The subterranean chamber was utterly still, save for the soft whir of outdated ventilation struggling to push air through cracked filters. Deep beneath the ruins of an abandoned transit station, far from the eyes of heroes or surveillance drones, Jetsling Beroba sat in silence. The glow of several half-broken monitors danced faintly across the black sheen of his armor, casting ghost-like reflections across the walls.
He'd just returned from another raid—another facility burned from memory, another set of children no longer living in cages. Another set of red markers gone dim.
And yet, for all the victories… something in him remained coiled. Taut. Waiting.
He slowly reached up to release his transformation, but the moment his hand brushed the side of the Delta Driver belt—
[LEVEL UP: 1]
Jetsling froze.
Before him, something shimmered into existence—a translucent system window, pulsing faintly with cyan light. Not a projection from the Delta armor. Not from the AI.
This was… something else.
"It's back…" he murmured, standing slowly as his pulse quickened. The words in the display burned with an eerie familiarity. It was the same system that had first awakened him in this borrowed body—once, and never again. Until now.
[System Integration Confirmed.
Delta-Class User: Jetsling Beroba
Status: Stable.
Combat Proficiency: Exceeding Baseline Parameters.
LEVEL 1 Achieved.
Unlocked Ability: [Miracle-type Anti-Unit].
Usage Limit: 1 per cycle (resets at 00:00 JST).]
Jetsling narrowed his eyes. "Miracle-type…?"
The display shifted to a new set of lines—explanatory data, scrawling themselves out like scripture.
[Miracle-type Anti-Unit]:
A single-use ability that temporarily bypasses the natural law of equivalence in conflict. When activated, it can summon and manifest any miracle that has the limit of the power of anti-unit.
He stared at the words for a full five seconds before exhaling.
"So... it's a cheat."
Not quite the way he would've expected to describe a system update. But this wasn't some trivial perk. This was absolute. An erasure of chance. A silver bullet, dressed as a whisper from the unknown.
One use per day.
One guaranteed outcome.
Jetsling slowly paced across the room. His bootsteps echoed against concrete and metal. The Delta armor shimmered slightly in the low light, adjusting to his bio-signs even in rest mode.
He paused beside a terminal, eyes flicking back to the map of red markers still glowing across Musutafu and beyond. Each one a known trafficking node. Each a fortress unto itself, guarded by monsters with Quirks and lawyers and blood money.
"One per day…" he muttered. His voice held no awe. Only calculation.
It wasn't power that excited him.
It was efficiency.
---
He sat back down, resting his gloved hands together beneath his chin. The glow of the system window hovered just in front of his vision, casting soft light onto his sharp, tired features.
"Why now?"
That was the part that bothered him. This system had been silent for years. Dormant since the moment he first woke in this boy's body, with fractured memories and instincts too sharp for any normal child.
Was it tied to his actions?
The lives taken? The lives spared?
Or was the system always watching—waiting for him to prove he was ready?
Or there were experience point that he will need fill up to level up.
If it's the experience point then how did it count. The live taken. He already take many live, why now he level up. If it is then that to level up more he might need to wipe out the whole of humanity.
His mind turned briefly to the orphan boy from the last facility—the one-armed child who hadn't cried, even when the lights came back on. Who had whispered: You're just a story.
Jetsling's jaw clenched.
He not only wanted to be just a story but also nightmare for the bad one .
One that monsters whispered about in trembling tones.
But stories couldn't fight systemic evil.
Stories didn't burn laboratories to the ground or redirect SWAT teams without them even noticing.
Stories didn't change the world.
Only a shadow could do that.
---
The AI's voice pulsed gently through his earpiece, quiet as a ghost.
[Unknown system detected. Parameters outside Delta framework. Shall I begin diagnostics?]
Jetsling hesitated.
This was his edge. And if the AI knew too much… perhaps the system would vanish again. Or worse—break.
"No," he said quietly. "Log its existence. Do not analyze it."
A brief pause.
[Logged.]
---
The system window pulsed one last time before flickering slightly.
Then:
{00:00 Reset Cycle Active.
[Miracle-type Anti-Unit] - Ready.}
Just like that, it vanished. Dissolved into data. No trace left behind.
Jetsling stood still for a long moment, staring into the empty space where it had floated.
A single guaranteed victory per day or a single guaranteed escape per day.
He looked again at the map.
Most of the red markers weren't random warehouses or rundown clinics. Some were clean offices. Political backrooms. Front-facing agencies with Quirk licenses and government contracts.
"One per day…" he repeated, then let out a dry, bitter chuckle.
"…Then I suppose I'll have to make each one count."
---
He donned his Delta belt again.
"Henshin"
[Standby]
[Complete]
The Delta armor reengaged around him, Photon Streams flaring bright white before cooling into their usual cold glow.
The HUD flickered alive. The AI synced instantly.
[Target Priority Reassessment Complete. Updating optimal incursion route.]
A new red dot blinked at the edge of the city. A site previously considered too well-defended for assault. Too fortified. Too many innocents inside to risk a direct raid.
But now…
Now he could end it in one strike.
No resistance. No uncertainty.
Just judgment.
Jetsling stepped into the center of the chamber. The teleport relay on the floor warmed beneath his boots, waiting for his command.
He whispered beneath his breath:
"Let the system guide the sword."
White light consumed him.
---
Far above, in the data farms buried under Hero Commission jurisdiction, Watanabe rubbed his eyes.
"Sir," he called, voice taut. "We've lost another node."
Akechi didn't even blink. "Another?"
"Wiped clean. No surveillance. We can't even confirm it was him. But… the evidence is missing. Again."
Igarashi leaned forward. "Was there anything—anything at all left behind?"
Watanabe nodded slowly.
He tapped a key and brought up the only trace they had: a single line of text, embedded into the corrupted metadata of the building's central security drive.
"This one was chosen."
The room fell into silence.
Igarashi whispered, almost afraid:
"Chosen… by who?"