Location: Naruhata Estates – 06:12 AM
THUD.
The floorboards of Unit 202 didn't just vibrate. They buckled.
A three-ton pile driver slammed into the earth sixty feet away, sending a physical shockwave through the foundation that rattled Koichi Haimawari's molars.
Plaster dust, gray and thick, snowed down from the ceiling cracks. It coated his futon in a fine, chalky that tasted like bone and wet cement.
Cough Cough
Koichi sat up. He coughed.
The sky outside was a bruised purple, choked by the smog of the industrial district.
WHIIR. WHIIR.
A crane loomed over the building like a gallows.
Its yellow arm cut through the haze, dangling a heavy bundle of rebar that swayed with a rhythmic, metallic creak.
Koichi stumbled to the door. He yanked it open.
The old wooden railing had been torn away, replaced by a temporary barrier of orange mesh that swaying in the wind.
Below, in the courtyard, the old swing set had been ripped out of the earth, leaving jagged holes in the dirt.
"They're starting with the hinges on the north side."
The voice was steady. It cut through the screech of a reciprocating saw like a razor through silk.
Koichi turned his head.
Kaito Arisaka was leaning against the temporary railing outside Unit 203.
He wasn't wearing his jacket yet. Just a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up twice, revealing a heavy watch that glinted in the dim, dirty light.
He held a black thermal mug.
Kaito took a slow sip.
He didn't look at Koichi. His eyes were fixed on a worker thirty feet down the hall who was struggling to level a heavy, industrial-red cabinet against the brickwork.
"Arisaka-san," Koichi rasped. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the grit under his eyelids.
"You're... up early."
"Sleep is a luxury when the bedrock is being hammered into submission," Kaito said. He didn't turn.
Koichi walked over. His sneakers crunched on shards of old paint and concrete chips. He looked down at the courtyard where a forklift was maneuvering a massive crate into the lobby.
"It's a lot of work for a place like this. I heard someone say they're putting steel plates in the walls."
"Six-millimeter ballistic shielding," Kaito clarified. He pointed a finger toward the red cabinet.
Behind a pane of reinforced glass sat a high-capacity trauma kit, an oversized fire extinguisher, and a sealed canister.
The label said [Emergency Oxygen - 15 Minutes].
"Emergency Safety Stations," Kaito said. He watched the worker pick up the bolt. "Trauma kits designed for industrial punctures.
Chemical extinguishers. High-intensity LED beacons that activate if the main grid fails. It's a standard level of investment for a corporation that values its assets."
Koichi reached out.
He touched the cold metal of the red cabinet. It felt solid. Too solid for Naruhata. "Yeah. It's like we're living in a high-security bunker."
Kaito turned his head.
He looked out toward the skyline. In the distance, the faint, flickering lights of police sirens moved like a slow-motion pulse through the smog.
"Given the news," Kaito said, "a bunker is a wise place to be. The corporation isn't just fixing the plumbing, Haimawari-san. They are hardening the perimeter."
"Hardening it against what?" Koichi asked.
Kaito didn't answer immediately.
He watched a worker drag a heavy steel unit door off a truck.
The door hit the pavement with a loud, metallic THUD.
The worker tripped over a cable. He cursed loudly.
"Against the norms now"
Kaito turned back to his door. He just stepped inside and shut the heavy steel door.
CLANG.
------
Makoto Tsukauchi stopped at the edge of the construction zone.
She adjusted her camera strap and wiped sweat from her forehead.
"Wait a minute"
Makoto stepped into his path. She didn't slow down.
She reached out and grabbed his forearm. Her fingers clamped onto the expensive wool of his sleeve.
She felt the steady, slow thrum of his pulse against her palm.
'Truth Human.'
"That's Blue Mountain. High altitude. You're a long way from the Ginza district, Handsome."
Kaito stopped.
He didn't pull away. He looked down at her hand on his arm, then up at her face. His eyes were flat.
"It is," Kaito said.
Makoto leaned in. She ignored the smell of his cologne.
She focused on the vibration in his wrist. "Renovating a bunker in a war zone. Drinking sixty-dollar-a-pound coffee while the neighbors eat instant ramen. You're a corporate ghost hiding from a scandal. You're running a lab in there."
Kaito's pulse didn't jump. It didn't stutter. It remained a rhythmic, mechanical beat.
"I am a tenant," Kaito said. "I value privacy and a consistent caffeine intake. The management company is responsible for the renovations. I simply occupy Unit 203."
The quirk registered no deception. The pulse was solid.
"Private citizens don't wear three-piece suits to buy coffee in Naruhata," Makoto pressed. She tightened her grip. "You're hiding something. Guns? Drugs?"
Kaito stepped back. He disengaged his arm from her grip.
The contact broke. "I am hiding my desire to be left alone. If you are looking for drama, the local gangs are three blocks south. If you are looking for a room, the office is in the lobby."
He walked toward the gate. The steel lock recognized the transponder in his pocket.
Truth.
The lack of a pulse-spike in her quirk's feedback frustrated her. He was either the most honest man in Japan or a master of his own biology.
Then.
The door to Unit 202 opened.
A young man in a gray hoodie stepped out. He carried a leaking trash bag. It smelled of sour milk.
Makoto froze.
She pulled a crumpled photo from her pocket.
The boy in the photo had the same jawline.
"Got you," she whispered.
She looked at the boy in the hoodie. Then she looked at where Kaito had disappeared.
She pulled out her phone. She dialed the number for Aegis Management.
KRING. KRING.
The sun hit a piece of broken glass on the sidewalk.
The reflection stung her eyes.
WOOF.WOOF.WOOF
A stray dog barked in the distance. It was a ragged sound.
"Yeah. Unit 205. I have the deposit in cash. I'm moving in tonight."
She ended the call. She watched the boy in the hoodie struggle with the trash bin. The bin tipped.
A soda can rolled across the pavement.
"Actually," Makoto said softly while looking at where Kaito was.
"I think I'm going to love living here. See you in the hallway, enigmatic neighbor."
---------
Location: Naruhata Estates Courtyard – 03:22 AM
A thick, yellow smog smothered the moon. The air was stagnant, smelling of wet asphalt and sulfur.
A black SUV idled three blocks away. Its headlights were dark.
The engine emitted a low, rhythmic vibration that barely carried over the hum of the city.
In the courtyard of the Estates, four men moved through the shadows.
They did not stagger like the local junkies. They wore matte-black tactical vests and reinforced knee pads.
Their boots made no sound on the grit-covered concrete. These were Trigger users. The drug had stripped away their frantic impulses, leaving only cold, mechanical intent.
One man's fingers elongated into jagged, steel lock-picking needles.
He inserted them into the lock of the supply shed. Another man stood watch. His pupils were dilated to the edges of his irises. They glowed with a faint, infrared heat-signature light.
They were after the Aegis inventory. High-grade copper coils. Lithium-ion industrial batteries. Crates of surgical-grade trauma equipment.
They had seen and scouted the perimeter everyday after all the renovations on the apartment can't be concealed.
Inside Unit 203, the room was black. The only light came from a wall-mounted monitor.
Kaito Arisaka sat in a leather chair. He held a ceramic cup of espresso.
The liquid was dark and viscous. He watched the thermal feed. Four white silhouettes moved across the screen.
Kaito did not pick up the phone. He did not move toward the door. He raised his right hand.
SNAP.
In the courtyard, a heavy pallet of steel rebar sat on a wooden base.
SWISH
The friction coefficient of the timber surface dropped to zero. The three-ton load slid.
It moved with a silent, heavy momentum. It pinned the thermal-vision thief against the brick wall before he could scream.
CRACK.
His ribs snapped. The sound was dry and sharp.
"Agh! What the—?" the leader hissed. He yanked a suppressed handgun from his holster.
Then.
A heavy industrial chain hung from the third-story scaffolding. It was meant to hoist I-beams.
The air pressure around the chain shifted. It whipped through the air like a lash.
BANG. THUMP. THUD.
The steel links wrapped around the leader's throat. It jerked him backward.
"Damn!"
His boots scraped against the concrete for one second before he disappeared into the darkness of the unlit lobby.
The remaining two thieves spun in a circle. They treid to fire into the shadows.
But
THWIP. THWIP. THWIP.
The rounds buried themselves in bags of dry cement. Dust puffed into the air.
The concrete floor beneath their boots became a frictionless plane.
Their feet shot forward. They hit the ground with the back of their heads.
THUD.
"Aghh"
"Crap"
A stack of PVC piping on the overhead rack shifted.
The nylon straps frayed and parted. Hundreds of pounds of plastic tubing fell. It buried the two men in a chaotic, rattling avalanche.
"What kind of shit company renovating this?"
"They violated a lot of construction and safety protocols"
Kaito took a sip of his coffee. The caffeine hit the back of his throat. He reached out and tapped the monitor.
[Feed Offline]
Ten minutes later, Makoto Tsukauchi burst out of Unit 205. She held a digital camera. The flash cut through the smog.
She found the thieves.
They were tangled in their own nylon zip-ties and fallen piping.
One was weeping. He kept pointing at the walls. He kept whispering about a ghost.
Makoto knelt by the pallet of rebar. She looked at the wooden base. It was dry.
There was no oil. No grease. She checked the security camera mounted on the corner.
The lens was cracked. The recorded footage showed a structural failure of the pallet and a freak gust of wind.
'Mechanical failures. All of them. In the exact same minute.'
"Knuckleduster and the company?"
A stray cat jumped over the fence. While Makoto called her brother for follow up.
CLATTER.
------
Unit 203 – 08:00 PM
Six days have passed.
Kaito stood by his window, watching the 4K broadcast on the wall.
Hideki Sato's face was grim.
Behind him, a split-screen showed the chaotic departure of the American and European hero delegations from Narita Airport.
"Japan stands alone," Sato announced. "The 'Trigger' pandemic has forced the recall of all foreign assets. Emergency services are now officially prioritized for Tier-1 Hero combat zones. Civil hospitals all over Japan have declared a 'Black Code'—they are no longer accepting walk-in trauma patients."
Kaito looked at the red "Emergency Safety Station" visible through his open door in the hallway.
The world was becoming a place where a man could bleed to death on the sidewalk because there was no one left to care.
-----
Location: The Industrial Factory – 11:45 PM
2 days after.
PITTER-PATTER. PITTER-PATTER.
The rain didn't just fall.
It hammered against the corrugated steel roof, creating a deafening, metallic roar that swallowed the sound of breathing.
Inside, the warehouse was a cavern of cold shadows and slick concrete.
The floor was a dark mirror, reflecting the flickering overhead mercury lamps.
Iwao Oguro, known to the streets as Knuckleduster, leaned forward.
COUGH-COUGH. SPIT.
He spat a thick, copper-tasting glob of blood onto the floor. It swirled into the rainwater.
His lungs felt like they were filled with wet sand.
He stood like a wall between Koichi and Pop Step. His knuckles, scarred and jagged, twitched.
Across the expanse of the factory floor, Kuin Hachisuka hovered.
She didn't look like a person. She looked like a puppet held up by a thousand invisible wires.
The mechanical bees—her 'Queen Bee' drones—swirled around her in a tightening vortex of buzzing steel.
Knuckleduster stared at her face.
The jawline.
The slope of the nose.
It was a mask of his own failures. It was the face of his daughter, Tamao.
"Obsolete," Kuin said. The voice was a distorted overlay, five different frequencies vibrating through the swarm. "You're a ghost, Iwao. A relic chasing a shadow that already died."
"Give her back," Knuckleduster growled. His voice was a low, guttural rasp that scraped against the roar of the rain.
"I am her," Kuin chirped. She tilted her head, a bird-like, erratic movement. "And I am much, much more."
Then, the air at the far end of the warehouse curdled.
Number 6 stepped out of the darkness. He was terrifyingly still. He wore a skeletal bodysuit that clung to his lanky frame. He moved with a precision that felt wrong—like a video clip missing every second frame.
Knuckleduster's pupils dilated.
His heart slammed against his ribs. He knew that stance. He knew the way the air pressure shifted around the boy's skin.
'That's my Quirk. That's Overclock.'
"The original owner," Number 6 said. He spoke with a playful, high-pitched curiosity. He tapped his temple. "It fits me better, doesn't it? It's wasted on a man who moves like he's waist-deep in tar."
SWOOSH.
Number 6 didn't run. He vanished.
He reappeared six inches in front of Knuckleduster.
The air displacement hit the old man like a physical blow.
Knuckleduster swung a massive, heavy right hook. It was a punch that could crack a concrete pillar.
It hit nothing but air.
Number 6 was already behind him. He kicked Knuckleduster in the small of the back.
CRACK.
Knuckleduster hit the floor, sliding across the wet concrete.
"Master!" Koichi yelled. He launched himself forward, his palms glowing. He fired a [Shooting Star] blast at point-blank range.
BANG.
Number 6 didn't dodge.
He simply stepped through the air. The heat radiating off his body was so intense it created a localized distortion, warping the light.
He swiped a hand, batting the energy blast aside as if it were a bothersome insect.
"Too slow, Crawler," Number 6 giggled.
Kuin dived from the rafters. "Don't break them yet! I need the data!"
She released the swarm. Hundreds of mechanical bees dived toward Pop Step. Pop screamed, leaping back, her boots slipping on the oily floor.
"Get away from her!" Koichi roared. He scrambled toward Pop, but a blur of black and white blocked his path.
Number 6 stood there. He looked bored. He raised his right arm.
CRACK. CRICK.
The skin over his knuckles split open with a wet, tearing sound.
Four biological muzzles, formed from hardened bone and calcified tissue, protruded through the meat.
"Overclock," Number 6 whispered.
The world slowed to a crawl. The raindrops in the air turned into static crystal spheres.
BANG.
The sound wasn't a gunshot. It was a thunderclap that shook the foundation of the factory.
Knuckleduster saw the muzzle flash. His brain, wired by years of combat, moved faster than his broken body.
He didn't think about the pain in his spine. He lunged.
He threw his massive frame in front of Koichi.
The bone-bullet, propelled by a compressed kinetic explosion, hit Knuckleduster three inches below the left collarbone.
It didn't just pierce the skin. It was a hollow-point projectile of calcified bone.
It entered his chest and expanded. It shredded the upper lobe of his left lung and grazed the pericardium. It exited through his back, taking a fist-sized chunk of muscle, skin, and trench coat with it.
THUD. BAAM.
Knuckleduster hit the ground. Hard.
The sound of the rain returned in a deafening rush.
"Master!" Koichi's scream was a raw, jagged sound.
He skidded to Knuckleduster's side. The old man's trench coat was already turning a heavy, dark crimson.
Blood was bubbling out of the hole in his chest with every ragged, desperate gasp.
"Internal bleeding," Kuin noted, hovering over them like a vulture. "Direct hit to the pulmonary artery. He has roughly four minutes of consciousness remaining."
Number 6 stepped closer.
He began to reload the biological muzzles, the bone clicking back into place. "Only four? I wanted to see him crawl."
Knuckleduster's hand shot out. It was covered in his own blood. He grabbed the front of Koichi's hoodie with a grip that felt like a dying vice.
"Go..." Knuckleduster wheezed. A spray of red mist coated Koichi's face. "Take... Pop... GO!"
"I'm not leaving you!" Koichi sobbed.
"STUPID KID!" Knuckleduster roared. The effort sent a fresh surge of blood out of the exit wound. "GET... OUT!"
THUMMP
He slammed his fist into the concrete, using the last of his adrenaline to push himself up just enough to headbutt Number 6's shin.
"Hahaha"
It did nothing but draw a laugh from the villain.
Koichi looked at the blood.
It was everywhere. It was mixing with the rainwater, forming a river of red that flowed toward the drains.
He grabbed Knuckleduster's belt.
He looked at Pop Step. Her eyes were wide, paralyzed by the sight of the old man's chest cavity.
"Pop! NOW!"
Koichi activated his Quirk. He didn't care about control. He didn't care about the laws. He channeled every ounce of energy into his legs.
CRACKLE.
Blue sparks danced across the wet floor. He didn't slide. He launched.
He dragged Knuckleduster's dead weight behind him. He smashed through a reinforced glass window.
SHATTER.
They plunged into the darkness of the storm, falling thirty feet into the flooded alleyway below.
Number 6 walked to the broken window. He watched them disappear into the gray sheets of rain.
"Let them go," Kuin said, her voice buzzing. "The old man is a corpse. The boy is broken. They have nowhere to run. The hospitals are already ours."
Number 6 licked a drop of Knuckleduster's blood off his knuckle.
"He tasted like dust," he said.
-----
The second-floor hallway was a blur of flickering fluorescent light and cold white tile.
Koichi Haimawari and Pop Step were drenched.
Rainwater, black sewage from the pipes, and thick, viscous blood trailed behind them, ruining the pristine new flooring of the Estates.
Every step Koichi took felt like dragging a mountain. His lungs burned, the air tasting like copper and ozone.
Knuckleduster was a dead weight.
His skin had turned a waxy, translucent gray. His eyes were rolled back, showing only the whites.
With every shallow, jagged gasp, a wet, sucking sound whistled from the hole in his chest.
"The station!" Koichi yelled. His voice was raw, breaking under the strain.
BANG
He slammed his elbow into the glass of the [Emergency Safety Station] mounted outside Unit 202.
CRASH.
Glass shards sliced into his arm. He didn't feel it. He grabbed a handful of trauma gauze and a tourniquet.
Koichi shoved the gauze into the entry wound, but it was instantly soaked through, turning a heavy, dark purple.
"It's not stopping!" Pop sobbed. She was on her knees, her hands painted red up to the wrists. "Koichi, there's a hole in his back! It's too big! It won't stop!"
"STAY WITH ME, MASTER!" Koichi roared. He pounded his fist against the floor. "PLEASE! SOMEONE! HELP!"
The door to Unit 205 flew open.
Makoto Tsukauchi stepped out, clutching a phone. Her hair was a mess. She stopped dead.
She looked at the blood on the walls, the shredded trench coat, and the gray face of the man she had been trying to hunt for her thesis
.
"Oh god," she whispered. Her hands shook. She started punching numbers into the keypad. "I'm calling an ambulance. I'm calling Naomasa—"
"No!" Koichi screamed, looking up at her with wild, bloodshot eyes. "He can't go to the hospital! They'll find him! They'll—"
CLICK. WHIR. THUD.
The heavy steel locks of Unit 203 disengaged. The door swung inward.
Kaito Arisaka stood in the threshold. He wasn't wearing a suit.
He wore a dark silk robe over a clean white undershirt. He looked at the trail of gore, the panicked girl with the phone, and the dying man on the tile. His face didn't show shock. It was a mask of cold, professional irritation.
"Put the phone down," Kaito said.
His voice was a flat, sharp command. Makoto flinched, the phone slipping an inch in her grip. "He's dying! He needs a surgeon! He needs—"
"If you call them now," Kaito interrupted, stepping into the hallway, "he will spend his final hours in a police ward or a cage. If he survives the transport—which he won't—he'll be in a cell before the anesthesia wears off."
Kaito knelt.
He didn't care about the silk of his robe soaking up the sewage. He pressed two fingers against Knuckleduster's carotid artery.
He looked at the sucking chest wound.
'Tension pneumothorax. Pericardium is likely nicked. He's drowning in his own chest cavity.'
"What do you know about it?" Makoto snapped, her voice trembling. "You're just a—"
"I know that your ambulance is twelve minutes away due to the riots," Kaito said. He looked up at her, his eyes piercing. "And I know he has sixty seconds before his heart stops. Do you want to be right, or do you want him to breathe?"
Makoto froze. She looked at the pulse-point on the old man's neck.
Truth.
The Polygraph in her mind didn't just register a fact; it registered a certainty that felt like ice.
Kaito stood up. He looked at Koichi. "Pick him up. Bring him inside. Now."
Koichi didn't hesitate.
He grabbed Knuckleduster under the armpits. Makoto dropped the phone and grabbed the old man's legs.
They hauled the dying vigilante into the sterile, high-tech interior of Unit 203.
Kaito kicked the door shut.
CLANG.
The heavy bolts slid home. The sound of the rain and the chaos of the hallway vanished, replaced by the low, steady hum of an industrial air purifier.
Kaito walked toward a hidden cabinet in the wall.
"Makoto, wash your hands in the sink. Use the surgical scrub," Kaito ordered, not looking back. "Boy, get his coat off him. Don't worry about the fabric. Cut it."
[A/n: Public Belief/Trust is OP]
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