on the table. "He poisoned the well."
[MAP OVERLAY: GLOBAL DRUG ENHANCER OUTBREAK]
The map of the world turned angry red.
"Phase Two: Drug Enhancing Pandemic."
"Since the Ota Ward incident, the black market has been flooded," the French Delegate whispered, looking at the data streams.
"London. Paris. Shanghai. New York. The drug is everywhere. It's in the water supply of the underworld."
"We have reports from the NYPD," the US Representative spat. "A purse snatcher injected a vial and threw a bus through the Empire State Building's lobby. A road rage incident in Texas ended with a man turning into a kaiju and leveling a highway. The man known as All For One armed the population. He enhanced a million of villains."
"It's his response," the Japanese Official said. She looked older than she had a week ago. Her eyes were hollow. "The moment he resurfaced in Ota Ward after he was defeated. He declared a proclamation to the world, now the society is in chaos. "
"Don't forget how can he use multiple quirks. He is a monster and also an anomaly."
"But he did fell," the Chairman said. The room went dead silent. "And that is why we are really here."
"Phase Three: X"
The screen changed.
The red map vanished. It was replaced by high-definition, military-grade satellite footage of the Ota Ward ruins.
The city was a grey hellscape of pulverized concrete and fire.
The air was thick with dust.
And standing in the center of the apocalypse, untouched, was Him.
[TARGET: UNKNOWN]
[CODENAME: HERO X]
[VISUAL ID: White Bespoke Suit. White Slicked Hair. Golden Glasses.]
"We have analyzed the footage frame by frame," the British Director said, her voice barely a whisper. "We have run it through every threat assessment algorithm in the Western world. The result is always the same: Undefined."
"Play the 'Ink' event," the US Representative commanded.
The video played.
On the screen, All For One—the man who had terrorized the world for a century—was desperate.
He was screaming. He unleashed a combination of quirks that should have cracked the tectonic plate.
The man in white didn't scream. He didn't take a combat stance. He didn't charge up an aura.
He simply raised his right hand.
SNAP.
The sound was amplified by the room's speakers. It was a sharp, dry crack, like a dry branch snapping in winter.
The attack didn't explode. It didn't deflect. It simply... ceased to be. The energy turned into harmless blue data fragments and dissolved into the wind.
"Physics," the French Delegate muttered, rubbing his temples. "He just dismissed the laws of thermodynamics."
Then, the horror truly began.
On the screen, the satellite zoomed in. The man in white reached out and grabbed All For One by the collar.
The depth of the world collapsed.
"Watch the wall," the Japanese Official whispered, pointing a shaking finger. "Look at the shadows."
Suddenly, All For One was no longer a three-dimensional being. He was flattened. He was slammed against the side of a ruined warehouse, transforming instantly into a high-contrast ink drawing.
The room watched in stunned silence. The Demon Lord was now a sketch. A caricature. He was struggling, his painted mouth open in a silent scream, his limbs trapped in the two-dimensional surface of the brickwork.
"He folded him," the US Representative said, his face pale. "He took a living, breathing threat and turned him into a piece of paper."
The man in white reached into the wall—his own hand shifting from flesh to ink—and ripped the drawing of All For One off the bricks. He crumpled the villain like a rejected draft.
He tossed the crumpled ball of "ink" into a tear in reality. A white void.
"Where is he?" the Chairman asked. "Where is All For One?"
"Nowhere," the British Director replied. "Our physicists believe he was banished to a dimension of zero-latency. A void of infinite falling. He isn't dead. He isn't alive. He is... discarded. Like trash."
The video continued.
All Might entered the frame. The Symbol of Peace, bloodied and desperate, charged forward to intervene.
The man in white didn't look. He didn't acknowledge the Number One Hero. He simply raised a hand to the side.
SNAP.
An invisible, geometric wall manifested in the air.
BANG.
All Might slammed into the air itself. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, but the wall didn't budget. The Symbol of Peace slid down the invisible barrier, denied entry.
"He blocked All Might without looking," the US Representative said. "He treated the strongest hero in history like a pop-up ad. He simply... closed the window."
The screen went black.
The silence in the room was suffocating.
"We are trapped," the Chairman said, standing up and pacing. "On the left, we have a global pandemic of drugs. Riots. Monsters. Chaos. A man who has hundreds of Quirks. On the right, we have a God who treats reality like a sketchbook."
"If he decides governments are inefficient..." the French Delegate murmured. "If he decides borders are messy lines on a map..."
"He could Snap us all into ink," the US Representative finished. "He could fold the United Nations into an origami crane and burn it."
"We cannot fight him," the Japanese Official stated. "We cannot arrest him. We don't even know his name. The HPSC is terrified. If we declare him a villain, the public will revolt. He saved the city. He is a hero to them."
"But he is a threat to the order," the British Director countered. "An unchecked absolute power."
"So we distract," the US Representative said, a cold, political light entering his eyes. "We need to flood the zone. We need noise. We need a spectacle."
He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a thick dossier. He slid it across the obsidian table.
The name stamped in gold on the cover was: CHRISTOPHER SKYLINE.
"Captain Celebrity," the French Delegate scoffed. "The American? He is a clown. He has fourteen pending lawsuits in New York for property damage and sexual harassment."
"Exactly," the US Representative nodded. "He is loud. He is flashy. He is desperate."
"Desperate?"
"He's facing jail time in the States," the Representative explained. "We offer him a deal. We wipe his record clean. In exchange, he goes to Japan. Officially? It's a 'Goodwill Tour' to help the Japanese heroes fight the crisis."
"And unofficially?"
"Unofficially, he is the bait," the Representative said, his voice dropping. "He is the Golden Cape that catches the light. He draws the cameras. He draws the crowds. He makes the public feel safe with his smile and his muscles."
The Representative leaned over the table, his eyes hard.
"We turn Tokyo into a containment zone. We send Captain Celebrity. We send 'Big Red Dot' from Singapore. We send 'Salaam' from Egypt. We create an International Hero Festival."
"A circus," the Japanese Official realized.
"A circus," the Representative agreed. "And while everyone is watching the clowns... our black-ops teams will be in the shadows. We will hunt for the White Suit and All For One. We will find where they sleeps. We will find who they are."
The Chairman looked at the dossier of the smiling, golden hero.
Then he looked at the blank screen where the man in the white suit had just deleted a Demon Lord.
"We have no choice," the Chairman decided.
"Approve the deployment. Operation: Global Containment is active."
"I heard that someone in Japan has quirk that negates quirks? Use them. Mobilize and search all quirks all over the world that has restraining and negating effects and abilities"
He looked at the Japanese Official.
"Find them. Find All For One."
"And find the man in the golden glasses. Before he decides the rest of the world is a 'draft' that needs to be corrected."
[SESSION END]
[OPERATION: GLOBAL CONTAINMENT – ACTIVE]
-----
The air conditioning in the Roppongi Hills Mori Tower was set to a temperature that screamed "We have money to burn."
Kaito stepped out of the elevator on the 52nd floor.
The cold air hit his sweat-dampened shirt, instantly turning the fabric into a clammy second skin.
He adjusted his collar, fighting the urge to scratch his neck.
Kaito walked down the corridor. It was lined with framed magazine covers of Captain Celebrity—Christopher Skyline.
Every single one featured the same blinding smile, the same golden cape, and the same terrifying lack of self-awareness.
Kaito checked his watch. 08:58 AM.
He wasn't nervous. You don't get nervous about a job interview when you've stared down the Demon Lord of the Underworld.
You just get annoyed that it requires a commute.
He reached the double doors marked "OPERATIONS & LOGISTICS."
From inside, he could hear screaming.
"I don't care if he saved the cat! He threw a bus at the villain! A bus, Gary! Do you know how much a municipal bus costs? The tires alone are out of our quarterly budget!"
Kaito sighed. He reached for the handle.
'Another day, another circus.'
The office looked like a frat house had collided with a stock exchange.
Papers were everywhere. A half-eaten bagel sat on a stack of invoices marked "URGENT."
The Operations Director—a balding man named Hiroto who looked like he hadn't slept since the Heisei era—was hyperventilating into a phone.
Kaito didn't wait to be announced. He stepped over a box of "Captain Celebrity" bobbleheads that had spilled onto the floor.
He cleared a spot on the nearest table, moved a lukewarm cup of coffee out of the danger zone, and set down his briefcase.
Hiroto slammed the phone down. He looked at Kaito with bloodshot eyes.
"Who? What? Delivery? Just leave the protein powder by the door."
"I'm not delivery," Kaito said. "I'm Arisaka. The Haken Specialist from Work-Force. They said you needed a tourniquet."
Tanaka blinked. He looked at Kaito's suit—crisp, sharp, professional—and then at the disaster around him.
"You're the specialist?" Tanaka laughed, a dry, hysterical sound. "Kid, look around. We don't need a specialist. We need a miracle. Or a bankruptcy lawyer."
"Miracles cost extra," Kaito said, opening his briefcase. He pulled out a tablet. "Bankruptcy is free. Which one do you want?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He tapped the screen, linking to the room's open server.
"I spent the train ride reviewing your public financial disclosures," Kaito said, scrolling through a graph. "You're spending 40% of your budget on 'Emergency PR Cleanup.' Basically, every time your boss poses for a photo, he breaks a window."
Kaito turned the tablet around.
"And your supply chain for his merchandise? You're shipping the bobbleheads from Chiba to Osaka, then back to Tokyo. You're paying double shipping on your own face."
Tanaka stared at the graph. His mouth opened slightly.
"I... we didn't notice the shipping loop. We've been too busy handling the lawsuits."
"That's why I'm expensive," Kaito said. He pulled a contract from his bag. "¥8,000 an hour. Hazard pay included. I fix the shipping, I automate the PR payouts, and I keep the boss from flying into restricted airspace. You sign here, and I save you twenty million yen by lunch."
Tanaka looked at the pen. He looked at Kaito.
It wasn't awe. It was the desperate relief of a drowning man being thrown a rope.
He grabbed the pen.
Two hours later, Kaito was sitting in a cubicle that smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and old toner.
TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP
He was typing. To the casual observer, he was just inputting data.
In reality, he was constructing a lie.
[Project: Aegis Management Group]
[Status: Incorporation Pending - Cayman Islands]
He used the agency's high-speed connection—routed through a VPN in Singapore—to finalize the paperwork.
'It's not money laundering,' Kaito reasoned, taking a sip of the office coffee. It tasted like burnt battery acid. 'It's creative accounting. AFO's money is dirty. This building needs renovation. I am simply the filter.'
He moved ¥50 million from a dormant account into the Aegis fund.
Click.
[Asset Purchase Approved: Naruhata Estates.]
Kaito leaned back. The cheap office chair squeaked.
He owned it. He finally owned the apartment he lived in.
"HEY! WHERE'S THE GOLD FLAKE?"
The door to the office slammed open so hard it hit the wall with a crack.
Kaito didn't jump. He just closed his eyes for a second, savoring the headache that was about to hit him.
Captain Celebrity—Christopher Skyline—strode into the room.
He was massive. He took up too much space. He radiated a heat that made the already stuffy room feel like a sauna. He was wearing his full hero costume, cape and all, indoors.
"Hiroto!" Celebrity boomed. "The news crew is outside! Why isn't my hair stylist here? And where is my latte? The one with the sparkles!"
Hiroto looked like he was about to have a stroke. "Captain, the stylist is stuck in traffic, and the coffee shop is closed for renovations..."
"Closed?!" Celebrity looked personally offended. "I'm saving this country, and I can't get caffeine? What is this, the stone age?"
He turned. His eyes landed on Kaito.
"New guy. You. Suit."
Kaito finished typing a command. He turned his chair slowly.
"Mr. Skyline," Kaito said. His tone was flat.
"The coffee shop isn't closed. Their espresso machine broke because your sonic boom rattled their plumbing yesterday."
The room went dead silent.
Celebrity blinked. "My... boom?"
"Yes," Kaito said. He picked up a file. "I've already scheduled a repair crew. They'll be done in twenty minutes. In the meantime, I have a thermos of black coffee. It's bitter, but it has caffeine. Do you want it, or do you want to keep yelling at the people who handle your payroll?"
Celebrity stared at him. He looked confused. Usually, people bowed. Usually, people scattered.
This guy in the cheap suit was looking at him like he was a stain on a carpet.
"You fixed the machine?" Celebrity asked, his voice lowering a decibel.
"I hired a guy," Kaito lied. (He had just Snapped the machine fixed remotely because he wanted coffee too). "Now, the news crew is waiting. Your left profile is your good side today; the lighting favors it. Go."
Celebrity paused. He touched his left cheek.
"My left... yeah. Yeah, the lighting is good today."
He grinned. It was blinding.
"Good work, Suit! Remind me to give you an autograph later!"
He spun around and marched out, cape swishing.
Kaito watched him go. He felt a profound sense of exhaustion.
'He's a child,' Kaito thought, rubbing his temples. 'A nuclear-powered toddler. And I'm the babysitter.'
-----
LUNCH BREAK.
Kaito needed fresh air. The office smelled too much like ego.
He sat on a bench in a small park near the tower. He had a convenience store bento on his lap. Cold mackerel and rice.
He picked up a piece of fish with his chopsticks.
He took a bite. It was dry.
He chewed, scrolling through his phone.
[Sato Global Press: UN Summit in Tokyo.]
[Top Heroes from 12 Nations Arrive to Discuss "Security Measures."]
Kaito thought. 'They're holding a summit to find AFO and me probably, and I'm sitting here eating discount fish.'
"Who cares about them."
He stood up to throw away the empty box.
He stopped.
A man was blocking the path to the trash can.
He was old. He wore a trench coat that looked like it had been chewed on by a dog.
A hat was pulled low over a face that had seen too many fights and lost half of them.
Kaito narrowed his eyes. He recognized that coat.
'Wait,' Kaito thought, irritation spiking. 'I know that smell. That's the old vagrant who keeps hanging around Unit 202. The Squeaker's grandpa? Or his drug dealer?'
It was the old man from the apartment hallway. The one who always left mud on the stairs.
'Great. What is he doing in Roppongi?'
The old man was staring intently at the CC Corp building. He looked like a predator scouting a trap.
Kaito checked his watch. 12:58 PM.
Kaito walked forward.
The old man didn't move. He was a solid block of scarred muscle and bad attitude.
"Excuse me," Kaito said.
His voice was polite, but it had the sharp edge of a man who just wanted to finish his lunch break.
The old man turned. One good eye, one clouded eye. He looked Kaito up and down.
"Suit," the old man grunted. "You work in the tower?"
"Yes," Kaito said. "And you're blocking the bin."
The old man's eye narrowed.
He was used to people flinching. He was used to civilians crossing the street to avoid him. He looked like a homeless murderer.
But this guy... this salaryman... didn't care.
Kaito stepped around him. He didn't give a wide berth. He stepped into the old man's personal space, dropped the bento box into the bin, and dusted his hands.
THUD.
The trash hit the bottom.
Kaito turned to walk back.
When Kaito walked past him, the old man's hand twitched. His instincts—the instincts of a veteran fighter—screamed at him.
'Whats going on?'
"Hey," the old man called out.
Kaito didn't stop. He just raised a hand in a lazy wave without looking back.
"Busy. Bye."
Kaito disappeared into the crowd of salarymen.
The old man stood there, the wind blowing his coat. He touched the brass knuckles hidden in his pocket.
"Weird," he muttered. "Usually, the suits in this town smell like fear. That one... that one smelled like he wanted to evict me."
Then the old man look at the photo he took out from his pocket.
"It's been two years Tamao. Where are you?"
------
10:00 PM. Naruhata.
Kaito walked up the stairs. His legs felt heavy.
CLANG. CLANG.
He reached the second floor.
From Unit 202, the sound of rhythmic thumping echoed.
"Only fifty more! Gotta build those glutes! HUP!"
Koichi. Still at it.
Kaito unlocked his door. He stepped into Unit 203.
It was dark. It was still empty.
He sat on the floor, opening his laptop one last time.
[Aegis Management Group: Owner of Naruhata Estates.]
He stared at the screen. A slow breath escaped his lips.
He picked up a piece of paper from his bag. It was a notice he had drafted during a boring conference call about Captain Celebrity's cape budget.
[NOTICE OF RENT ADJUSTMENT]
[To: Unit 202]
[From: Management]
[Rent will increase by ¥1,500 effective next month to cover "Noise Pollution Maintenance."]
Kaito smirked. It was petty. It was small.
It was the most satisfying thing he had done all day.
He put on his noise-canceling headphones.
Click.
The squeaking stopped. The world went mute.
Kaito lay back on the tatami, still wearing his suit trousers.
Zzzzz. Zzzzzz.
Kaito fell asleep instantly, a millionaire landlord sleeps on a sleeping bag, dreaming of absolutely nothing.
_-_-_-_-_-_
[Author's Note:
Hey everyone, I'm finally back in the driver's seat! I've spent the last couple of days recovering from a brutal bout of typhoid fever.
According to my doctor, it was likely carried by some less-than-friendly flies—definitely not the "guest stars" I wanted in my week.
Thankfully, after plenty of rest and a solid regimen of antibiotics and medicine, I've managed to clear the brain fog and can finally think straight again.
Thank you all so much for your patience while I was out of commission. I'm feeling much better now, and the consistency of updates will be back to its regular schedule starting today.
Stay safe (and watch out for the flies)!]