Elsewhere. That same night.
Mirio Togata stood inside the main office of Sir Nighteye's agency, hands clenched at his sides.
"He's not a villain. At least—not entirely," he argued. "I saw him take out an entire trafficking ring without killing anyone. But there's something… off."
Nighteye stared silently, arms folded.
"You want to help him?" he asked, voice cool.
"I want to stop him before he turns into something worse. He's powerful. Too powerful. And I think he's starting to realize it himself."
Nighteye raised an eyebrow. "What's his connection to Garaki?"
"I don't know yet. But he's definitely modified. His quirks aren't natural."
Sir Nighteye sighed. "Then this is bigger than just a rogue vigilante."
He picked up a tablet and opened a live feed—Masato, leaping across rooftops in western Mustafu.
"Gather the team. If he's what I suspect, we're running out of time."
---
Back in the field…
Masato sat quietly on a water tower, staring at his gloved hand.
He'd used Gravitas earlier that day to flatten a thug mid-air. The man hadn't walked again.
"Too easy," Masato whispered.
The power was seductive.
But every time he looked at his reflection, the eyes looking back were harder to recognize.
Just then—
> thump
A weight landed beside him.
He turned quickly.
It was Mirio, in full hero gear.
Neither said anything for a long moment.
Then Mirio sat down beside him.
"Nice night," he said.
Masato didn't reply.
"I'm not here to fight. I just want to talk."
Masato glanced at him. "Why?"
"Because I've seen what happens when people get strong and forget who they are. I've also seen what happens when they remember."
Mirio looked him dead in the eye.
"You still remember… don't you?"
Masato said nothing.
But he didn't run either.
And that was enough.
For now.