The council chamber smelled of polished wood, stale coffee, and tension. The hum of air purifiers filled the gaps between the voices, but it did nothing to wash away the anxiety pressing against the high ceilings. Men and women in crisp suits exchanged clipped sentences, their eyes flicking constantly to the large holo-screen at the chamber's center, where the city's latest incidents played in looping footage: charred alleyways, broken bodies, and the occasional flash of unrecognizable figures cloaked in purple haze.
Minister Hoshino's fingers tapped impatiently against the polished desk. "Another child disappeared last night. No witnesses, no patterns, no claim of responsibility. How many more before we acknowledge we're dealing with something beyond ordinary villain activity?"
A sharp murmur ran through the room. Every officer, every administrator, felt the chill of powerlessness creeping in.
"We can't continue patchwork patrols," said Chief Inspector Yamato, voice tense, eyes fixed on the screen. "The Shrouds and other emerging groups—they're organized, methodical. Ordinary heroes are being picked off one by one. We need decisive action."
A pause. Silence fell like a physical weight, only broken by the faint buzz of the hologram.
Minister Kiyomizu's voice softened, but carried steel beneath it. "Then we escalate. Deploy the Top Ten Heroes. Stabilize major cities immediately. Their presence alone may deter future incidents."
There was a collective intake of breath. The room seemed to shrink under the weight of the decision. Deploying the Top Ten was no casual choice. These were heroes feared by villains, revered by the populace, and untouchable in their precision. But sending them was not without risk—drawing attention, provoking retaliation.
A young aide stepped forward, voice quivering slightly. "Sir… Solarius. He should be sent here. This city has suffered the highest casualties recently. His presence might quell public panic and strengthen the academy's deterrence."
Solarius. The name alone carried weight. Golden hair, eyes that could pierce deception, and an Idol so powerful it had become the benchmark for the entire hero world. The Number One Hero. Undefeated, unstoppable, untouchable.
The minister nodded. "Agreed. Solarius will take command here. He will also assume teaching duties at the Hero Academy. Instill discipline. Train the next generation. Ensure that no budding villain thinks themselves untouchable."
A ripple ran through the council chamber. The combination of Solarius' teaching role and his deployment to the city was unprecedented. Rumors had already spread of his uncompromising methods, his unwavering moral code, and the terrifying precision of his power. The children of heroes, the students of the academy—they would learn that failure came at a price.
"Number One," Yamato added carefully, "this deployment—are you confident it will be enough?"
Solarius' calm voice echoed over the hologram, smooth as flowing steel. "Enough is irrelevant. Vigilance is. Heroes act not for sufficiency, but for certainty. I will oversee the city. I will teach the academy. Let any shadow think otherwise. They will learn the cost of underestimating us."
The council murmured approval. Papers were signed, routes plotted, and logistics finalized. The Top Ten Heroes were dispatched; Solarius' arrival was imminent.
---
The city pulsed with light as dusk approached. Holographic billboards flickered across the skyline, painting advertisements in neon colors that clashed violently with the darkened alleys below. Citizens scurried home or lingered in cafés, oblivious to the shadowed threats stalking above and around them.
From the rooftops, faint traces of purple mist lingered—thin, almost imperceptible tendrils that clung to corners, twisted around lampposts, and drifted through the vents. No one noticed. No one could.
Somewhere in those alleys, an unseen figure moved silently. Calculating, observing, patient. Shade.
---
Inside the academy, a hush fell over the students as the announcement arrived: Solarius, Number One Hero, will assume teaching duties immediately. The news spread like wildfire through the corridors. Whispers, gasps, and anxious laughter collided.
Some students stiffened, eyes wide with awe. Others exchanged looks of envy. A few clenched their fists, determined to prove their worth under his watchful gaze.
Among them, Akihiro adjusted his posture, fingers flexing over his notebook. He had heard the name, felt the fear, understood the weight of the idol that was Solarius. And yet, he was not afraid. Not really. Instead, his mind raced: to learn, to adapt, to become indispensable. To stand in the light cast by a titan and remain unbroken.
The academy staff were quiet, deferential in their introductions. Solarius did not smile, did not offer comfort. He simply observed, scanning every student with a gaze that measured potential, weakness, and hidden intent in equal measure.
The first demonstration came swiftly. A simple exercise turned into a showcase of raw power: light flared, shadows bent, and a few students were thrown off balance—not harmed, but shaken. Discipline, Solarius had decided, would come first; fear would follow naturally.
A soft chuckle from the hall—hearing it would have unnerved any ordinary child—but Akihiro remained composed, pencil moving, notebook open, every action deliberate. Observation was just as much a weapon as combat.
---
Back at the ministry, the discussion continued even as the Top Ten Heroes were en route.
Minister Kiyomizu leaned forward. "We need coordination. Patrols must integrate with the academy. Solarius must have the final word on threats. Communication lines open. No independent action without his approval."
Chief Inspector Yamato nodded grimly. "Understood. The shadows know the city better than we do. We're blind to their movements—tracking, reporting, containment will be priority. Solarius' presence should tip the scales."
An analyst spoke, pointing to the holo-map. "The areas with repeated disappearances—purple mist sightings—should be our primary focus. Citizen panic is rising. Morale is fragile."
"Yes," Kiyomizu agreed. "The public must feel protected. The academy, the patrols, Solarius… they must project certainty. Fear of the unknown is a weapon. And we shall wield it."
The room settled into tense preparation, a chessboard of heroes, patrols, and shadows. Moves were calculated, contingencies planned, but in the dark corners of the city, someone else was already several steps ahead.
---
In a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of the city, two silent figures moved among crates of supplies, whispering only in glances.
"This city will be useful," one murmured, voice low and deliberate.
The other nodded, fingers brushing the edge of a sickle. "And the Number One Hero… he won't see us coming. Not yet."
A thin smile curved beneath the shadow of a hood. Somewhere far above, the city shimmered with the promise of light, of heroes, of order. But down here, in the alleys, in the twisting vents, in the silent corners—the smoke waited, patient, inevitable.
The first move had been made, the pieces were shifting, and the game had begun.
---
As night fell, the academy glowed under floodlights. Solarius' figure loomed in the main hall, eyes sharp, aura unyielding. Below, faint tendrils of purple smoke snaked through alleys, unnoticed by citizens, by patrols, by heroes.
And somewhere in the shadows, a pair of silent figures observed, waiting.
No one knew what was coming. Not yet.
The city held its breath.