The balcony was quieter now.
Below, the ballroom moved in soft, elegant rhythms. Music rose and fell like a breath, but up here, above it all, the air felt different—cooler, clearer.
Itami leaned on the railing, mask still fixed across his face, his fingers twitching slightly before he stilled them. Beside him, Momo stood quietly. The sharp lines of her dress glinted in the chandelier light, her gaze lingering over the crowd.
"How are you holding up since the villain attack?" she asked softly, her voice nearly lost under the music."Everything's moving so fast, it feels like it never happened at all."
Itami didn't answer right away. He just watched. Below, guests floated between conversations and polished silver trays.
"I'm managing," he finally said. "We're all still breathing, right?"
Momo looked over with a light laugh. "Yeah, you're right. Most of us only had a few bruises and scratches. The only ones that were injured were you, Midoriya, Thirteen, and Aizawa."
He nodded once, looking at his right arm. "Yeah... Where did you go when we were scattered?"
"I was with Kaminari and Jiro, in the Landslide Zone," Momo continued. "We panicked at first but steeled our nerves and protected ourselves. Where were you?"
"I was alone for a bit, fighting some thugs until I met up with Ojiro. After we split up, I ended up facing a monster. It broke my arm and tossed me aside like I was nothing," he said, flexing his right arm, moving it around with little strain.
"I heard. They called it Nomu, if I remember correctly," she said. "Even through all that, you still managed to get up and fight."
Itami's hand curled loosely over the railing. That feeling again—that weight he couldn't shake.
"Yeah, I didn't believe it myself. I always thought that instinct to be a hero was just a myth," he muttered.
"That means you're in the right place then, to be a hero like the rest of us," Momo said gently. "Actions speak louder than anything."
He glanced at her. Her mask framed her features delicately, but her eyes—sharp, steady—held a sincerity that unsettled him. He shifted his gaze back to the crowd, suddenly aware of the heat rising to his cheeks.
Then, the music shifted again.
A soft chime rang through the ballroom as an announcer stepped onto a small dais.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said with a flourish, "the moment you've all been waiting for. Please join us now for the evening's formal waltz."
The spotlights dimmed. One angled upward—onto the balcony.
Momo blinked.
Itami froze.
The announcer continued, "We ask our esteemed guests to applaud and watch as Miss Yaoyorozu begins the first dance with her chosen partner!"
Momo's eyes widened slightly as the spotlight locked onto them.
"Nope," Itami said flatly, attempting to step back, but Momo caught his arm.
"You heard him," she replied, composed as ever. She turned to face him, offering her hand. "You're already wearing the suit."
"I don't dance."
"You do tonight."
He hesitated—but the room below waited, expectant.
"Come on," she said again, softer now. "You'll be fine."
Itami sighed, adjusting his cuffs. "If I step on your feet, that's your fault."
She smiled. "I'll risk it."
They descended the staircase slowly. The crowd below parted, the quartet easing into a soft, graceful rhythm. As they reached the floor, Momo turned to face him. She moved easily into position—one hand on his shoulder, the other in his.
Itami hesitated. Too stiff. Too aware. Every motion felt twice as loud in his head.
"One-two, one-two," Momo whispered. "Let the music lead."
He followed. Slowly. Hesitantly.
But the rhythm caught him. Her steps guided his, her movements fluid and light. Itami focused—on the pressure of her hand in his, on the soft movement of her dress, on the faint warmth of her gaze when their eyes met.
He wasn't graceful. But he wasn't stumbling either.
Why... does this feel okay?
He didn't understand it. This closeness. The quiet between them.
It wasn't like sparring. No aggression. No calculation. Just motion. Trust.
Do I like this?
He tried not to look at her too long. But something pulled at him. Not just the elegance. Not just her poise. Something... softer. Real.
Is this what normal feels like?
Momo smiled—gentle, unforced—and Itami felt his breath catch.
He looked away quickly, his mask hiding just enough.
"I think you're starting to get it," she whispered.
"Don't jinx it."
Another spin. Her hand guiding his again.
Itami followed—awkward at first, but more fluid now.
The orchestra swelled.
Around them, other couples joined the floor, but the center belonged to them.
Is this... how it's supposed to feel?
He didn't know. He still felt awkward and stiff—but strangely, he didn't want it to end.
The lights changed—harsh and sudden.
The music choked into static as the orchestra faltered.
Gasps rippled through the ballroom. A scream pierced the silence.
The announcer lay sprawled on the floor, his throat slit.
A figure stepped into the spotlight—tall, composed, clad in a high-collared black coat with gold trim.
A half-cracked, grinning mask concealed the upper half of his face. But his presence demanded attention.
He gripped a hijacked mic, his voice smooth and sharp.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, casual and confident, "I'll be taking over the festivities from here on out."
The room stilled.
Guards near the walls stepped forward—but instead of moving to detain him, they turned.
Guns drawn. Aimed at the crowd.
Panic erupted.
Itami's hand twitched toward his comm.
Drex's voice crackled through: "Don't move. Wait for my signal. Volt-Viper, do you have a shot?"
"Negative," Riven responded. "No clear line of sight."
"Blue team, sit tight. Await my signal."
The masked figure gestured toward the entrance, where the guards turned on guests, weapons raised.
"This is just business. Your lives mean nothing to me. Except one."
He pointed—straight at Momo.
"And you, darling heir, are the most valuable item in the room. The ability to create anything... fascinating."
Itami stepped in front of her instinctively.
A loud bang echoed as smoke flooded the room.
"Who dares intrude?!" the man shouted, flames erupting from his hands toward the smoke.
Before the guards could react, they fell one by one—mist enveloping their bodies.
Laughter rang out as Drex hurled guards aside, slamming one into the ground.
"Finally, some action!" Drex bellowed.
Halo's voice cut through the comms: "Itami, get the VIP out. We'll handle the rest."
Chaos burst across the ballroom.
Guests screamed, fleeing toward the entrance. Security turned, but precise shots from outside dropped them instantly.
Shadow Scale moved like a tide—silent, brutal, efficient.
Itami grabbed Momo's hand and started to run away.
"Stay close."
The masked man tilted his head, watching Itami run with her.
He chuckled—rage simmering beneath. "How dare you impertinents ruin my plan."
The ground beneath them ruptured.
Marble cracked as jagged stone exploded upward, sending guests and furniture flying.
Itami pushed Momo back, avoiding a spike that pierced where she'd just stood.
"MOVE!" he shouted, pulling her through the smoke.
The man's voice echoed behind them—mocking, amused. "There's no point in running."
Another eruption.
Earth buckled; lightning arced along the walls.
Burning debris rained down.
Itami yanked Momo behind a toppled column.
"You okay?"
She nodded, breath tight. "Yeah. Who is he?"
"Trouble," Itami muttered. "Big trouble."
He led her through a side hallway, weaving between panicked guests and the wreckage of shattered elegance.
A burst of fire lit the corridor behind them, flames licking the ceiling.
"Don't you two look lovely running together," The mans voice taunted.
"Think you can protect her, boy?"
He's fast.
Another blast.
Itami spun, sending a wide arc of fire down the hallway.
The flames clashed mid-air with the man's, exploding in a violent wave of heat.
"Keep moving!" he barked to Momo.
They turned a corner—straight into another collapse.
The roof above cracked and groaned.
Itami reached up instinctively—but Momo moved first.
A massive, curved shield formed in her hands, metal and reinforced, locking between the walls above as debris crashed down.
The shield trembled but held.
Itami stared for a breath.
"Nice timing."
"I was hoping it'd hold," she said with a shaky smile.
Lucien emerged through the haze. Electricity crackled across his fingers before he slammed his hand into the wall.
Lights burst. Glass shattered. The hallway plunged into darkness, lit only by flickers of flame.
Spotting a broken window leading outside, Itami asked, "Do you trust me?"
He hurled another pair of fireballs toward the man.
"Of co—" Before Momo could finish, Itami scooped her up, sprinting toward the window.
They leapt through just as the room behind them was engulfed in roaring flames. Landing hard on the roof, he set Momo down.
"Quick, get down from the roof! I'll hold him off."
"I can help! Let me create more shields and weapons," she said, already forming another object.
Itami smiled as he saw Halo running toward their position.
"Then I'll meet you down there."
Without hesitation, he threw her off the roof.
Halo caught Momo mid-air and carried her away toward safety.
Speaking into his earpiece, Itami said, "VIP secured. I'm engaging the perpetrator."
A voice cut through the brief silence. "Oh, I'm not just some perpetrator. Allow me to introduce myself."
Itami turned.
The man stood ahead—unscathed. Not a speck of dust on him.
"The name is Lucien. Now, where is the girl? I've gone through all this trouble. I will not leave empty-handed."
Lucien peeled off his cracked mask, revealing spiked white hair and piercing red eyes.
"She's already gone. It's just me now."
"Tch. Why is a security guard doing so much for a rich girl? Trying to play hero?"
Itami smirked.
"Funny. That's what I'm trying to be."
He unleashed a burst of lightning toward Lucien.
Lucien dodged and countered with a spear of electricity.
It struck Itami square in the face, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Tch. Scum. Ruining a good suit," Lucien sneered, approaching Itami's downed form.
Suddenly, Itami kicked upward, a fireburst propelling the blow into Lucien's gut.
He twirled mid-air and hurled a fireball at Lucien's face.
It cracked and exploded—fire and lightning ripping outward—sending Lucien hurtling off the rooftop.
Breathing heavily, blood dripping from his face, Itami looked at his right hand.
His mask was broken—only a shard clung to his face.
"Finally," he muttered. "I did it."
Lucien vaulted back onto the roof—barely a scratch on him. His coat was singed, but his posture remained calm, composed.
"What a cheap trick," Lucien spat, brushing himself off.
"You won't—"
He stopped.
His eyes locked onto Itami's face—almost exposed now.
Lucien's expression shifted.
First confusion.
Then recognition.
Then a slow, unsettling grin.
"...You look exactly like him. A spitting image."
Itami's chest tightened.
Lucien took a slow step forward, voice low and curious.
"No wonder you fought like that. You're one of them."
One of who?
Itami's mind raced—and then froze.
Fire. Lightning. Earth. Lucien's abilities isn't just a quirk. It's affinity's. He's...He's one of us.
He swallowed hard.
Not now.Not here.
Lucien gave a short, cruel laugh.
"This just got more interesting."