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Beginning of Chapter
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13 hours later...
The interrogation room was chilly, sterile, and suffocating. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a harsh glare over the metal table at the center.
Gojo Satoru sat opposite it, elbows resting on the surface; the cuffs he was supposed to wear were on the table in front of him because he refused to let them touch and restrain him.
At some point, the officers gave up and left the cuffs as more for show than restraint, a token of authority he didn't recognize.
Outside the room, Hawks paced slowly, feathers twitching as he spoke under his breath, "This… this isn't how heroes handle things. What the hell is the Commission thinking? He needs to understand and learn the consequences of his actions"
He paced back and forth, a pile of papers in his hands as he read every line. 'All personnel present basically being forced into silence and let him go Scott free?!' He scanned each paragraph, his eyes full of disgust.
In the corner of the hallway, a tall man in a sharp black suit sat silently. Hawks stopped mid-step, head turning to the lawyer, who looked back at him with unspoken authority.
"... She sent you to cover up what he did. Okay, maybe he wasn't in the right emotional state, but this?! Sweeping it under the rug!" Hawks pointed at him with the papers in hand.
"I'll be entering and seeing Satoru." The man said calmly. He ran his hand through his hair as he walked calmly past Hawks.
Hawks reached for his shoulder, but the man grabbed his forearm instead.
"I don't even need to fight you physically; one trial and I'll have Reinka begging me to let you out of Tartarus. Don't test me." With those few words, he let go of Hawk's arm and entered the interrogation room.
Hawks rubbed his forearm as he sat down in one chair, cursing under his breath. He looked to the side where an officer stood with cups of coffee and slowly backed away, understanding the hero was in a bad mood.
Meanwhile, within the room, Gojo sat; he watched as the suited and tired man walked into the room. He didn't flinch as he pulled out the chair and sat across from him, setting a thick file and a pen onto the metal surface.
The weight of the room shifted, as though the air itself acknowledged Higuruma's reputation. Silence stretched long enough for the hum of the lights to become oppressive.
Finally, he spoke, his tone measured and smooth. "Attempted manslaughter. Reckless use of your Quirk as a student. Damage to property. Not trivial offenses, but not insurmountable. Let's cut to the chase."
He tapped the file. "The Hero Commission is willing to remove the charges entirely. Additionally, they will drop the charges and erase all records, evidence, reports, and witness statements. Consider it… erased."
Gojo's expression didn't change. He leaned back slightly, watching, listening. Silence returned, but what was said still weighed heavily.
The man continued, "There is a condition, however. You will need to relocate to Tokyo, technically under Hawks' supervision, but legally under the Commission's jurisdiction. You will be stationed at the Main Base, where we can monitor your actions more directly."
Gojo raised an eyebrow. "And what of principle Nezu? He'll approve this? Tell me what this is really about."
The mans lips curved into the faintest smirk. "He encourages it. For your safety. A boy with your capabilities is… a liability if left unchecked."
Gojo exhaled slowly, a mixture of irritation and contemplation in his eyes. "So I've got another fan... How restricting is this going to be? And you didn't answer my question."
The man leaned forward, hands folded neatly on the table. "For you? Minimal restrictions. The Commission wants results, not rebellion. You see, curious Lady Reinka, our Commision President, has taken an interest in you. She'll spoil you like a rich kid for your cooperation. I cannot, and will not, answer beyond that."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Then, his face hardened, voice gaining a quiet gravity. "I am Hiromi Higuruma, internationally recognized lawyer, former pro hero, and widely known as Judgeman.
The same man who has represented nations, consulted the UN, and arbitrated cases that shaped hero law globally. You can call me what you like, but I assure you I am your leverage and your tether in this arrangement."
Gojo's gaze flickered, recognizing the name faintly, the echoes of his past lessons with Koun in hero laws and big names of the hero world. He said nothing, but the tension in his shoulders eased fractionally.
Higuruma tapped the pen against the file once more. "Sign this, and you'll have immunity from the recent incident, potentially even future ones. Should you refuse, the standard judicial process will control you. And trust me, that is… far less forgiving."
Gojo flexed his fingers, thinking. Outside, Hawks shifted nervously, feathers brushing the floor as if to ground himself in the room's tense atmosphere. Every moment stretched like a taut wire, waiting to snap.
Finally, Gojo's lips curved into that faint, infuriating smirk that had earned him both admiration and disdain. He leaned forward slightly, getting closer to the file, and getting closer to the fate that was revealed to him.
Outside, Hawks exhaled, eyes narrowing as he watched the door, sensing that whatever happened in that room would ripple through the Hero Commission, the students, and the world beyond.
And inside, Gojo's thoughts ran wild, not on punishment, but on what it would cost to truly remain himself in a world that already demanded everything from him.
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Location: United States of America. Behind the White House
The Situation Room in Washington, D.C. The layers of steel and silence buried it.
Long before the meeting began, the air inside was already tense. Rows of monitors glowed faintly against the dark oak table, bathing the room in cold light.
Generals sat stiff-backed in their uniforms, a cluster of advisors flipped through thick files, and at the head of the table sat the President of the United States, expression unreadable.
"We've been going for seven hours straight. It's five in the morning. Are we close to being done?" President Malcolm Graves said, holding his chin.
Star and Stripe leaned back in her chair, her massive build dwarfing the president next to her . She wore the same calm confidence that had carried her through a thousand battles, but her sharp eyes clearly showed how tired she was, even bored with every word being said.
The lead analyst, a thin man with glasses perched precariously on his nose, cleared his throat and began. With a click, the projection showed the military commanders and generals the next and last slide. Three faces appeared side by side across the digital wall.
"Gentlemen. Star and Stripe, Mister President," he began, voice steady. "These are the newest Special Grade threats. First, Geto Suguru."
The image expanded, Geto's eyes staring coldly back at the room.
Geto appeared as a tall man with sharp, refined features, long black hair tied back into a topknot, and narrow, dark eyes that gave him a composed yet intimidating presence.
In the picture, he wore dark priest-like robes with a sash, and a posture that screamed confidence.
"His strength is not raw power," the analyst continued. "It's strategy. Tactician, manipulator, and capable of coordinating enemy forces like pieces on a chessboard. Every victory he earns bleeds you out long before the killing blow.
But with that being said, his quirk is rather-" One of the Joint Chiefs exhaled through his nose before he cut him off. "We've dealt with manipulators before. You cut off their supply lines; their pawns collapse. Moving on. We can read about his quirk at a later time."
The room hummed uneasily, but the President raised his hand. "Skip the blonde woman. We already have spoken to her. Go on with the Switzerland boy. We will start with the apparently most dangerous one. I want this meeting done with so I can go to my wife." Those words earned chuckles throughout the room.
The screen shifted to Yuta Okkotsu. Younger, quieter, his expression seemed almost fragile compared to the others. His dark hair fell untidily across his forehead, and yet, there was something in his gaze, something that unsettled the room more than raw strength could.
"Yuta Okkotsu," the analyst said, voice tightening. "Quirk: Mimicry. Or, as our reports specify, a... special type of Copy."
The President leaned back, brows knitting together. "Copy? Rare, yes, but we've seen it before. Impractical. A gimmick quirk at best. Certainly not a global concern. If we have a run-of-the-mill copy be special grade then wed have other a thousand–"
The analyst's hand trembled slightly as he clicked to the next slide and interrupted the president. "Sir, with all due respect, you're mistaken."
The President frowned. "Enlighten me.
The analyst's voice sharpened as he delivered the words. "His ability allows him to copy any quirk within a certain range. No physical contact required. He doesn't just replicate your ability for a moment he takes it into himself as if it were his own."
The words hit like a detonation. Silence strangled the room. The hum of the projectors, the faint rustle of paper, all seemed deafening against the stillness of the men and women seated at the table. Even the President blinked, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.
Star and Stripe shifted in her chair. Her hands, usually steady as stone, tightened into fists against the armrests. Her voice broke the silence.
"If he can copy mine…" she said slowly, the weight of the thought dragging her words. "If Yuta Okkotsu takes New Order—" She cut herself short, but her eyes betrayed the storm inside her.
For the first time in years, the indomitable number one hero of America looked… concerned.
An older general leaned forward, voice low. "New Order… writes laws into reality itself. Rules that defy natural law. If that boy can take it…" He didn't finish.
Star's jaw locked. Her blue eyes flickered with something rare, doubt. None had made her pause like this. The only other person who made her feel like this was none other than All Might.
The President finally exhaled and spoke, voice measured, but lacking its earlier dismissiveness.
"Then Yuta Okkotsu is not a hero. Not a boy, but a weapon we must monitor. He is…" The words hung heavy before he finished. "…a nuclear arsenal contained in a single body."
The analyst nodded, sweat trailing down his temple. "And worse, he's loyal to Switzerland. A nation known to be neutral in all conflicts, either they don't pick any side or they crush both sides to keep the peace."
The room sat steeped in silence again. Every man and woman present felt that they had crossed the line between power and apocalypse.
Star and Stripe leaned forward, voice low and a dangerous smirk on her face. 'Could I prevent him from copying New Order?'
The President's hand tapped the table softly, a nervous rhythm breaking through his calm façade. He looked up at her, eyes narrowed.
He sighs before standing up. "Everyone is dismissed. Although I want more reports. Find and gather info on their quirks and weaknesses. And this Yuta boy..." He paused as he looked around the room.
"Find me his phone number. I would like to personally invite him to our humble country." Malcolm said with an even tone. but something nagged him at the back of his mind.
'I must call Nezu about this. Perhaps that monster of theirs is still alive.'
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End of Chapter
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Guess who's back, back again.