The first sound was a scream. Sharp, choked, devoured almost instantly by the shrill, monotonous symphony of the Musutafu Central Bank's alarm.
Inside, the air was an acrid, pungent fog. Tear gas clung to the luxurious carpets and to the throats of the dozen hostages lying face down on the marble floor, a mosaic of fear and expensive suits.
"Twitch, status on the vault! Now!"
Cortex's voice, the heist leader's, was a whip of professional calm amidst the chaos. He didn't shout. He didn't need to.
"The thermal lance is at eighty percent!" Twitch replied, his voice a nervous, static-filled chirp through the communicator. "Thirty more seconds, thirty seconds and the titanium will give! The gas worked, the guards are down!"
A woman in an elegant tailored suit sobbed, her body trembling on the floor.
"Please... my son is waiting for me at school..."
A heavy boot planted itself inches from her head. The figure of Bruto, a man as wide as he was tall with a rock-skin Quirk, loomed over her.
"Shut your mouth, or I'll shut it for you with my boot."
"Bruto, leave her," Cortex ordered without looking away from the massive vault door. "We don't want martyrs; we want money. Keep the south entrance locked down. No one in, no one out."
"Got it, boss."
The tension was almost solid. Outside, the distant wail of sirens grew closer, a promise of justice that, for now, seemed irrelevant.
"Masks, everyone got them on tight?" Cortex asked, his gaze sweeping over his two accomplices. "We can't afford any mistakes. The report said Midnight patrols this area on Fridays."
Twitch adjusted his, a military-grade monstrosity with carbon filters on the sides.
"They're airtight, Cortex. Activated carbon filter and polymer seal. Her famous perfume won't get through this. It's completely useless against us."
"Good."
A sharp hiss and a heavy, metallic groan announced their victory. The half-meter-thick vault door swung inward with the slowness of a dying giant.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the buffet is open," Cortex announced.
The inside of the vault was a fever dream of greed: stacks of gold bars gleaming under the emergency lights, boxes of bearer bonds, and, in the center, the main prize: an armored cart with the day's interbank transfers. Hundreds of millions of yen.
Bruto let out a deep, stupid laugh.
"It's prettier than in the movies!"
"Don't fall in love, focus," Cortex snapped. "We have seven minutes to load the getaway vehicle before the cops get brave. Seven minutes. Get started."
As his men began to move the loot, Cortex allowed himself a moment of arrogance. He walked to the bank's entrance, watching the police cordon forming across the street. They were ants. And he was the giant.
"Even if she shows up," he said to himself, his voice filled with absolute contempt, "what can a woman whose only power is making people smell flowers do?"

Nemuri Kayama took a sip of her latte, the sweet and bitter taste a small island of peace on her day off. She was sitting on the terrace of a small cafe, legs crossed, the morning sun warming her face. On her phone screen, a recent conversation with Izuku.
IZUKU: Gran Torino almost killed me! But he says my reflexes are improving! Thanks for the advice on breath control!
NEMURI: I told you, Izuku. A hero who can't control their breath, can't control anything. Don't let that old fossil wear you out. And remember our deal... the next "tutoring" session is on me. 😉
A genuine, private, and slightly mischievous smile formed on her lips. That kid... he was a catalyst. Not just for the girls on his team. For her, too. He had brought back a feeling she thought was lost: the thrill of potential, of what was yet to come.
It was then that the sirens shattered her bubble.
Not one, not two. A dozen. Converging just a few blocks away. Her head snapped up, her professional hero senses activating on pure instinct. She saw a faint column of grayish smoke rising above the buildings toward the financial district. Gas.
"Check, please," she said, leaving a bill on the table without waiting for change.
Don't run. She moved with a fluid, contained speed, her strides long and purposeful. Turning the corner, she saw the scene: the Central Bank cordoned off, police cars forming a useless barrier, and the tension of a stalemate. She approached a young officer whose face was a map of panic.
"Situation report?" Her voice was calm, but loaded with an authority that made the officer stand at attention.
"Midnight! Thank God! There are at least three, heavily armed! They used tear gas to get in and have a dozen hostages!"
"Have you tried to make entry?"
"Impossible!" a more senior captain intervened. "They're threatening to execute someone if we take a single step closer. We're waiting for the SWAT team, but they'll be at least ten minutes."
Nemuri nodded, her analytical gaze sweeping over the bank's facade. Tear gas. Hostages. A professional job. And overconfidence. They were too calm. That meant they had factored her into their calculations.
"Gas masks," she said, more to herself than to them.
"Yes, we think so," the captain confirmed. "Your Quirk will be useless against them, Midnight."
A slow, dangerous smile, one that had nothing to do with her public image, spread across her lips.
"We'll see."
She took off her leather jacket, letting it fall into the surprised officer's hands. She was left in a simple black silk blouse and skinny jeans. It wasn't her hero costume, but she didn't need it.
"Maintain the perimeter," she ordered. "And get the ambulances ready. This is going to be quick."
Ignoring the captain's protests, and with an agility that belied her apparent calm, she slipped into a side alley. She wasn't going in through the front door. That was for heroes who announced their arrival. She was a professional.
A sharp, precise blow from her reinforced elbow shattered one of the bank's side windows. She landed inside with the silent grace of a panther, the sound of her landing muffled by the incessant alarm.
The smell of gas and fear was overwhelming. She saw the hostages on the floor, the two villains loading the loot, and the leader, Cortex, watching the main entrance.
"Excuse me, boys," her voice echoed in the bank's cavernous space, melodic and almost amused. "I hate to interrupt such a productive workday, but I believe you have something that doesn't belong to you. And you're making far too much noise on my day off."
The three villains spun around, their weapons aimed at her. Cortex was the first to laugh.
"Midnight! How predictable!" he said, his voice distorted by the mask. "You're late to the party, hero. And your famous perfume is completely useless against us!"
"Yeah!" Bruto added, dropping a money bag with a dull thud. "You smell like flowers, but we smell like victory!"
Nemuri stood still in the center of the lobby, a figure of defiant calm. Her smile didn't falter.
"Oh, I know. Those masks are excellent quality. Military-grade. Very impressive."
She tilted her head, her gaze scanning them with almost clinical amusement.
"But you forgot one tiny, minuscule detail in your brilliant plan."
She brought a hand to her chest in a theatrical gesture.
"You see, my Quirk... has been in development."
And then she released it.
There was no visible cloud. No perceptible scent. The air didn't change. But something fundamental in the physics of that room had been rewritten.
Twitch, who was by the vault, was the first to feel it. He dropped a box of bonds.
"Boss... I feel a little... dizzy."
"Don't be an idiot, it's the adrenaline!" Cortex snapped. "Attack! Finish her!"
Bruto raised his weapon, but his arms felt heavy. A yawn, immense and uncontrollable, forced its way out.
"Why... am I suddenly... so sleepy? That bed of money... looks really, really comfortable..."
"Bruto, you idiot, shoot!" Cortex yelled, but his own voice sounded distant, sluggish.
The big man stumbled, his eyelids weighing down on him like slabs of lead. He fell to his knees with a crash, and a second later, he collapsed onto a pile of money bags, snoring loudly. Twitch crumbled beside him, curled up like a child.
Cortex stared at them, then at Nemuri, his mind unable to process the contradiction. His mask, his airtight seal, his perfect defense... was useless.
"How...?" he managed to articulate, his own body struggling to stay upright.
Nemuri's smile widened.
"Lesson number one from the new Midnight, villain: my scent no longer needs a door to get in. It's not a gas anymore, it's a signature. A molecular wavelength that passes right through matter. And the filters on your masks are like a five-lane highway for me."
Cortex looked at her in pure terror. He realized he wasn't facing the hero he had studied. He was facing something new. Something impossible.
"No... I won't surrender... I won't go down!" he growled, fighting the wave of drowsiness that threatened to drown him, his willpower the only barrier he had left.
Nemuri walked toward him, her steps slow and deliberate.
"Oh, I don't want you to fall asleep just yet," she said, her voice a seductive, lethal whisper. "Not yet. Before that, I want you to see something."
She raised a hand and, with an almost imperceptible gesture, again altered the molecular composition of her Quirk.
Cortex's world twisted. Reality unraveled. The marble floor beneath his feet seemed to ripple like water. The walls melted. He looked at his fallen comrades, and he no longer saw them sleeping. He saw them getting up, their eyes empty, their weapons now aimed at him.
"Bruto, Twitch! What are you doing?" he screamed, his voice torn by a sudden and absolute paranoia. "No... don't point those guns at me! I'm your leader! TRAITORS!"
He fired his assault rifle, the bullets bouncing harmlessly off the rocky skin of a Bruto who was still snoring on the floor.
"Stay away from me! You're not taking my share!" he shrieked, emptying his magazine at shadows only he could see.
When the last cartridge clinked on the floor, Cortex collapsed, sobbing, his mind broken by a chemical nightmare from which he couldn't wake.
Nemuri watched him fall without a shred of emotion.
The last villain, the one guarding the hostages, saw his leader fall and panic consumed him. He grabbed the female executive, using her as a human shield and putting a knife to her throat.
"Stay back or I'll kill her! I swear on my life!"
Nemuri's smile vanished completely. Her face became a mask of ice.
"Mistake," she said, her voice now devoid of all warmth. "Grave mistake."
At her fingertips, a small mote of purple light condensed, solidifying in an instant into a sharp, crystalline dart. She threw it. Not with the strength of a pro, but with the precision of a surgeon.
The dart didn't fly toward the villain. It flew toward the marble wall, a meter to his side. It shattered on impact, releasing an almost invisible cloud of concentrated scent. The villain took a single breath. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, releasing the hostage, who fell to the floor, terrified but unharmed.
Nemuri approached the woman, helping her up.
"It's okay. It's all over. You're safe."
Then, she turned to the fallen villain.
"Never. Ever. Threaten a civilian in front of me."
The main door of the bank burst open and a squad of police officers stormed in, weapons raised, only to find a scene of surreal calm. The hostages, beginning to recover. The villains, deep in sleep, neutralized without a single visible scratch. And in the center, Nemuri Kayama, leaning casually against a counter, as if she had just finished a transaction.
The police captain approached her, his face a mixture of awe and deep respect.
"Midnight... how did you do it? They had masks, they were prepared for you."
Nemuri gave him her most professional smile, the one worth millions in endorsement deals, but now with a new, undeniable weight of authority.
"Let's just say I've been working on some... upgrades," she said with a wink. "A little trade secret. Everything's under control, Captain. The scene is all yours."
Later, when the chaos of ambulances and media had taken over the street, Nemuri slipped away into a quiet alley, far from the spotlights. The adrenaline of the battle began to fade, leaving a feeling of serene and absolute power. She looked at her hands. The same as always. But now she knew they were capable of much more than just putting people to sleep. They could create nightmares. They could deliver justice with the precision of a scalpel.
She pulled out her phone, her fingers moving quickly across the screen.
NEMURI: Had an unexpected work day. I tested out one of the new features from the 'manual.' It works like a charm. I think I owe you dinner. And maybe... a very, very detailed practical demonstration. 😉
She put the phone away, and a genuine smile, full of a new and dangerous self-confidence, lit up her face in the darkness. The scent of the villains' fear still lingered in the air, but to her, now, it only smelled like victory.