The air inside Morioka's minka was thick with the scent of ozone and sterilized gauze. Outside, the low hum of Osaka's Shin-Sekai district acted as a constant, vibrating reminder that the world hadn't stopped just because they had nearly died.
Yoshi sat on the edge of a moth-eaten futon, his torso wrapped in the translucent, shimmering fibres of Morioka's Stitchbody quirk.
Across from him, Koichi Haimawari leaned against a sliding shoji screen. He looked older than he was. The toxin lance wound from the Commission's pursuit had left a greyish pallor on his skin, but his eyes were sharp. He was staring at a cracked tablet, the blue light illuminating the grim set of his jaw.
"The narrative is already set," Koichi said, his voice raspy. He turned the screen toward Yoshi. "The Commission's press release calls us the 'Aftermath.' They've linked us to that plane crash and said it was a hate crime. We're dangerous fugitives."
Yoshi looked at the screen, his black pupils devoid of any flicker of emotion. "A 'villain' is just a label used to justify a budget for liquidation. If we want to rectify that, we need the public to see the blood on the Commission's hands. But we can't shout over the state's megaphone while this Overhaul is still acting as their back-alley surgeon."
"We don't know what he can really do," Koichi reminded him, tapping the edge of the tablet. "The intel says he's 'The Doctor,' but the Yakuza don't keep records of their boss's quirks in public files. And with the Commission shielding him, he's probably really hard to reach."
"Then we make him scream," Yoshi said simply.
"You both aren't making anything but a mess of your internal organs if you keep talking like this."
The sliding door snapped open. Makoto Tsukauchi stood there, her hair dishevelled and her eyes rimmed with the red of sleep deprivation. She held a tray of IV fluids and a roll of fresh bandages, looking less like a researcher and more like a combat medic.
"Yoshi, your heart was literally split in two four days ago. Morioka-san had to use experimental stabilizers just to keep your blood in your veins. And Koichi, the toxins in your system are still at a level that would paralyze a regular man. You shouldn't even be thinking of standing, let alone planning a raid on a Yakuza stronghold."
Yoshi didn't look away from the window. "Morioka-san is a good man, Makoto. But he has customers. Underground heroes, informants, people who look at a bounty and see a retirement fund. Every hour we stay here is an hour we spend gambling with his life. We've taken enough of his kindness."
Koichi nodded, pushing himself off the wall. He stumbled slightly as his Slide and Glide quirk flickered instinctively beneath his feet, but he caught himself. "She's right about the risk, but so is he. If we stay static, we'll eventually get figured out, and then cornered. But we'll be smarter this time." He looked at Makoto, then back at Yoshi. "We need to split the board."
Yoshi's brow furrowed. "Split?"
"Yoshi and I focus on Overhaul," Koichi said, his tone shifting into the pragmatic register of a man who had survived the streets for years. "We draw the heat. We fight the main Commission assets. While they're focused on us, the real work happens elsewhere. Akira and Makoto... you two need to bypass the local authorities entirely. You have the Project 46 data. You need to find a way to get it to a national station. Landing in Osaka was a goldmine, a lot of the media here still belongs to its people and not the commission, so many will see the credibility."
"It won't stop the hunt instantly," Yoshi mused, "but it will make them hesitate. Doubt is a crack in a bunker."
A heavy footfall sounded in the hallway. Akira Furuhaya stumbled in, leaning heavily on the doorframe. The ex-detective looked hollowed out, his skin sallow.
"I can... I can agree to that," Akira rasped, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I didn't rot in a cell just to hide in a basement in Osaka. My quirk... it's useless in a fight against a man like Hawks. But give me a microphone and a clear signal, and I'll burn the Commission's reputation to the ground."
Makoto let out a long, frustrated sigh, her shoulders dropping. She looked at the three men, each broken in their own way, held together by sheer spite. "You're all insane. You know that, right? Akira, people are already after you. Yoshi, you just survived a literal legend of the old world."
Yoshi finally stood up. His movement was fluid, but the air around his chest shimmered with a faint, high-pitched hum, the sound of space trying to repair itself.
"Nothing will change either way," Yoshi said, his voice low and certain. "The Tiger will hunt. The Commission will lie. We can either wait for them to find us in this room, or we can choose the ground where we fall."
He walked toward the door, his black eyes focused on the distance.
"All we can do is move forward," Yoshi said.
Koichi took a deep breath, testing the kinetic energy in his palms. Akira straightened his posture as best he could. Even Makoto, despite her fear, began packing the medical supplies into a portable kit.
___
The briefing room, situated deep within the lead-lined subterranean level of UA, smelled of ozone and recycled air. Above, the school was a fortress, down here, it was a war room.
Principal Masanori Kuroda stood at the head of a polished obsidian table. He was a man of sharp angles, his suit perfectly pressed, his hair silvered and slicked back, his eyes two chips of frozen flint. Around the table sat the "Liquidator" unit, Ochaco Uraraka, her expression vacant and hardened, Momo Yaoyorozu, who kept her gaze fixed on her interlaced fingers, Jurota Shishida and Setsuna Tokage, both sitting with predatory stillness.
Joining them were the Pro Heroes, the dragon-hero Ryukyu, looking unusually tense, Fat Gum, whose usual jovial demeanour was buried under a layer of grim professional focus, and the third-year "Big Three" remnants, Nejire Hado and a trembling but focused Tamaki Amajiki.
Kuroda tapped a tablet, and a holographic profile bloomed in the center of the room. It was Kai Chisaki. Overhaul.
"The target is the Shie Hassaikai," Kuroda's voice was a rhythmic, clinical drone. "A Yakuza organization that has transitioned from traditional racketeering into high-end pharmaceutical terrorism. Their leader, Kai Chisaki, is currently operating out of a series of 'clinics' in Osaka's Shin-Sekai district. He is the primary manufacturer of a new, refined strain of Trigger, and more importantly, something far more systemic."
He swiped the screen. A technical diagram of a needle and a biological compound appeared.
"Quirk-Destroying Bullets," Kuroda stated.
A heavy silence fell over the room. Tamaki's breath hitched. Fat Gum leaned forward, his massive frame creaking in his chair. "Destroying? You mean suppressing? Like the Eraser's quirk?"
"No," Kuroda countered instantly. "Erasure is a temporary biological pause. This is a permanent cellular reset. It targets the Quirk Factor and 'rewinds' it out of existence. We do not yet know the source of the catalyst, but we know the result, a total loss of citizenship for any hero hit by this ordnance."
"How is a street-level Yakuza group developing technology that the Commission hasn't even prototyped?" Ryukyu asked, her voice low and dangerous. Her eyes narrowed at Kuroda, searching for the lie. "This smells like state-level funding, Principal. Is there something you aren't telling us about who Chisaki is actually working for?"
Kuroda didn't blink. He met Ryukyu's gaze with a terrifyingly blank stare. "The world is in a very violent state, Ryukyu. Chaos is the greatest venture capitalist. If you're implying a conspiracy, you're wasting tactical energy. Chisaki has the resources because he is a butcher who sells his services to the highest bidder, and right now, the highest bidder is anyone who wants to see the Hero system dismantled. My interest isn't in his ledger, it is in his removal."
Uraraka looked up, her eyes reflecting the blue light of the hologram. "What's the objective? Recovery or liquidation?"
"The goal is a 'clean' capture of Chisaki and the destruction of all medical data," Kuroda said. "However you are authorized to use terminal force if the situation fluctuates. This is a win for UA. We are not waiting for a Commission mandate that will be buried in red tape. We are reclaiming our status as the primary arbiters of order."
"One week?" Fat Gum blurted out, looking at the timeline scrolling on the side. "Principal, we don't even have his exact coordinates. You're asking kids and a handful of pros to dismantle a fortified Yakuza headquarters in a week?"
Kuroda allowed a thin, mirthless smile to touch his lips. "I chose this specific group for a reason, Fat Gum. I've reviewed the search histories and the private patrols of every student and pro in this room. Ryukyu, you and your interns have already been flagged by the police for 'unauthorized surveillance' of Hassaikai-affiliated front companies. You were all coming to this conclusion on your own. I am simply giving you the legal teeth to bite."
Along with a few other heroes that are already in Osaka, this was the best team for the job, barring All Might. That was what Kuroda believed.
He stood up, pacing the length of the table like a predator in a cage.
"You are already informed. You are already motivated. You will work with a specialized police task force in Osaka, though, to be clear, they report to me for this operation. I am setting the one-week limit to ensure we hit them before they can export anything."
"And if we can't find him in seven days?" Momo asked, her voice small but steady.
Kuroda stopped behind her, placing a hand, not unkindly, but with a chilling lack of warmth, on the back of her chair. "Then we rethink. We re-plan. We take a longer time frame and accept the casualties that come with that delay. I am not asking you to throw yourselves into a meat grinder for the sake of a clock. If the intel isn't there, we wait. But..."
He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on the radicalized hunger in Uraraka's face and the desperate need for redemption in Tamaki's.
"I suspect you won't need the extra time. You are the product of a hardened curriculum. You are the logic of the new era. You know what this man represents, the end of your careers, the end of your quirks, the end of the order you were born to protect. We are all on the same page."
Kuroda tapped the screen, and the hologram vanished, leaving them in the dim, oppressive light of the Void.
"You leave for Osaka at 0400. Dismissed."
As the students and pros began to file out, the atmosphere was thick with a new kind of dread.
Uraraka lingered for a moment, staring at the empty space where Overhaul's face had been. She didn't look afraid. To her, this was a big change in temperament compared to how she used to act in the past.
Beside her, Momo noticed the look. She wanted to reach out, to say something about "Heroic Morality," but the words felt wrong and pointless in the moment.
"One week," Uraraka whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "We won't need a week."