"Today, a new hero made his debut, and we solemnly congratulate him, hoping that he will bring peace and order to our streets," said the reporter, a young man with spiky orange hair and fox-like features. The camera lens switched from the reporter to the new hero, a water creature, as hinted at by his costume with water waves and a bright name on his chest: "Hydro Man." His face was hidden by a blue mask resembling a bandit's mask. People might have thought he was a villain, but thanks to the bright colors of his costume, he inspired confidence.
"Welcome to today's show featuring interviews with heroes. We have heroes as our guests and will be talking about how they influence children's lives," continued the young TV presenter, sharing the latest news about their exploits, such as how another hero helped a girl get her cat out of a tree.
"Today we have young talents who dream of becoming heroes. Our editorial team has no doubt that they will become heroes in the future. No one doubts them, and the country is proud of them," she said. The camera zoomed in and showed three teenagers from the UA academy with smug faces and bright smiles in their signature uniforms. Many considered these students role models, but everything was not as perfect as it seemed. Intensive training according to all the standards of the Hero Commission placed high hopes on the students of this school. The Commission spared no expense on UA projects, thanks to which they gained prestige among students from all over the world. The teachers were professional heroes, and UA was famous for its graduates, who conquered not only Japan but the whole world with their professionalism.
"..." — the TV was off, and the elderly man rubbed his eyes wearily. He wasn't surprised to see these shows, because when he went outside, he saw aggressive advertising of heroes in stores, on the streets, and even in the laundromat. The bright signs began to annoy him, and as he watched society become obsessed with heroes, he became disillusioned with them. He used to believe that all heroes fought for the greater good, but now it had become a new trend, according to the young people he heard every time he went outside.
Throwing the TV remote onto the sofa, he touched the ground with his robotic feet. His feet made a distinctive sound as he walked, and, putting on his white slippers, he headed to the kitchen for a drink. It was raining heavily outside; morning had not yet arrived, but the rain had already washed away any morning cheer. Although for an elderly man with no one in his life, a good mood seemed like a holiday that could be celebrated once every ten years.
"Sir, your kettle has boiled. Brew your tea while the water in the kettle is still hot, and pour the water over the tea leaves," said a metallic voice in the kitchen. The elderly man grunted in response to the robot, which repeated the same phrases every time his kettle was ready. His robotic legs were synchronized with his brain and controlled like his own legs. Even the best prosthetics on the market could not replace his arm. The metallic footsteps could be heard throughout the house; the noise did not bother anyone, because he lived alone — no family, no children, only longing and loneliness. After losing his limbs, the following years began to resemble one big fragment, looped in a box: getting up, routine, news, books, lunch, dinner, and sleep. Without something new or refreshing, everything new caused him disgust and great incomprehension.
"How can such a silly thing attract people's attention, especially young people?" he wondered when he encountered a new trend in society.
"I know, a tin can. My brain hasn't turned to sand yet," he grumbled, trying to tease his robot assistant. Sitting down on a chair, he waited humbly for the robot to pour him a drink. With quick movements, it added tea leaves and hot water to the glass. The old man had long been accustomed to this robot, and it was difficult to imagine his routine without it. His health had long prevented him from doing household chores, and he both trusted and hated it for doing every job flawlessly and without error. The robot was sometimes a conversation partner, but a lousy one: whenever the old man shared his impressions, it responded superficially, without depth or empathy.
Boredom was Gran Torino's main enemy after the battle with All for One. The kitchen and his room were filled with books by various authors from around the world, translated into Japanese and covering different genres. From complex Shakespearean novels about unrequited love, in which lovers are willing to jump into a pit of snakes to show how much they value each other, to science fiction about a dystopian future where people are fed oil and other heavy substances. Torino smiled at this, because in their world, many things had become reality but had taken on a different meaning.
The rain continued to fall, like his tears at the loss of his partner. With his drink in hand, he approached the window and began to look out at the street, which was submerged in rain. Drops hit the glass, showing no sign of slowing down. Sadness appeared on his face as Torino buried Nana Shimura alone in the rain. Toshinori, because of his memories of her, did not attend the funeral. Torino understood him: she had replaced his mother figure. The funeral took place in the rain, because the day she gave her life to save them was special; the day of Nana Shimura's death was the day the boy inside Toshinori died with his naive thoughts. After taking a sip of his hot drink, Torino glanced at the framed photo of him and her with young Toshino.
"I would give anything to go back to that time," he said sadly, smiling.
*Knock* *knock* *knock*
He turned his head toward the source of the noise. No one had disturbed him in a long time, and guests had become a rarity for Torino. Leaving his drink behind, he strode toward the door; the wooden floors creaked beneath him, making a familiar sound.
"Who could it be in such bad weather?" Torino wondered. He didn't have many acquaintances he might meet. Maybe it was a letter about unpaid bills or another stupid promotion they put in mailboxes. The door seemed taller than him, and he looked so small, like a child. For some inexplicable reason, he had become shorter since his last fight with All for One; he cursed him every time he remembered it. The knocking grew louder, and the visitor's persistence was beginning to annoy him.
"I'm coming, I'm coming. Why make so much noise?" he grumbled. The door creaked open, and a tall, thin figure loomed over him. Long blond hair and a large black umbrella. It wasn't hard to guess who was standing in front of him.
"Toshinori?" he asked, unable to believe his eyes. His appearance surprised Torino to the core; he almost choked on his breath. He did not look healthy: thin build, dark circles under his eyes. He had not been in this house for seven years since their last meeting. Toshino was not young, but he continued to smile despite everything.
"Sensei, I'm here," he said in a trembling voice. Many years had passed since they had trained together. He remembered his "Spartan training" until he collapsed from pain in all his bones. He had become so strong that he would not feel his mentor's blows, but his fear of him remained. His lessons were remembered for their cruelty, but they bore fruit despite the injuries and beatings. Toshino remembered his training with a smile when Nana Shimura brought a wheelchair with her if he couldn't feel his legs.
"What are you standing in the rain for? Come in before you catch cold," Torino said, letting go of the door for his student to close it behind him. Toshinori was dressed modestly, even though he had a lot of money; he always kept a simple style. Torino was quietly proud that despite the fame and power he certainly possessed, he continued his heroism without betraying his principles and duty. The beige coat, gray pants, brown boots and black shirt were mismatched colors for a grown man, but no one complained about his style.
"Welcome to the Torino residence. What do you wish?" - The robotic assistant responded. Toshinori marveled at the robot with his height and build; it had no face, just a screen with a pair of eyes. He walked him through his modest home. On the window were pictures of his youth with Nana Shimura and a still young Toshinori.
"Toaster, make tea for your guest and don't disturb our conversation," Torino said. The robot made a sound of approval and went leisurely into the kitchen. Toshinori sat down opposite him; there was an uncomfortable silence between them, and no one dared to interrupt it. In the years when Toshinori had been young, he'd chattered on and on, asking for advice on becoming a hero, which had pissed off Torino, who was not verbose. And now he was becoming just like his mentor in his years. Toshinori couldn't find words for his mentor; he had last visited him 7 years ago, it wasn't the first time he had to drop the conversation since he had to rescue people during meetings with friends and coworkers.
"Did you come here to be silent and stare at me all day? Or did you come to ask me for advice?" - Torino retorted sharply. Still, some things don't change: even after growing up, some people act like children in front of adults.
"Neither. The search for All for One has hit a dead end, and we don't know where he is. We've looked everywhere all over Japan and have found no trace of him since our last meeting," Torino sighed heavily; his metal fingers closed around the cup with a slight creak. The rain outside the window seemed to intensify, howling in time with his gloomy thoughts.
"What about the successor?" - Torino cast a serious glance at Toshinori, who had been riddled with life. Toshinori met his mentor's gaze, but answered nothing. Silence in front of Torino was normal: when he was young he had kept silent out of fear, now it was out of shame.
"I see, no successor. I'm not surprised you didn't find one." Toshinori raised an eyebrow, but his thoughts were confused by his mentor's harsh remarks.
"I made many attempts. Seeking a successor among the heroes, but I have not found one. Mirai offers many promising apprentices, but in them I do not see one who can be considered worthy." Torino chuckled at his words. He knew the answer to why he could not find a successor.
"Of course you won't find it with such aggressive hero advertising. People have seen the commercials, Toshinori, they think it's fun and funny, when in fact it's a profession filled with loss and death. Now imagine graduating a man or woman with a complete lack of understanding of life." He was interrupted by Toshinori with a fit of coughing. Torino resented him for daring to interrupt his intelligent monologue. Because of his long asocial environment, Torino had lost all respect for his interlocutor. This was inherent in the elderly: when they don't have someone in their lives to talk to every day. Long solitude had a detrimental effect on him both physically and psychologically; open rudeness and disrespect were not new to him. When he was out in public, he behaved like a sociopath, not caring about the feelings of others. He was argued and argued with, but behind the aggression was a plea that no one understood.
"They graduate from their academies, driven by their desires, and begin to save people. But, alas, they are but youths or adolescents who are to see the full brunt of this profession. Criticism, deaths on the job, serious injuries, deaths of loved ones. If you don't agree with the governing board, be kind enough to leave the hero world." He looked intently at Toshinori, and a fire flashed in his aged eyes that Toshinori had only seen in training, when the old man was ready to hurl him across the range.
"Loneliness, Toshinori," Torino's voice grew quieter, but that only made it harsher. - "Eternal, all-consuming loneliness. You carry your symbol of peace on your shoulders like a burden. And with every life you save, with every piece of rubble raised above your head, that burden grows heavier. And the people. they just look. They smile. They take pictures. And then they go home to their families, to their loved ones. Then they wake up the next day as if nothing had happened. And you're left alone-with that burden, that power, that emptiness inside that can't be filled with fame or money." Toshinori could not contradict his mentor. He had seen such a picture with his own eyes, and Torino was right. Everyone valued him, but what would happen if he disappeared?
Torino gestured to stop Toshinori's objection. "You think I mean you? No. I mean them. About those youngsters from the academies. They see the glitz and glory. They don't see the nights spent in an empty apartment where the only sound is the creaking of prosthetics on the floor. They don't know what it's like to bury friends and realize there's no one to come to your funeral. They're not prepared for the fact that their sacrifice will remain invisible. That their greatest victory will be just a line on the morning news to the world between the laundry detergent commercials and the weather report." Drool was beginning to fly from his mouth; Torino stopped holding back his emotions and began to express them openly, not caring about subordination or censorship. He looked out the window again at the rain-blurred lights of the city.
"You're looking for a successor? Look not for power. Look for someone who is willing to accept this loneliness. Who can smile not for the cameras, but for himself in the pitch darkness when everyone seems to have turned their backs on him. Who can bear this cross not because he wants glory, but because he cannot do otherwise. A hero is a man, not a deity. They are not born, they are made." Torino turned around, and his gaze was merciless. He had seen with his own eyes how the young had died, and how many people had been buried alive by the actions of heroes. His former optimism was buried with Nana Shimura.
"You're looking for the perfect hero. I'm telling you to look for the most resilient, the most miserable, the most lost guy or gal. Someone who's got nothing to lose but that emptiness inside. Someone who understands. That's the one who can take it. And those smiling puppies on TV. they'll break at the first real loss. They're not willing to pay the real price." He fell silent, letting his words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable, like a sentence.
"And until you realize that," he finished quietly, "you will not find a successor. And All For One will sleep easy, knowing that the Symbol of Peace has no one to pass on its burden to. And that with your death, this world will collapse back into chaos. Because there will be no one to sacrifice your peace, your affections, your happiness for the ghostly idea everyone calls peace." The apprentice was unable to object to anything. The robot quietly approached and poured a double tea, then left safely.
"I'm willing to be a mentor to a successor. But it's very hard to find someone with a true heroic spirit." Toshinori's attempts were a failure. He's a worthless teacher, and Mirai had stated that to him bluntly. Their friendship was constantly snapping at the seams when it came to a successor. Finding a worthy person was beyond their abilities.
"What about that boy you publicly humiliated in front of the TV cameras?" Remembering Midoriya Izuka, Toshinori looked away, remembering how he had embarrassed a fan who wanted to be like him. He remembered that day very well. The kid almost died if not for his tenacious grip and his desire to know the answer to the question.
"Is a man without quirk capable of becoming a hero?" - Toshinori pondered those words. Among the heroes, there were no people without quirk; it was very rare to find them in the ranks of the police force. Toshinori was also among them, and if it wasn't for Nana Shimura and Torino, he would have remained an old man with no reason, forced to beg alms from people.
"I remember him and I'm not proud of what I did. He asked me to answer a simple question. And I shattered his dream and his ambition to be a hero," Torino grabbed his cane and hit him over the head with half his strength. He hadn't taught him that, but he understood why he had acted that way.
"I met him before you the same day you met. Young, a little testy, but I noticed the same spark in him the first time I saw you. I feel sorry for him, he didn't deserve the criticism he received on his young head." Torino sipped his tea and looked out onto the street, which was raging with thunder and mud. That day, Torino realized how prejudiced he had been against the green-haired teenager. The innocent teenager with a desire for justice, though childishly naive, could be a worthy candidate to be a receiver for the One for All under the right guidance.
"Are you suggesting we hand him the One for All?" - Torino grinned and, shaking his head negatively, sipped his tea.
"I'm not saying give him One for All. For starters, apologize to him in person and try to connect. He's a kind man, he's just unlucky." Torino sipped his tea; his gaze became detached, as if he saw something beyond the walls of his house, in the dank streets.
"Apologize? - he snorted, but this time without malice. - 'Not enough. Words-they're like this rain. Soaking wet and evaporating. He doesn't need words, boy. He needs action."
He jabbed a bony finger at Toshinori's chest, where his heart beat beneath his plain shirt, still full of strength but scarred by doubt.
"You've shown him the bottom. Now show him the ladder. Don't promise him power. Don't promise him glory. Show him ... the price. The real price of what he so naively dreamed of. Show him my prosthetics. Tell him about Nana. Tell him about your scars. About the nights you wake up dreaming again about not saving someone in time. Let him face what all those smiling idiots on TV turn away from." Torino could feel something scary and crazy coming up as half the heroes breeze by. The Heroes Commission is all business, but no business. Who knows what goes on in society when things change at the speed of sound.
"You gave your all for a peaceful sky above your head. I will try to make contact with Izuku Midoriya. I hope he will accept my apology."
****
Many people perceive those in power as evil, greedy and repulsive people who crave easy gain. The stereotype of a rich person is a sleek suit or a tailored dress made of expensive materials, with little details to show off. Wealth is evident in everything: clothes, food, lifestyle and the way they move around. Many admire this lifestyle and dream of not working, enjoying being in tropical countries, sipping expensive drinks.
But the reality, alas, is quite different.
"Come in, sir," said the employee, letting in a high-ranking man in an expensive suit with an equally expensive tie, the cost of which exceeded the annual salary of some ordinary worker.
His smoothly trimmed hair was treated with an expensive lotion that only a select number of people with access to cosmetology companies use.
The man paced to his chair, made of genuine leather. Why do they need expensive tables and chairs made of fancy materials? It rubs off on their egos: with hundreds of millions, if not billions, no one would refuse to spend a couple thousand dollars on a chair with his name on it.
He sat down in his seat, despite the stares of the others. Everyone was equal to each other in this room, but no one liked each other. No one was willing to cooperate in front of absolute power, even for a time. Finding his seat, he sat down in a chair covered in expensive leather that offered comfort through cushioning technology.
"Truly the most comfortable seat," he thought as he glanced at his nameplate, which read "Yaoyorozu Delegation" with $1,000 worth of ink for 0.3 ml. Underneath his family's name was "Kaito Yaoyorozu", the most important person in the entire corporation. Next to him was an equally luxurious seat for the deputy who was running late. The thought was interrupted when the head of the Tokugawa crime family sat down across from him. Frowning, he was no different from his predecessor. His status didn't matter to Kaito, for he was a hundred times richer. While Tokugawa was getting his hands dirty selling weapons to the lower classes, Kaito was wiping his own, for he had never had to deal with people below his status.
With a frown on his face, he assessed the other conference attendees, Yaoyorozu, Tokugawa, the head of Uraraka and TNAF, who were sitting side by side in the best seats. Also present at the conference were Miyamoto and Yotsushima, his main competitors and rivals in business. Unexpectedly, Yayorozu looked at Tokugawa with a sly smile
"What is it, Tokugawa? Not used to seeing anything but dirty weapons warehouses?" - A soft laugh echoed through the hall and Kaito smirked, putting on his best smile. The door creaked open and a tall man with red hair and an imposing figure in a green shirt entered the hall.
"Re Destro," the Miyamoto representative hissed. The last time they had worked together, he had ripped them off, taking 60% of their entire income thanks to his lawyers and attorneys. They were unwilling to see him, much less cooperate with a slippery man like him. Miyamoto's representative expressed his displeasure with Re Destro and his company, but everyone thought Miyamoto's accusation was just a shake of the air and a bad deal. Who would believe he had been duped by a man in a closed circle of the rich, unless it was a favorable deal for one party?
"Greetings, gentlemen," with polite manners he took his hat off to people of varying influences on society. Yaoyorozu sells medicines and whatever he can in his factories, earning money and respect. Uraraka with his trademark method of building multi-story buildings all over Japan. Any buildings built by this firm feature the three letters "UCG". Although Yaoyorozu is struggling to overtake its competitor in construction, through aggressive marketing and proper management, UCG is in the lead.
Re Destro sat down beside Haruto Uraraka, the head of Uraraka's company. A brown expensive suit with shiny cufflinks worth several hundred thousand yen. Re Destro smiled at his competitor and extended his hand and said:
"I greet you, Uraraka-san. I didn't expect to see you today. Since fate has brought us together in this place, let me know how your business is going." With a charismatic tone, Destro spoke to the man as an equal. The man accepted his hand and shook it, Destro's grip was so strong he could have broken Uraraka's hand without even breaking a sweat. Uraraka told him without raising his voice. Everyone in this room was willing to cut each other's throats for influence and money, but the rules of etiquette and yakuza influence prevented them from doing so. The head of the Miyamoto family narrowed his eyes, sizing up each person in this gathering; he detested the city's fops and talk of intellectualism. With a snort, he caught the attention of everyone present.
"Say what you want, I'm waiting for the elder to come and tell me the reason for the meeting." Kaito Yaoyorozu smirked at his power rival and joked lightly at him.
"This from a man who steals and sells people on the black market. There's probably nothing there but bums and rats, and that's the reason you don't appreciate business etiquette." Everyone in the meeting laughed at the charismatic Yaoyorozu, who knew how to tilt the dialog in his direction without much trouble. Deputy Miyamoto shrugged with ignorance.
"One would vomit, only politeness prevents one from doing so." Kaito only smiled gracefully, adjusting his perfectly knotted tie.
"Politeness is the only thing that separates us from the bullshit you deal with, my dear Miyamoto-san. It's a pity you don't appreciate that distinction." Seated beside Yaoyorozu was his deputy, whose face showed that he had come in a hurry and covered in sweat. It wasn't hard to guess what he was doing in his spare time.
"Wasting time with elite escort girls?" - Kaito asked, not looking his mentee in the eye. The man only wiped the sweat from his forehead, trying to make amends in any way he could. Deputy Yaoyorozu positively mumbled, causing Kaito Yaoyorozu to exhale at his deputy's idiotic act.
The tense silence that followed his words was cut by the creak of a heavy oak door at the end of the hall. All heads turned toward the entrance. Standing in the doorway was a tall, lean figure in a dark, austere kimono, not embroidered with patterns. His face was covered with deep wrinkles, and his eyes, small and piercing, slowly circled the gathering, as if weighing each one. It was the elder, Higashi Ogura. He was followed silently by two bodyguards with stone faces.
He made his way to the head of the table - his chair was simple, wooden, a stark contrast to the luxurious leather thrones of the other participants. He sat down, placing his bony hands on the table, and his quiet, husky voice rang out with chillingly calm authority.
"Thank you all for your turnout. Time is a most precious resource, even for us. Therefore, we will be brief." Everyone rose from their seats as he began to speak. Even Yaoyorozu and Re Destro had to rise to show respect for the elder. Kaito, along with Re Destro, was unwilling to obey and especially bow his knees to anyone. For the sake of achieving their ambitions, they had to make concessions. With a gesture of his right hand, Higashi Ogura told them to sit down, and they did. All the representatives of the crime families sat with their deputies, except for Re Destro.
Re Destro didn't like to rely on anyone, for even the most loyal were willing to sell their conscience for a mountain of money.
"As you all know, our head of the yakuza passed away peacefully in his bed. His death came as a shock to us." Each cycle of the head of the yakuza was carefully chosen between powerful families. Only one Elder could choose only one person from all those present at this gathering. The Elder looked around at the powerful businessmen from all over Japan, wondering which one was more worthy of the role of head of an organization with centuries of history. Their wealth came through inheritance. But one of them stood out from the rest.
The Elder took a look at Re Destro. He is bold, intelligent, charismatic - which is in keeping with the spirit of the new age. And unlike the others, he had achieved everything by his own labor and effort. Many of the people present looked at Re Destro with disdain, for the brash newcomer had the audacity to laugh in the old men's faces.
"Re Destro. Ex-military, populist, millionaire, philanthropist and propagandist," Uraraka said with a dose of contempt for his rival. While the elder thought about his words, Re Destro smirked at the compliments directed at him. It wasn't the first day he had to deal with unpleasant words directed at him. Being at the beginning of his career, perhaps he would have had trouble performing, but now he deeply didn't care about the words against him.
"Go on. Your compliments are like music to my ears, Uraraka-san." The smile never faded from Destro's face, despite the smug faces of most of the people at this conference.
"I'm convinced that you should be handed over to the military police for war crimes. You think you fought for a good cause?" - The smile disappeared from Destro's face. His face took on a more serious look and the watch on his arm vibrated with his stress level.
"Don't talk like everyone else. Each of you has enough crimes, from tax evasion to human trafficking. Compared to you, my conscience is like that of a newborn baby." They had no idea what he was capable of, but he was restrained by the authority of the Elder who was secretly watching him, analyzing everyone in this room. The Elder raised his hand in the air, calling a halt to the arguments between powerful men. He had witnessed many generations; his longevity had allowed him to know wisdom they could not even imagine.
Brushing back his lush beard, he exhaled heavily, making himself known.
"As you all know, recently a criminal organization wanted to change the balance of power. Our financial man, who is responsible for many things, survived thanks to the clueless Silent Phantom." The mention of such a person evoked different emotions. Re Destro expressed indifference, while members of the Miyamoto, Tokugawa, and Yotsushima families. Miyamoto was particularly affected by his antics; many useful assets were lost thanks to him, undermining the confidence of foreign business partners.
Yaoyorozu watched the reactions of those present with interest; a crazy but equally promising idea popped into the deputy's head. He wrote a sentence on a special piece of paper that only Yaoyorozu could read. The special paper would read the DNA of the person touched and project the sentence. Touching the paper, Kaito Yaoyorozu read what his deputy had written. He wasn't surprised by it, after all, he had thought of it himself before, but he waited for the right moment.
"All in good time, my friend," Kaito Yaoyorozu said, patting his deputy on the shoulder. Unlike Miyamoto, Uraraka didn't react in any way, indicating his disinterest. Re Destro's attention was caught by a sip of water.
"I see you don't care about this news either." Re Destro's words meant nothing to Uraraki and especially not to his business.
"I have nothing to fear. Those who announce themselves loudly fall just as loudly." Coughing, the elder continued to speak.
"We are immensely grateful to him. He showed courage that many would not have dared. He tracked down those scum and even destroyed them head-on. His actions have played to our advantage, and he is a necessary evil for the balance of power for all the players in this room." Some couldn't believe their ears. To hear such a thing from an authority figure was an unimaginably absurd statement. Miyamoto, who amused Re Destro with his infirmity, reacted the most.
"I know how it sounds to you. You have to realize that what I'm saying has a long-term perspective. He saves and helps; he's like an orderly who cleans up after your trash in the streets like most heroes, but he works like clockwork." Miyamoto couldn't stand it any longer and drew the attention of the entire audience with a gruff voice.
"He's not an orderly. He's just a young man playing the part of the hero. He doesn't understand the depth of this order." Miyamoto's statement drew laughter from the audience, even managing to elicit a sort of smile from the elder.
"So you're claiming that the heroes' assassin lost to a boy and nightmarched your business? Ahem ahem, I apologize for the disrespect, but that sounds extremely foolish considering you're such a serious person." Deputy Yaoyorozu laughed quietly at this turn of events. A prolific character assassin who had put an end to more than one hero and villain had lost to a child. To most, it sounded like an unfunny anecdote about a chicken and a road. Listening to this, Re Destro didn't laugh and showed even more interest in it, but his train of thought was interrupted by the elder.
"Do not underestimate the strength of young determination. He has contributed to our common cause. I will say one thing: decide to take him out, the consequences will be irreversible." The watch on the Elder's bodyguard's arm beeped, marking the rise of stress in his blood. Despite his longevity, he had health problems that no fad could fix. Coughing, he choked and was picked up by the bodyguards, who took him to the doctor for emergency care.
Everyone left in turn, including Destro himself. His personal driver met him with the honors to which he was accustomed, and the formalities seemed routine to him. The car moved fast enough, obeying all traffic rules, but one thing was disappointing - the inability to get from point A to point B instantly. Drawing on his experience in combat, Destro remembered how he had to shorten the distance for various tasks.
Within 15 minutes, Destro reached his luxurious office made of expensive materials. Everyone praised his office and said how stylish and modern it was. Their opinions didn't bother him - it was no more than a thousandth of the wealth he had, and building 10 offices of this architecture would be an easy task for him.
Sitting down in a leather chair made for proper posture, he went through the letters on his desk. Destro looked at the envelopes his business partners had sent him. There were many proposals from his foundation to develop advanced technologies for the advancement of society. Destro was especially grateful to his secretary who had sorted all the important letters separately. Unnecessary lawsuits and fines were sent to his accountant and lawyers to resolve the matter without him - otherwise why should he pay record fees to such specialists?
Going through the letters, only two envelopes managed to catch his attention. The first was from Mr. Serizawa in the newsroom. Carefully opening the envelope, he pulled out a letter stamped by the director himself.
Hello, Rikiya Yotsubashi.
Due to your inquiries, I have sent some promotional materials and investigative journalism to your mail. We are waiting for your response and will publish the article all over Japan only with your permission.
Regards, AO Media Holding.
Putting the letter aside, Destro proceeded to open another envelope from his foundation, which gives generous grants to students in the technical, biological, and medical sciences. Now, having secured agreement with several prestigious universities, his foundation was funding research in psychology for his own further purposes.
The envelope contained the name of the foundation's deputy and the manufacturer of the important technology itself, as well as the university.
Mustafu Higher University of Technology.
Faculty: research and analysis of quirks.
Producer: Koichi Haimawari, third year student.
Continuing to open the envelope, Re Destro saw the blueprints for the device. At the bottom was a link to the student's post and his thesis on how the device worked. In addition to the blueprints, there was a 6 page instruction manual on how the device worked.
The device resembled a metal detector frame for entering various premises. It had the same function of detecting metal, but it also detected people's quirks, which was new to the market. Page four contained detailed instructions on how it worked. The metal detector detected people with metal quirks, people with quirk, heteromorphs, and quirkless.
"Interesting. I should meet this student in person to get him working for me," arose in Destro's mind. Simultaneously, taking his cell phone out of his pocket, he typed out a message.
"Arrange for me to meet with student Koichi Haimawari. I'm extremely impressed with his development." The short message was enough, and after discarding all the emails from his desk, he closed his eyes, contemplating various plans for the future.
Knock Knock.
There was a knock on his door, snapping him out of his thoughts. Destro wondered who was knocking at his door at this late hour. The receptionist would ring the phone without disturbing him. So it was one of the wards in the building.
"Come in," he answered with a languid voice. Hearing the sound of the door opening, the scent of a woman's perfume - the smell of lavender and expensive flowers - hit my nose. Such perfume could only belong to one woman in his ward.
"Kayna," he said, turning to her. The same admirable figure, short-cropped hair with pink strands. Tapered pants, black jacket and white shirt, and judging by the tapping on the floor, she was wearing heels. Who would have thought a girl like this would combine feminine grace and the cold-bloodedness of an assassin.
"Tell me why you've come. I don't have time to have a conversation with you." Kaina clenched her fists, but immediately unclenched them.
"The security systems are set up, and everything is ready for your banquet, Yotsubashi-san." Unimpressed, Destro snorted at the expected news. In her place, anyone who understood security and event management would have done such a job with ease. He cast a quick glance at her, further examining the blueprints of the metal detector frame.
"I know it was a report. You had a better reason for coming here. After all, a productive sniper always hits the target." Lady Nagant tried to avoid this dialog, but it was as if Destro had read her mind and felt she was like an open book to him. Suppressing the urge to fire a bullet into her skull, Kaina shared what was on her mind.
"Silent Phantom was a young man without a quirk. During the heroes' clash, Ragdoll's quirk didn't catch his quirk, which meant only one thing. During the battle with Ingenium, he easily broke the handcuff suppressing the quirk. Not every power quirk can break that metal." Destro was stunned. The terror of the underworld and nightmare of the gangsters had turned out to be a teenager without a quirk. There were many inconsistencies in this story. First, he was able to break the handcuffs with his bare hands, which can withstand half a ton, and he was able to break that by being without quirk. Secondly, by having a negative advantage over heroes and freaky, he was able to defeat them, and kill some of them with his bare hands altogether.
"You can go now. You've done your job. You're free for the day." Turning on her heels and tapping the floor, she headed for the door and left, leaving her boss's office.
Destro was surprised by this news: they were essentially being nightmarched by a freakless one, which amused him greatly.
"Interesting."