"Hah… after all that talking, you're still just a villain, aren't you?"
Hearing the cold, hateful words from the man in the suit, the last shred of Masata's hope was completely shattered.
"Direct combat is absolutely impossible," Masata calculated rapidly.
"So the only option is large-scale destruction—something bright enough to draw Pro Heroes' attention. Fire at night will be impossible to ignore."
Just as Masata lowered his stance and prepared to act, the man in the suit spoke again, interrupting him calmly.
"Whether I am a villain or not… that depends on your choice, Igarashi."
Masata's muscles tensed, but his legs continued quietly gathering strength, waiting for the briefest lapse in the man's focus.
"What do you mean by that?" Masata said cautiously.
"If that's the case, why don't we sit down and talk? Maybe there's some misunderstanding we can clear up."
"Don't bother," the man replied flatly.
"You can't hide your little movements from me. I already told you—if I want to stop you, you won't escape."
His voice was steady, confident, absolute.
"And don't think about stalling for time either. The commotion earlier was large enough. Someone may already be on their way."
The man turned his helmeted face slightly, as if scanning the surroundings.
"I don't want to face All Might right now."
Then he looked directly at Masata.
"All right, Igarashi. Two choices."
"Join me… or die."
No hesitation. No theatrics. The ultimatum was delivered plainly.
"H-Hey!" Masata forced a laugh, his heart pounding.
"You haven't even introduced yourself properly. Is that how you recruit people? All I know is that you're Deadwood's teacher."
"And besides—my future is bright. I'm walking straight toward the peak of life. What exactly do you have that could convince me to join you?"
After Masata finished speaking, the man in the suit didn't respond immediately.
Silence fell again.
Only the cold wind whistled through the ruins.
"…Is that your answer?" the man asked quietly.
"I haven't answered yet!" Masata snapped.
"What are you even planning to do?"
But his words were ignored.
"I truly wanted you as a subordinate," the man continued calmly.
"After all, if the top student of U.A.'s Hero Course—All Might's student—were to fall into villainy…"
"That would be a devastating blow to All Might."
"And your Quirk…"
"It's powerful. Far too powerful for ordinary bodies to withstand."
"It would need compatibility—perhaps a physical enhancement Quirk… or another amplification-type ability."
Masata's blood ran cold.
He can't be talking about—
"Wait—what do you mean my Quirk can't be borne by ordinary people?!" Masata shouted.
"And combining it with other Quirks?! Like Nomu?!"
"So that's it… Nomu was made by him. And those Quirks were all stolen—ripped from others!"
The moment the realization hit, Masata turned and ran without hesitation.
"What kind of joke is this?!"
"I don't want my Quirk stolen—or to become something like Nomu!"
Fear flooded his heart.
Even though he had lived two lives, Masata had only just graduated high school in his previous one. In this world, society was largely peaceful. Heroes existed. Order existed.
But now—
A man who could crush him with mere presence stood behind him.
Masata pushed his speed beyond anything he had ever achieved.
"BOOM!"
A colossal force slammed into his back.
His body was launched forward, smashing into a building with terrifying speed.
"Air Compression + Explosive Force ×3 + Musculoskeletal Springing…"
The man's voice drifted down calmly as he hovered in the air.
"An interesting combination. Perhaps it could use more enhancements."
Masata lay buried in rubble, coughing violently.
"Cough—damn it… ribs broken… left shoulder's useless…"
Pain radiated through his body.
"He's too strong… I couldn't stop even a single attack…"
"I'm… I'm too weak."
The physical agony bled into his heart.
"If only I trained harder… if my Quirk development were higher… if my body were stronger…"
"If only—"
"Your life has no 'ifs.'"
The cold words cut through him.
A towering figure stepped onto the ruins and stood before Masata.
"Now," the man said calmly,
"offer up your Quirk."
His right hand transformed, black and crimson energy surging like a living torrent—and plunged into Masata's body.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
The pain wasn't merely physical.
In this world, Quirks exist because of something called the Quirk Factor—a genetic structure embedded deep within the body.
It can be inherited.
It can mutate.
It can be torn out.
Masata felt as if his body was being ripped apart at the cellular level.
Pain.
Deep pain.
Unimaginable pain.
Pain beyond words.
And yet—he couldn't even lose consciousness.
Black-and-red energy crackled violently as his body convulsed.
A faint glow appeared—just a trace of magma gathering weakly in Masata's right hand. Compared to his usual power, it was pitiful.
He tried to move.
Tried to swing his arm.
It fell back uselessly.
So this is the end…
Masata slowly closed his eyes.
He thought of his parents' warm smiles.
Of Yaoyorozu Momo and Uraraka Ochaco's lively laughter.
Of All Might's indomitable back.
Of Aizawa Shouta's tired eyes that still fought for his students.
Of Bakugo Katsuki's stubborn fury.
Of Kirishima Eijiro's blazing passion.
A life… full of regret.
"…Hm?"
For the first time, surprise crossed the man's masked face.
The black-and-red torrent withdrew from Masata's body and hovered uncertainly in the air.
"…What?"
The pain vanished.
Masata opened his eyes weakly.
"What… happened?"