Training with Mina was equal parts inspiring and quietly devastating. The agency's gravity-adjusted chamber allowed for variable resistance, and today it was set to 1.5 times Earth normal. Monoma's muscles burned as he tried to maintain a copied quirk under pressure.
He'd touched Mina's wrist at the start of the session, copying her telekinesis. Holding it was like trying to grip a waterfall—power surged through him, brilliant and wild, but it slipped, strained his synapses, and faded after just four minutes.
"You're thinking too hard," Mina said softly. She floated cross-legged in the center of the room, three training drones orbiting her like planets. "It's not about muscle tension. It's about intention. Visualize the connection, don't force it."
Monoma grunted, sweat dripping. He focused on a fourth drone, trying to lift it. It shuddered, rose a foot, and crashed down.
"Intention doesn't stop buildings from collapsing," he muttered.
Mina floated the drone back up with a flick of her finger. "You saved people in Musutafu with Copy. I read the reports. That rubble incident with Uravity—you copied her Zero Gravity and kept a whole façade from falling. That was intention."
He blinked. "How did you—"
"I wanted to know who my father invited." She lowered herself to the floor, meeting his eyes. "You're not someone who waits for the spotlight. You act. I admire that."
There was no pity in her gaze. Only respect. It warmed him in a way he didn't expect.
Later, over lunch in the agency canteen, Jae-Hyun teased him about his "serious UA vibe," while Hiroshi challenged him to an arm-wrestling match (Monoma declined; he'd seen Rocket shatter a reinforced table). Luna quietly showed him her tablet—a holographic replay of yesterday's patrol, highlighting Mina's subtle energy manipulations.
"She's the best of us," Luna whispered. "But she never acts like it."
That afternoon, a disturbance call came in—a runaway truck with a scared child inside, barreling toward the shopping district. Mina and Monoma responded instantly, rooftop-hopping via her telekinetic boosts.
Mina slowed the vehicle with a telekinetic drag, but the driver was unconscious, foot jammed on the accelerator. Monoma copied Hiroshi's Kinetic Boost, stored energy from three bounding steps, and unleashed it in a leap onto the hood. He shattered the windshield with a reinforced punch, unbuckled the sobbing child, and leaped clear just as Mina gently lowered the truck to a stop.
But then, a second truck swerved from an alley—no driver, remote-controlled, aiming straight for them. A trap.
Monoma pushed Mina and the child aside, taking the impact on his side. Pain exploded, but he rolled, came up, and copied Soo-Yun's Shadow Step. He melted into the shadow of the truck and reappeared behind a figure in a hoodie crouched on a fire escape with a control pad.
He tackled the controller. The man grinned, eyes glazed.
"He says… hello," the man slurred, before passing out.
Synchronized. The word clicked in Monoma's mind. This wasn't just a thug. This was a puppet.
Back at the agency med bay, Recovery Girl's Korean counterpart—an elderly heroine called Nurse Bari—fussed over his bruised ribs. "No breaks. Lucky. Rest."
Mina hovered by the door. "You pushed me out of the way."
"You're the primary target," Monoma replied flatly, wincing as Bari applied a cold pack.
"Still." She stepped closer. "Thank you."
He looked up. Her amber eyes were soft with concern. For a moment, neither spoke.
That night, pain kept him awake. He stood on his dorm balcony, Seoul glittering below. Frustration simmered. I need her quirk. Now. Not after touch, not for minutes—now.
He closed his eyes, recalling her lifting the drones. The subtle hand motion. The focus in her eyes. He reached out with his mind, straining past the pain, willing the connection.
A faint gold glow surrounded a potted plant on the railing. It trembled, lifted an inch, and dropped.
He stared. Memory-copy. Without touch.
Before the shock could settle, his door chimed. Togi stood there, face grave. "We need to talk."
In Togi's office, a file lay open. A photo of a young boy, smiling beside a younger Yuki Nahota. The boy had Yuki's eyes, but softer, brighter.
"His name was Ren," Togi said quietly. "Yuki's little brother. Not a villain—just a kid who adored his big brother. When I took down Yuki's drug operation five years ago, there was a chase through Busan's docks. Ren had followed Yuki that day, worried. He got caught in the crossfire. A collapsing crane… he didn't make it."
Monoma felt cold.
"Yuki blames me. Not just for prison, but for taking Ren. He's not after revenge in the simple sense. He wants to replace Ren. To sync with someone powerful, young, pure… and warp them into a twisted sibling. He's been studying Mina for months."
Togi's hands clenched. "He's not just a criminal. He's a broken brother. And he will tear the world apart to get what he thinks is his family back."
Monoma understood now. This wasn't just a mission.
It was a rescue.