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Beginning of Chapter
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Below, the streets churned like a living river, office workers spilling out for lunch, students wrapped in hero-themed merch, and civilians stepping around the remnants of a minor villain scuffle with the same absentminded ease as someone avoiding a puddle.
The place hummed with a sound that existed nowhere else but Tokyo, a layered symphony born from quirks in constant motion. A delivery rider streaked overhead on compact rocket boosters, threading effortlessly between buildings as though the skyline itself were a highway built just for him.
A traffic officer's voice boomed across the avenue, amplified far beyond natural limits by his quirk, sound bouncing off glass and steel to reach every corner of the block. His commands cut through the cacophony of honking vehicles, murmuring pedestrians, and the occasional whir of a hero streaking overhead, bending the chaos into a fleeting semblance of order.
Overhead, digital billboards shimmered with live hero cam feeds, broadcasting feats of power and patrol routes in real time, their lightning fast updates almost too quick for the human eye or mind to fully process.
Tokyo throbbed with life. Bright, relentless, and vibrant, the city seemed perpetually on the edge of upheaval, a heartbeat away from tipping into chaos. And yet, miraculously, it never did.
Every collision of motion, every collision of quirks, every spontaneous flare of extraordinary ability was folded seamlessly into the rhythm of the streets.
A metropolis built on superhuman energy, a city that thrived not in spite of its tension, but because of it, humming with a pulse that was both dangerous and beautiful in its precise, unyielding rhythm.
Yet among the relentless surge of sound and movement, pockets of calm persisted breathing spaces in the ceaseless storm.
Hero agencies such as All Might's office or Endeavor's looming headquarters exuded a measured serenity, their presence almost magnetic in the way they commanded respect.
Around these walls, threats seemed to falter, hesitation written into the very air, while civilians moved with a casual confidence, reassured by the invisible order surrounding them. These were sanctuaries of stability, bastions of authority where chaos dared not tread...
And then there was the Hero Public Safety Commission.
The Hero Public Safety Commission towered above Tokyo, an obsidian monolith commanding the skyline.
Its sleek, angular frame caught the sun in glossy, black panels that swallowed light rather than reflected it, casting the surrounding streets in a subtle, imposing shadow.
Every edge was precise, as if the structure had been designed to intimidate even the most audacious of criminals.
For decades, no incident had breached its walls. Criminals, no matter how bold, steered clear of its presence; protestors dared not assemble in its vicinity.
The very air around the tower felt tight, disciplined, as if the building itself exhaled order, enforcing a quiet vigilance over the city below. Crossing the threshold was like stepping into the mechanical heart of Japan's hero society itself.
The ground floor sprawled vast and unyielding, its polished black marble floors reflecting the harsh glare of overhead white lights with clinical precision, every surface beautifully maintained.
Agents in sharply tailored suits flowed through a maze of checkpoints and departments, their strides deliberate, almost predatory, as though the building itself granted them focus and authority.
Clerks darted past, carrying tall stacks of documents that seemed moments from collapse, the shuffle of papers and the faint click of heels punctuating the ordered rhythm.
Screens along the walls flickered incessantly surveillance feeds, scrolling data streams, and flashing red alerts casting a pulsing glow that blended with the stark whiteness of the lights, a constant reminder that the HPSC did not merely observe the world outside; it dominated it.
The cacophony of the ground floor the overlapping hum of conversations, the intermittent ringing of distant phones, the low murmur of strategic briefings, and the calm, measured tone of automated announcements created a living, breathing rhythm of controlled chaos.
Amid it all, two figures moved with an almost casual ease, as if the energy of the floor were nothing more than background noise.
One was a young teen, white hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights, sunglasses on his face even indoors with an air of practiced indifference.
The other was older, impeccably dressed, the shadows under his eyes betraying the nights spent bent over paperwork, a leather briefcase clutched in one hand.
Together, they strode through the crowd, a quiet counterpoint to the relentless motion around them.
Satoru Gojo and Hiromi Higuruma.
"Well?" Gojo's voice cut lightly through the low rumble of the lobby, carrying a hint of an effortless teasing tone.
"'Well' what?" Higuruma replied, not even sparing him a glance. "If you're going to start a conversation, at least get to the point." His tone was flat and measured, although Gojo was use to it by now.
They had arrived in Tokyo only two days prior, following their brief departure at the Hawks Agency. That very night during the flight, Higuruma had received a call to bring Gojo to Kamizono first thing the moment they arrived.
His night had gone into a blur of late night calls and meticulous casework, leaving little room for sleep. And now, here they were, walking through the organized chaos of the HPSC lobby as though it were nothing more than an empty corridor.
"Money's not a problem for you," Gojo began, his tone casual, almost teasing, but edged with curiosity. "I'd bet you're in the top one percent, honestly. Fame doesn't seem to interest you much, either. So why bother being Kamizono's legal guy? Seems like a lot of unnecessary hassle for someone who… hates hassle. Are you even technically an employee?"
Gojo had spent the time he was with Higuruma to studying him carefully, observing his posture, his habits, the subtle precision with which he moved through the world.
He had even read through articles and public records, piecing together an understanding of the man's work ethic, his tendencies, and that mind that carried both his success and his quiet, unassuming presence.
'Likes things done efficiently… properly… not much for fame, from what I've read. So what's his motive?' Gojo's mind ticked through the possibilities, spinning scenarios faster than most could follow.
Recent training had sharpened his own mental processing, pushing his brain to absorb, analyze, and connect information at a rate far better the natural capacity.
All his training for the purpose of mastering his latest application of Infinity. Spacial coordinates for a mind like his were simple to process for a short while and distance. Yet he wanted to change that.
A soft, almost weary sigh escaped Higuruma as they approached the elevator. The few employees inside, sensing the quiet exhaustion behind his sharp gaze, hurried past with polite, instinctive deference.
Once the doors slid closed behind them, Higuruma pressed the button for the top floor with calm precision.
"I don't work here," Higuruma said, his tone flat, yet with a hidden hint of emotion. "She calls me when something needs to be done properly. And I'm the only one she trusts to handle it."
"Trust, huh?" Gojo's smirk widened, playful yet probing. "Interesting… very interesting. Funny word, that. Usually means there's history behind it."
Higuruma didn't look at him. He set his briefcase down and began adjusting his suit and tie, movements practiced and measured. "We have history," he replied simply.
"Ah," Gojo hummed, removing his sunglasses and giving Higuruma a long, appraising glance. 'So he does have a quirk…' He saw the soft yellow glow of quirk energy Higuruma had within his body. His mind ticked over possibilities, already analyzing.
'Interesting. I wonder what it could be, something subtle, maybe flashy. Considering he can sense lies… hopefully it isn't some boring lie detector quirk.'
Gojo cleaned his sunglasses with the ends of his shirt he wore, the corners of his mouth twitching as he prepared his next teasing question.
He opened his mouth, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "So you two share some history… what kind are we talking about here? Let me guess... Secret lo–"
"No."
The word came out sharp, clipped, final. Higuruma didn't even glance at him, as if the question were too predictable to deserve a reaction. "We're… long time friends, I suppose. Since U.A. We were in the work studies track. I moved to the Hero Course in third year, then left to complete my law degree."
Gojo let out an impressed whistle, a slow smile spreading across his face as he slid his sunglasses back into place with a finger. "Long time friends. Childhood friends, then. Tragic, tragic… sounds like a very suspiciously convenient story for a denial."
Higuruma's jaw tightened briefly, a muscle flickering with annoyance, but he only sighed. "The main reason she calls me to handle these things," he said evenly, "is that I doesn't trust the legal system. Never have, still dont. I manage what she gives me personally because she knows I won't falter."
Gojo's smirk widened just a fraction, enough to betray the thoughts he didn't bother saying aloud.
'Right. And maybe you just have a soft spot for her. Big enough to drag you across the city for a favor you could've declined without blinking.'
The elevator dinged softly as the doors slid open. Higuruma stepped out first, posture straightening the moment his shoes touched the carpeted floor. Gojo followed, hands in his pockets, gaze drifting lazily along the quiet hallway.
The contrast to the bustling ground floor was stark. Up here, the air felt still controlled. The lighting dimmed into a softer white, and the noise of the building below faded into a distant hum.
Only a single janitor pushed a cleaning cart at the far end, barely glancing up as the two passed.
"Once we reach her office," Higuruma murmured without breaking stride, "I'm asking you to act normal and show some respect."
Gojo snorted. "Please. This isn't the first time we've talked. She's already used to me."
"That's… comforting to hear," Higuruma replied, tone flat but edged with a weariness that suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. They turned the corner, and the atmosphere shifted once more.
At the end of the hall stood a door that didn't match the building at all, a tall, imposing slab of polished black wood carved with elegant, deliberate patterns that caught the light in clean lines. It was beautiful in a severe, almost regal way, far more ornate than any other door on the floor.
Gojo's eyes narrowed slightly behind his sunglasses. 'Alright… time to play this carefully. Let's find out what that deal at the Sports Festival really meant.'
The carpet muted their footsteps as they approached, each step toward the door giving the air a little more weight.
Higuruma came to a stop before it, smoothing a hand down his suit and resting the other on the silver handle. He didn't open it immediately.
"Satoru Gojo," he said quietly, eyes forward as he spoke. "What happens in this room will dictate your future. I hope you're ready."
Gojo lifted his chin, expression shifting, still casual, but sharpened, focused. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Always."
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End of Chapter
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6 stones, and I'll release another chapter, seems like a good trade wouldn't you say?