The following months after the first deliberate feeding solidified Reiji Kinzoku's new reality. At thirteen years old, he was a nocturnal creature in full development. Vigilantism became his dark routine, a cycle of hunting, feeding, and experimentation. Each confrontation was a lesson, each drop of stolen blood a step in his ascent to power.
The most tangible change was his physical strength. The progress was constant, almost alarming. The simple metal bed frame in his room at the group home, which months ago required both hands and considerable effort to lift mere centimeters, now rose easily with a casual pull from a single hand. The metal groaned under his grip, a testament to the dense, unnatural power pulsing through his maturing body. He could crumple solid steel if he wished, his blows capable of shattering concrete with ease. His speed kept pace, transforming him into little more than a blur to untrained eyes, his reflexes bordering on precognition.
He confirmed his theory about blood: feeding on individuals with more potent Quirks accelerated his growth. He became a selective hunter, seeking not just the dregs, but the strong dregs, using his senses to gauge the "quality" of vital energy before striking. Each successful feeding brought a wave of power that seemed to settle within him, permanently raising his limits.
However, despite this growth and increasing control over his basic abilities, frustration persisted. Research into the mask and its origin remained a dead end. The immunity to the sun remained an absolute mystery, an inexplicable gift that separated him from the vampire legends he had studied.
He needed answers the outside world didn't seem to offer. His attention turned back to the point of origin: the museum. That dark corner where it all began. Had he missed something? Some insignificant detail in his initial panic? The need to know became an itch in his mind, as persistent as the residual hunger.
Using a flimsy excuse about school research, he returned to the Municipal Museum. The Pre-Quirk wing was silent as a tomb. He went to the familiar corner, kneeling near the nameless statue. This time, his search was different. He wasn't just looking for environmental clues; he was looking for something left behind, something connected to the mask. His fingers probed the crevices, the accumulated dust, the forgotten space behind the statue's base.
And there it was. The small journal bound in dark leather. The same one he had found and hastily hidden months ago, but which his young, overwhelmed mind had relegated to the background in favor of the mask itself. Now, he pulled it out with a renewed sense of purpose. This object, so out of place in this environment, had to mean something.
Back in the privacy of his room, he opened the journal. The elegant, arrogant English script belonged to a being named Dio. Reiji plunged into the reading, absorbing the chronicle of a transformation, of power embraced, of humanity discarded. Dio described strength, speed, regeneration, the need for blood – all with chilling familiarity.
Then, he found the passage that changed everything. Written with a self-confidence bordering on megalomania, Dio spoke of the mask itself:
"Others may have stumbled upon the raw power of these ancient relics, but only I, Dio, truly understood its potential and refined it! Let the lesser beings fear the dawn! This Mask, my perfected instrument, forged through a will and understanding they could never conceive, grants the ultimate gift – dominion even under the hated sun. Immortality unhindered by the celestial tyrant! A testament to my transcendent genius!"
Reiji held his breath. There it was. The explanation for his sun immunity. It wasn't a flaw or a quirk of his own; it was a feature of the mask, apparently perfected or modified by this "Dio". The idea was staggering. Who was this being capable of altering such an ancient and powerful artifact?
The journal continued, alluding to other powers. It spoke of "rays of destruction fired from the eyes" capable of cutting steel – a description that made the memory of the pain and uncontrollable discharge in his own eyes flash in his mind. It mentioned the ability to "steal the very heat from life" freezing adversaries with a touch. But these were only mentions without details about these abilities.
On one of the last pages that wasn't damaged or illegible, Dio issued a direct challenge to the reader:
"But this record is merely the threshold, a glimpse of the power that awaits the truly ambitious. The deepest secrets, the chronicles of my ascension, the keys to unlocking the maximum potential of this superior existence... these are not for the faint of heart. Fragments of this knowledge, pages torn from destiny, are scattered. I concealed them deliberately, as a test, in the dusty repositories of this nation's history – its museums, its forgotten archives. They are there, waiting for someone worthy, someone who recognizes the opportunity and is willing to risk everything – safety, sanity, existence itself – for the pursuit of absolute power. Seek them, if you have the audacity to claim my legacy. The path will be perilous, each discovery a risk of exposure. But the rewards... ah, the rewards transcend mortal understanding."
Reiji closed the journal, his mind reeling. Lost pages. Hidden in museums across Japan. A test left by Dio. The idea was insane, an impossible treasure hunt through time and space. And yet... it resonated with the cold ambition that now defined his being.
He had partial answers. He knew the name of his "predecessor" (or the creator of the perfected mask?). He knew his sun immunity was intentional. He knew the latent powers he felt were real and described by Dio. And now, he had a new purpose, a long-term goal that went beyond simple survival or local dominance. Find the lost pages. Unlock the full potential of his power. Follow the path to the "absolute supremacy" Dio mentioned.
He stored the journal with the same care as the mask. They were the two halves of his dark heritage. His nightly vigilantism gained a new dimension. Each night was not just for feeding and training, but for preparing for the greater hunt. He would need resources, knowledge, perhaps even... influence.
Did U.A. still make strategic sense? Perhaps more than ever. What better place to gain access to information, to hone his combat and stealth skills, to understand the society he would need to navigate to find Dio's pages? It was a calculated risk, but as the journal said, power demanded risk.
Reiji Kinzoku, at thirteen years old, looked at the mask and the journal. He was no longer just a vampire trying to survive. He was the heir to a dark legacy, with a fragmented map to unimaginable power. The hunt was just beginning.