In the vibrant heart of Tokyo, nestled within Minato—one of the city's most prestigious and futuristic districts, where sleek glass skyscrapers tower as monuments to Japan's economic and technological might—stood a striking high-rise. Its architecture blended Japanese tradition with extreme modernity: polished wood and bamboo accents met smart solar panels, vertical gardens, and climate-responsive lighting that shifted with the weather and time of day.
At the top of this towering structure—over 70 stories high—was the most coveted penthouse in the city. But this wasn't just an apartment; it was a sky-bound palace. Valued at more than $300 million, it ranked among the most expensive residences on Earth, outpricing New York mansions, European castles, and private islands. And not without reason.
The penthouse sprawled across two entire floors, totaling over 16,000 square feet. Its interior was a marvel of luxury and advanced technology: jet-black marble flooring imported from Brazil, ceilings embedded with LED lights that mimicked a starry night sky, and walls that could change color—or even turn transparent—with the swipe of a smart panel. Reinforced glass windows offered a sweeping panoramic view of Tokyo, stretching from the bustling streets of Shibuya to the distant serenity of Mount Fuji on clear days.
Upstairs, in the heart of this modern sanctuary, lay the bedroom of a small child. Despite the overwhelming luxury, the boy's room was warm and magical—designed not to impress, but to embrace. The space had a futuristic design, with rounded corners, pastel lighting, and décor inspired by outer space. Smart toys tidied themselves. Robotic plush animals sang lullabies. His bed adjusted its temperature and firmness to ensure the perfect sleep.
Outside, on the terrace, a private Zen garden bloomed—complete with imported cherry trees, a stone waterfall, and an infinity pool heated year-round, merging seamlessly into the nighttime Tokyo skyline. The building's security system was state-of-the-art, boasting facial recognition, retina scans, and private drone surveillance.
But what truly made this penthouse extraordinary wasn't its design, tech, or price tag. It was who lived there.
This was home to Aña and Mr. Sinister—a legendary couple in the world of professional heroes. Their fame, power, and reputation crossed borders and defied comparisons. Together, they were said to rival—or even surpass—All Might in his prime. On their own, each was as formidable as the Symbol of Peace himself. Together, they could defeat him in moments. Their influence had shaken the very foundations of hero society in recent years.
The first time they made headlines worldwide was when news of their relationship broke. Two of the most powerful heroes on the planet dating? While surprising, it wasn't unheard of. But just a few months later, another revelation shocked the world.
The top-ranked hero from the United Kingdom had left his homeland and moved to Brazil to work alongside his girlfriend, the pro hero Aña. Not long after, the tabloids got their biggest story yet: Mr. Sinister—real name Christopher—and Aña, whose real name was Ana Clara, were getting married. Their wedding was a grand event, attended by the world's most elite heroes. And eventually, as life does, the story evolved—they had a child.
With parenthood came a swift decision: to leave their careers as active heroes behind and live peacefully in Japan.
Their choice to settle there, far from the chaos of heroism, only added to the penthouse's mystique. Why would two of the world's most powerful heroes seek out such a quiet life high above Tokyo?
And on that silent night, bathed in the glow of the city lights and the hush of wind against the glass, one could glimpse the very heart of this luxurious, peaceful world: a child, fast asleep.
But his slumber was about to end—and with it, the peaceful rhythm of his family's life. Maybe even the balance of the world.
The boy lying peacefully in his bed was their son—just three or four years old, born in one of Japan's finest hospitals. He had his mother's dark complexion, though a touch lighter. His hair was light brown and curly, his eyes a deep chestnut. His chin had a soft, round point, and he still carried the baby fat of early childhood, even on his face.
As he slept, a green light began to glow faintly around his body—and then from within it. The silence of the night shattered when he suddenly opened his eyes and let out a piercing scream, as if gripped by unbearable pain.
His cries were so intense that his parents—both asleep—snapped awake instantly. As professional heroes, their senses were honed beyond normal human limits. They could react faster than thought, even without relying on their Quirks.
Within milliseconds, they were in the child's room. Christopher, the boy's father, had used his telekinesis to fly straight there, bringing his wife along with him.
As they moved, the house itself reshaped to let them pass. Thanks to Aña's ability to manipulate matter at will, the walls opened effortlessly, clearing the way.
When they reached the room, what they saw stunned them. They didn't fully understand what was happening—but they had a suspicion.
[From Aña's Perspective]
It's been nearly five years since we moved to Tokyo. The adjustment was tough—new people, new culture, and the language barrier felt like a wall I'd never climb. But I was lucky. I had the best Japanese tutors in the country, and only because of them was I able to master the language so quickly.
Christopher and I chose Japan because it felt like the safest place to raise a child. All Might is here. I always believed that, with the three of us together, nothing could touch us. Now that we're parents, I have to be more careful than ever.
I'd do anything for my son. And right now, that's all I can think about—because I'm living a nightmare I never imagined. I'm supposed to be the strongest woman in the world. But at this moment, I've never felt so helpless.
Watching my son in pain is unbearable. I don't know how this started. I just know I'm here, powerless, while he screams and cries in agony. Each sob is a blade to my heart.
I looked to my husband for answers. He was trying to connect with Isaac mentally. I could only hope he'd find a way to help him, or at least understand what was happening.
Then something happened.
"AAAHHH!" Christopher shouted, clutching his head. My worry deepened. I ran to him.
"It's his entire body," he said, voice strained. "I can feel every part of him changing. Even his brain—it's transforming. That's why I was forced out. His Quirk is awakening. That's a relief, but seeing him in this much pain—it's killing me." He wiped the blood running from his nose, never taking his eyes off our son.
Knowing it was his Quirk manifesting didn't make it easier. The pain he was in was overwhelming. I asked quickly:
"Is there anything we can do?" I held onto Christopher, desperate for a plan.
"I don't know," he replied. "Maybe if I'm gentler with my approach, I can dull the pain a little. But beyond that... I don't know, love." He tried again—this time slower, more cautiously.
Gradually, Isaac's screams began to soften. I took that as a sign, and tried to approach him. Since we'd entered the room, it had been impossible to get close.
Every instinct I had—mine and Christopher's—screamed to stay back. But the relief of seeing Isaac calming down overpowered that fear. I moved forward.
The pain in my head surged as I approached. Christopher tried to stop me, but I didn't listen.
It was blinding. My nose bled. My ears began to leak blood. But I didn't stop.
Just as I was about to black out, the pressure in my mind suddenly lifted. Christopher had managed to suppress the mental strain.
Finally, I reached my baby. He was floating slightly above the bed, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to hold him.
Maybe I couldn't fix anything. But I needed to be there.
I wrapped my arms around him—and the moment I did, he stopped floating. He calmed down. I held him close so he wouldn't fall.
And then, at last, he fell asleep again.
It seemed—for now—that the storm had passed.