It happened during hour three of Yoshikage's morning Hamon training, fourteen months and six days after he'd first felt that faint warmth in his chest.
He was practicing advanced Ripple circulation—channeling Hamon through his entire body continuously while maintaining combat readiness—when something shifted.
The energy that had been building gradually, incrementally, through hundreds of hours of breathing exercises and meditation suddenly synchronized.
Golden light erupted across his entire body.
Not the faint shimmer he'd been producing for months. Not the localized glow when he channeled Hamon through specific limbs.
Full-body manifestation. Visible, powerful, unmistakable Hamon crackling across his skin like electricity.
Yoshikage stood in his training space, staring at his hands, watching golden energy dance across his fingers, and felt the power thrumming through every cell of his body.
This is it, he thought. This is what Jonathan Joestar achieved. What Joseph Joestar mastered. True Hamon.
The energy felt incredible. Invigorating. Like every muscle was primed, every nerve was heightened, every sense was sharpened.
He could feel his metabolism accelerating, his healing factor engaging, his physical capabilities enhanced beyond human baseline.
He threw a punch at the training dummy—no Quirk, no Stand, just Hamon-enhanced physical force.
The dummy exploded, wood and padding flying across the room, the entire structure disintegrating from a single strike.
"Holy shit," Yoshikage breathed, staring at his fist.
Then, immediately: Don't get cocky. This is just the beginning.
Because the thing about achieving a milestone was that it revealed how much further you still had to go.
He had full-body Hamon manifestation, yes. But could he maintain it for extended periods? Could he fight while channeling it? Could he combine it seamlessly with his martial arts, with Killer Queen, with tactical combat?
Unknown. Untested. Not good enough.
The moment you think you've achieved enough—
"—is the moment you start losing," Yoshikage finished aloud.
He checked his watch: 7:23 AM. He had training scheduled until 9:00 AM, then school, then more training in the evening.
Not enough. Need to push harder.
He pulled out his phone and messaged his various instructors, canceling his school attendance for the day—claiming illness, already prepared with fake doctor's notes if needed—and cleared his entire schedule.
Today was going to be dedicated to one thing: mastering this new level of Hamon before his body got comfortable with it.
Killer Queen manifested beside him, and Yoshikage grinned.
"Ready to see what we can really do?"
Hour 6: Hamon-Enhanced Martial Arts Integration
Yoshikage moved through his Muay Thai combinations, golden energy flowing through every strike.
Jab—the Hamon conducted through his knuckles, adding concussive force beyond the physical impact.
Cross—energy spiraled through his shoulder rotation, multiplying the power geometrically.
Hook—Hamon exploded from his fist at the moment of contact, creating a shockwave that rattled the walls.
Knee strike—
The heavy bag tore free from its chains and crashed through the wall into the next room.
Yoshikage paused, breathing heavily but steadily, Hamon still crackling across his skin.
Too much power. Need more control.
He retrieved the bag, rehung it with reinforced chains, and started again.
This time he focused on restraint. Channeling just enough Hamon to enhance without destroying. Finding the balance between augmentation and overkill.
Jab—controlled burst. The bag swung back normally.
Cross—measured release. Clean impact, no structural damage.
Hook—
The bag still tore, but only the outer layer instead of the entire thing.
Better. Still needs work.
He practiced for another hour, gradually learning to modulate Hamon output, to channel it precisely through specific strikes while keeping the rest of his body enhanced at lower levels.
By hour seven, he could throw full combinations without destroying equipment.
By hour eight, he could flow between enhanced strikes and normal strikes seamlessly, making his attacks unpredictable.
By hour nine, he was combining Hamon with Judo throws, conducting energy through his grips to disrupt opponents' balance at a cellular level.
This is what proper training looks like, he thought, wiping sweat from his forehead. Achieve new capability, immediately stress-test it, identify weaknesses, address them systematically.
Not "oh cool I have a new power" and then just assuming it'll work when needed.
Hour 12: Hamon-Stand Integration Advanced Testing
Killer Queen manifested with golden Hamon already flowing through it—Yoshikage had maintained the energy circulation for five straight hours now, training his body to treat it as the default state rather than an activated ability.
"Let's see what else we can do," he said.
He'd tested Hamon-enhanced Killer Queen before, knew it increased the Stand's power and speed. But that was with his previous, weaker Hamon.
Now, with full manifestation, what were the limits?
He touched a concrete block with Killer Queen's finger, channeling Hamon through the Stand into the material, then activated the primary bomb ability.
The concrete didn't just vaporize when he detonated it.
It ceased to exist.
Not an explosion, not even silent destruction—the matter simply vanished from reality, leaving absolutely no trace, no scorch mark, nothing.
"Hamon-enhanced bombs have increased potency," Yoshikage noted, recording observations in his training log. "Possibly affecting matter at a deeper level than standard Killer Queen activation. Requires testing on organic matter and other materials."
He spent the next hour experimenting with different combinations:
Standard bomb: Object vaporizes silently.
Hamon-enhanced bomb: Object erases from existence.
Hamon bomb (charging object with Hamon before making it a bomb): Object becomes unstable, detonates with golden energy release, leaves Hamon radiation that damages nearby organic matter.
Sheer Heart Attack with Hamon: The autonomous Stand moved twice as fast, hit three times as hard, and its explosions had Hamon properties that bypassed conventional durability.
"This is a force multiplier," Yoshikage concluded, watching SHA whir around the training space, glowing with golden energy. "Every ability I have is enhanced. I'm not just adding Hamon to my arsenal—I'm synergizing complete power systems."
But there was one more test he needed to run.
The dangerous one.
Bites the Dust.
Hour 15: The Final Evolution
Yoshikage had been working on Bites the Dust's ultimate evolution for weeks. The concept was clear: instead of just creating a time loop that killed people who discovered his identity, he wanted to erase people from existence entirely.
Not just kill them. Not just reset time around their death.
Make it so they had never existed, removing them from the timeline completely, erasing all memories of them from everyone who'd ever known them.
The ultimate assassination technique.
He'd had the theoretical framework for weeks. He'd tested the modifications on test subjects—small animals at first, then insects, gradually working up the scale while monitoring the effects.
The modifications worked, but they were unstable. The energy required was massive, far beyond what his previous Hamon levels could sustain.
But now, with full-body Hamon manifestation...
He focused on Killer Queen, on the Bites the Dust ability nested within it, and began channeling Hamon into the modification.
Golden energy flowed into the Stand's eyes, into its coiled form, into the conceptual space where Bites the Dust existed as a separate sub-ability.
The Stand's appearance changed.
Killer Queen's pink and white coloring took on golden highlights. Its eyes blazed with Hamon energy. And something new appeared—a third eye on its forehead, glowing with the combined power of Stand and Ripple.
Bites the Dust: Requiem, Yoshikage thought, the name coming to him instinctively. Not quite a true Requiem evolution—I don't have a Stand Arrow for that—but close. A fusion of Stand ability and Hamon principle.
He tested it carefully, using the same method as before: a small animal, a mouse he'd acquired for this purpose.
He planted Bites the Dust: Requiem on the creature, set the trigger condition to activate in thirty seconds, and watched.
When the timer expired, the mouse didn't explode.
It simply... stopped existing.
The mouse vanished. The cage it had been in remained, but there was no body, no blood, no trace.
And when Yoshikage checked his memories—his own memories, which should have been protected—he found them altered.
He remembered buying a cage. But not why. Not what for.
The mouse had been erased from his personal timeline.
It works, he realized, excitement and fear warring in his chest. It actually works.
He had just created an ability that could remove people from existence so thoroughly that even the person who killed them wouldn't remember doing it.
The ultimate stealth assassination.
The perfect weapon against All For One.
One month, he'd promised himself. It had taken three weeks.
Ahead of schedule.
But he needed to test it more. Needed to ensure stability. Needed to confirm the range of the effect and whether there were any safeguards he could implement to prevent accidental erasures.
He was setting up the next test when his phone rang.
Izuku.
"Hikaru-san! Are you okay? You weren't at school today and I tried to message but you didn't respond and I thought maybe—"
"I'm fine," Yoshikage interrupted, glancing at his phone and realizing he'd missed seventeen messages and four calls. "Just training. What do you need?"
"Oh! Um, actually, I was wondering if we could meet? I wanted to introduce you to someone and I thought maybe you could—I mean, if you have time—"
"Midoriya," Yoshikage said patiently, "breathe. Use your words. Who do you want to introduce me to?"
A pause, then: "All Might. I want you to meet All Might."
Yoshikage went very still.
Interesting.
"Why?" he asked carefully.
"Because you're an amazing teacher and All Might is—well—I thought maybe you two could talk about training methods and—" Izuku's voice dropped to a whisper, "—honestly All Might's teaching style isn't really working for me and I thought maybe if you explained some of the stuff you've been teaching me, he might—"
"Address," Yoshikage interrupted. "Where and when?"
The Meeting: Power Meets Competence
They met at Dagobah Beach—the same beach where All Might had trained Izuku, now cleaned up and empty in the early evening.
Yoshikage arrived in his "Hikaru Saito" identity: college-age journalist, friendly and professional, hiding a core of absolute competence beneath a civilian exterior.
All Might was there in his civilian form—Toshinori Yagi, skeletal and tired-looking, the complete opposite of his muscular hero persona.
So Midoriya knows the truth, Yoshikage noted. About the time limit, the injury. That's progress, at least. Trust between mentor and student.
"Hikaru-san!" Izuku ran up, looking nervous and excited. "Thank you for coming! This is—um—this is Yagi Toshinori, he's—"
"All Might," Yoshikage finished, offering his hand to shake. "I'm aware. The mannerisms are distinctive even in civilian form."
Toshinori—All Might—looked surprised, then laughed. "Ah, so my secret identity isn't as secure as I thought! Young Midoriya speaks very highly of you, Saito-san. He says you've been teaching him supplementary combat training?"
"Basic martial arts fundamentals," Yoshikage confirmed. "Striking technique, footwork, breathing control. Things he should have learned in his first week at U.A."
There was a beat of silence.
"I... see," All Might said, his smile becoming slightly strained. "You think U.A.'s curriculum is insufficient?"
"I think U.A.'s curriculum is criminally negligent," Yoshikage said bluntly. "But we can discuss that in detail later. Midoriya said you wanted to meet me?"
"Actually, I asked if we could all meet," Izuku interjected quickly. "Because All Might is a great mentor but his teaching style is more about physical conditioning and pushing through limits, and your teaching style is more about technique and strategy, and I thought maybe if you two combined approaches—"
"You want me to teach All Might how to teach," Yoshikage concluded.
All Might stiffened. "Now wait just a moment—"
"You're a terrible teacher," Yoshikage continued, meeting All Might's eyes directly. "Not because you're unintelligent or uncaring, but because you've been so powerful for so long that you've forgotten what it's like to need technique. You told Midoriya to 'clench his butt and yell smash,' which is possibly the worst technical instruction I've ever heard."
"That's—I was—" All Might sputtered.
"You gave him a power he couldn't control and told him to figure it out himself," Yoshikage continued relentlessly. "You watched him break his bones repeatedly and your solution was 'try using less power,' which is treating the symptom, not the cause. The cause is that he has no technical foundation for channeling that power safely."
"All Might's been very helpful!" Izuku said defensively. "He's—"
"He's done the bare minimum," Yoshikage interrupted. "Physical conditioning—good. Diet recommendations—good. Actual combat training, tactical education, technical instruction—nonexistent. Midoriya's improvement over the past few months has been because of structured martial arts training, not because of anything U.A. or you have taught him."
All Might's expression was complicated—anger, defensiveness, but also something that looked like shame.
"I taught him the same way I was taught," he said quietly. "Nana Shimura, my mentor, she focused on—"
"Nana Shimura was a skilled martial artist who probably taught you proper technique when you were starting out," Yoshikage said. "But you've forgotten those lessons because you haven't needed them for decades. When you can punch through mountains, you stop thinking about optimal hip rotation."
He gestured to Izuku. "But Midoriya can't punch through mountains. Not yet, maybe not ever. He needs technique to channel his power safely. He needs strategy to fight intelligently. He needs fundamentals that you're not providing because you've forgotten they exist."
"And you think you can provide them better than the Number One Hero?" All Might asked, voice sharp.
"I know I can," Yoshikage said simply. "Because I've spent the last two years training from zero to competence, learning every technique from first principles, building a foundation that doesn't rely on overwhelming power. I remember what it's like to be weak. You don't."
All Might opened his mouth to respond, then closed it.
"Show me," he said finally.
"Show you what?"
"Show me what you've taught Young Midoriya. Demonstrate why your methods are superior to mine." All Might's expression was serious now. "If you're so confident, prove it."
Yoshikage considered refusing. This was a waste of time, a distraction from his real goals.
But it was also an opportunity.
An opportunity to demonstrate to the Symbol of Peace himself just how inadequate the hero system's training was. To prove that intelligence and technique could compete with raw power.
And honestly? After watching the Sports Festival, after seeing the systematic failure of hero education, after months of frustration with this universe's incompetence?
He wanted to make All Might understand.
"Midoriya," he said, "show All Might the combination we've been practicing. The one from last week."
Izuku nodded eagerly, stepped into a proper fighting stance—feet shoulder-width apart, hands up, weight balanced—and flowed through a six-strike combination.
Jab-cross-hook-knee-elbow-roundhouse kick.
The technique was clean. Not perfect—Izuku had only been training for a few months—but recognizably skilled. His footwork was coordinated, his strikes had proper form, his breathing was synchronized with his movements.
Then he added One For All at 8%, and the combination became devastating.
Green lightning crackled, power flowing through properly-aligned kinetic chains, each strike exponentially more powerful than it would have been without technique.
The final roundhouse kick created a shockwave that kicked up sand across the entire beach.
And Izuku's bones didn't break.
All Might stared, clearly shocked.
"When did you—how did you—" he turned to Yoshikage. "You taught him this in a few months?"
"I taught him the fundamentals that anyone with basic martial arts knowledge could teach," Yoshikage replied. "The fact that he didn't know them already is a failure of your instruction and U.A.'s curriculum."
"But his control—"
"Is better because his technique is better," Yoshikage explained. "Power without structure destroys the body. Power with proper structure channels safely. It's basic physics. Every martial art in history understands this. Apparently modern hero education has forgotten it."
All Might looked at Izuku, then at Yoshikage, then back at Izuku.
"Can you... can you show me?" he asked quietly. "Not Young Midoriya. You. Show me what you mean about technique and structure."
"You want to spar?" Yoshikage asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I want to understand," All Might replied. "You say I've forgotten the fundamentals. Show me what I'm missing."
Yoshikage smiled.
Finally. Someone willing to learn.
"Alright," he said, moving into an open area of the beach. "But let's establish ground rules. You're in your civilian form—no transformation. I won't use my Quirk's lethal applications. This is a demonstration, not a real fight."
"Agreed," All Might said, moving to face him.
They stood ten meters apart, and Yoshikage could see Izuku watching with wide eyes, notebook already out.
"Begin when ready," Yoshikage said.
All Might charged.
Even in his civilian form, even weakened by his injury, All Might was fast. Decades of combat experience translated into movement that was fluid and efficient.
He threw a punch—proper form, full extension, decades of muscle memory behind it.
Yoshikage slipped it with minimal movement, boxer's head slip that he'd drilled thousands of times, and countered with a jab to All Might's solar plexus.
The impact was light—he wasn't using Hamon, wasn't trying to hurt—but All Might's eyes widened.
"You're—you actually know what you're doing," he said.
"Obviously," Yoshikage replied, resetting his stance. "Again."
All Might attacked, faster this time, a combination of punches that would have overwhelmed most opponents.
Yoshikage deflected the first with a forearm block—Muay Thai technique. Stepped inside the second using footwork from boxing. Grabbed All Might's wrist and used a Judo throw to redirect his momentum.
All Might hit the sand, controlled fall but clearly surprised.
"You're relying on speed and power," Yoshikage explained, not even breathing hard. "Your technique is good—you were well-trained originally. But you're not thinking tactically. You're not setting up attacks, not using feints, not controlling distance. You're just attacking and assuming it'll work."
All Might stood, dusting himself off. "And that's wrong?"
"Against someone weaker than you? It works fine. Against someone who can counter power with technique?" Yoshikage gestured to the sand where All Might had fallen. "You lose."
"Show me more," All Might said, and there was intensity in his voice now. "Stop holding back. Show me what you can really do."
Yoshikage hesitated. "If I stop holding back, I'll hurt you. Your civilian form is fragile."
"I can take it," All Might insisted. "I need to understand what Young Midoriya is learning."
Your funeral, Yoshikage thought.
He activated full-body Hamon.
Golden energy erupted across his skin, visible and powerful, and both All Might and Izuku gasped.
"What—what is that?!" Izuku stammered. "I've never seen you do that before!"
"Advanced application of my Quirk," Yoshikage lied smoothly. "Energy enhancement. I don't usually use it because it draws attention."
He moved into a ready stance, Hamon crackling, and looked at All Might.
"Last chance to back out."
All Might grinned, and for a moment Yoshikage could see the Symbol of Peace beneath the skeletal exterior.
"Come at me with everything."
Yoshikage attacked.
He was faster than before—Hamon enhancement pushing his physical capabilities to superhuman levels. Not All Might levels, even in civilian form, but far beyond normal human limits.
Jab—Hamon-enhanced, creating a shockwave as his fist cut through air.
All Might blocked, but Yoshikage saw him wince from the impact.
Cross—following up immediately, not giving time to recover.
Hook—aimed at the ribs, pulling the strike at the last second but making the point.
All Might tried to counter, throwing a punch that would have ended the fight if it connected.
Yoshikage wasn't there.
He'd already moved, using the superior footwork he'd drilled for hundreds of hours, circling to All Might's blind side.
Knee strike to the thigh—controlled force, enough to demonstrate capability without actually damaging.
Elbow to the shoulder joint—again, pulled, but the technique was clear.
All Might stumbled, and Yoshikage swept his legs.
The Symbol of Peace fell for the second time.
"You're stronger than me," Yoshikage said, standing over him. "In your hero form, you could beat me with one punch. But right now, in a technical fight, I'm winning because I have a well-rounded fighting style and you're relying on instincts developed for overwhelming force."
He offered his hand.
All Might took it, let Yoshikage pull him up.
"Now watch this," Yoshikage said.
He manifested Killer Queen.
Izuku gasped again—he'd never seen Yoshikage's Stand, had no idea it existed.
All Might just looked confused, seeing Yoshikage's stance change but not seeing the invisible Stand beside him.
"My Quirk has a secondary application," Yoshikage explained, using the same lie he'd used for years. "Enhanced combat form. You can't see it—it's like fighting spirit made manifest—but it multiplies my capabilities."
He moved through a combination, Killer Queen mirroring his movements, and the effect was devastating.
Each punch was thrown twice—once by Yoshikage, once by the invisible Stand. Each kick created shockwaves. Each movement was enhanced beyond what Hamon alone could achieve.
He stopped, dismissed Killer Queen, and turned to All Might.
"This is what a well-rounded fighting style looks like," he said. "Physical technique—martial arts trained to competence. Energy enhancement—my Quirk's primary ability. Stand manifestation—my Quirk's secondary ability. Each system supports the others. Each covers the others' weaknesses."
He locked eyes with All Might.
"You taught Midoriya to rely on One For All alone. No martial arts foundation, no tactical training, no secondary capabilities. Just 'use the Quirk and push through the pain.' That's not teaching. That's negligence."
All Might was silent for a long moment, and Yoshikage could see the realization settling in.
"I..." All Might started, then stopped. "I failed him."
"Yes," Yoshikage agreed. "But you can fix it."
"How?"
"Stop trying to make him a copy of you," Yoshikage said. "You're the strongest hero because you have overwhelming power. Midoriya won't be the strongest—not for years, maybe decades. But he can be the most competent. The most tactically sound. The most well-rounded."
He gestured to Izuku, who was frantically taking notes.
"Let him develop his own style. Give him resources, training opportunities, support. Stop making him figure everything out alone. And for god's sake, teach him actual combat technique or find someone who will."
"Someone like you," All Might said.
"I'm already teaching him," Yoshikage pointed out. "But I'm one person with limited time. U.A. has an entire staff of professional heroes who should be providing this instruction. Use them. Coordinate. Make Midoriya's education systematic instead of haphazard."
All Might nodded slowly. "You're right. I've been... I've been teaching the way I was taught, but I had advantages Young Midoriya doesn't have. I was already physically strong when I received One For All. He wasn't."
"Exactly," Yoshikage confirmed.
"And you..." All Might looked at him with newfound respect. "You're not just a civilian with a combat Quirk, are you? You're actively training to fight villains. Why? What's your goal?"
Careful, Yoshikage thought. Don't reveal too much.
"I'm Quirkless," he lied, using the cover story he'd prepared. "Or I was, until my Quirk manifested late—age sixteen. I spent my entire childhood being told I was worthless, that I couldn't be a hero, that I didn't matter."
This part was true, borrowed from Izuku's experiences.
"When I finally got a Quirk, I decided I'd prove them all wrong. Not by becoming a hero—I'm too old for that, the system won't accept late-bloomers—but by becoming competent. By training until I was skilled enough that Quirk or no Quirk, I could hold my own."
"That's... admirable," All Might said quietly.
"It's spite," Yoshikage corrected. "I hate a system that judges people by their genetics instead of their abilities. I hate that Midoriya spent fourteen years being told he was worthless when he has one of the best analytical minds I've ever seen. I hate that hero society prioritizes flashy Quirks over actual competence."
He took a breath, realizing he'd let more genuine emotion through than intended.
"So yes, I train. I develop my abilities. I teach students like Midoriya who are being failed by the system. And maybe, eventually, I'll do something about that system."
All Might was quiet, processing this.
Then he smiled—a real smile, not the performative Symbol of Peace grin.
"You remind me of someone," he said. "My mentor. Nana Shimura. She hated injustice too. Fought against it every day of her life."
"Did she succeed?" Yoshikage asked.
The smile faded. "She died trying."
"Then I'll have to be smarter than she was," Yoshikage said.
He turned to Izuku, who was staring at both of them with an expression that suggested his worldview was being rapidly restructured.
"Midoriya, same time next week for training. We're adding grappling defense and ground fighting to your curriculum."
"Y-yes sir!" Izuku stammered.
"And All Might," Yoshikage added, looking back at the skeletal hero. "If you actually care about Midoriya's education, stop treating him like he needs to figure everything out alone. He's not you. He'll never be you. Let him be himself, and give him the tools to succeed as himself."
"I will," All Might promised. "And Saito-san... thank you. For teaching him. For showing me my failures. For caring when you didn't have to."
Yoshikage nodded once and turned to leave.
"One more thing," All Might called out.
Yoshikage paused.
"Your Quirk. The energy enhancement and the combat form. That's not a registered Quirk profile."
Shit.
"I registered it as a general 'energy manipulation' Quirk," Yoshikage lied. "The specific applications are complicated and I prefer not to advertise my full capabilities."
"Smart," All Might acknowledged. "But be careful. The Hero Public Safety Commission pays attention to unregistered or under-reported Quirks. If they think you're hiding something dangerous..."
"Let them investigate," Yoshikage said. "They'll find a civilian with a training obsession and no criminal record. Nothing that justifies their attention."
And if they dig too deep, Bites the Dust will ensure they forget what they found.
He left the beach, feeling Izuku and All Might's eyes on his back.
That had been risky. He'd revealed more of his capabilities than he'd intended, demonstrated skills that could draw attention.
But it had also been satisfying.
All Might—the Symbol of Peace, the Number One Hero—had acknowledged his incompetence as a teacher. Had asked for help. Had shown humility.
Maybe there's hope for this universe after all, Yoshikage thought.
Then he remembered the Sports Festival, the systematic failures, the HPSC's corruption, All For One's machinations.
No. There isn't. One humble hero doesn't fix a broken system.
He pulled out his phone and reviewed his notes on Bites the Dust: Requiem.
The ability was stable. The tests had been successful. The targeting parameters were set.
All For One's erasure could proceed as planned.
Two weeks, he decided. Two weeks to finalize preparations, gather intelligence on All For One's current location, and ensure there are no unexpected complications.
Then the Symbol of Evil ceases to exist.
And nobody will even remember he was there.
Killer Queen manifested beside him as he walked, golden Hamon still crackling faintly across its form.
"We're close," Yoshikage said quietly. "Close to everything we've been working toward."
The Stand's eyes gleamed in agreement.
Somewhere across the city, All For One was planning something. Tomura Shigaraki was plotting. The League of Villains was preparing their next incompetent attack.
And none of them knew that someone was preparing to remove the biggest piece from the board entirely.
Let them plan, Yoshikage thought. Let them scheme. In two weeks, the entire game changes.
In two weeks, I prove that intelligence, preparation, and competence can defeat even a two-hundred-year-old monster.
In two weeks, this universe learns what a real villain looks like.
He smiled in the darkness, and continued training.
Because the moment you thought you'd trained enough—
—was the moment you started losing.
And Yoshikage Kira refused to lose.
Not to All For One.
Not to Hero Society.
Not to anyone.
The countdown continued.
Fourteen days remaining.