Location: Roppongi District, Tokyo – Intersection 4
Date: Monday (One and a Half Weeks after the Gala)
ROOOOAR!
The sound of shattering glass and twisting metal echoed across the high-end shopping district.
A massive, four-story billboard collapsed, sending sparks raining down onto the pavement.
"Keep the civilians back! Macrame, get the netting up on the east flank! Don't let him near the subway entrance!"
Ami—the sidekick known as Macrame—slapped her hands against the pavement. Her Quirk, Netting, instantly wove the loose debris and street signs into a thick, makeshift barricade, catching a shower of shattered glass before it could hit a fleeing family.
"I'm holding it, but he's too big!" Ami yelled, wiping sweat from her forehead.
Standing in the center of the ruined intersection was a cornered bank robber.
Desperate to escape the police perimeter, he had injected himself with a massive dose of black-market Trigger.
His body had violently mutated into a grotesque, fifteen-foot-tall behemoth covered in thick, jagged rhino-like armor plating, his massive hands still clutching torn bags of cash.
STOMP!
The beast swung a fist the size of a minivan, obliterating a luxury car.
"Loom! Vanguard formation!"
"Yes, sir!"
Kugo, a veteran sidekick codenamed Loom, stepped forward.
Using his Fiber Spin Quirk, he rapidly braided his own uniform's threads into thick, rope-like lassos, throwing them around the beast's massive ankles to trip it up.
But it wasn't enough. The beast snarled, flexing its legs.
SNAP!
Loom's ropes tore like wet tissue paper. The backlash sent the sidekick tumbling across the asphalt.
Then.
"Stand down, both of you. I will tailor this," a calm, refined voice commanded.
Tsunagu Hakamada—Best Jeanist—stepped past the police barricade.
His signature high-collared denim suit billowed slightly in the wind. He raised both hands, his eyes narrowing in intense concentration.
FWISH-FWISH-FWISH!
Hundreds of thick blue denim cables shot from his collar and sleeves, surging forward like a tidal wave of fabric.
They wrapped tightly around the beast's arms, torso, and legs, binding it tightly.
"Yield... BIND!" Jeanist commanded, pulling his arms back to tighten the hold.
For a second, the villain stopped.
But the Trigger drug pumping through its veins was too much, granting it an unnatural burst of strength.
"GET OUT OF THE WAY!"
The Villain let out a deafening roar and violently expanded its chest, its armor plating shifting and grinding.
Rrrrip. THUCK!
Jeanist's eyes widened slightly. Several of his primary denim cables snapped under the sheer, brute-force pressure, the cotton fibers fraying violently into the air.
"Tch." Jeanist gritted his teeth. He didn't retreat.
Instead, he unleashed twice as much material, practically unraveling the spare denim spools hidden under his coat.
SWISH. SWOOSH. SLICKK.
"BLACKOUT BIND!"
Best Jeanist layered cable after cable, burying the beast under a mountain of thick, suffocating fabric until the villain simply couldn't move its joints anymore.
THUD.
The villain tipped over, completely immobilized in a cocoon of blue jeans.
"Time!" Loom yelled from the sidelines, checking his watch as he picked himself up.
"Forty-two seconds, Jeanist-san!"
PUFF.
Jeanist let out a slow, slightly ragged breath. He looked down at his own frayed sleeves.
He had won, but it wasn't elegant. It was a messy, brute-force struggle against a monster that didn't care about finesse.
Standing quietly behind the police barricade, holding a tablet and a cup of black coffee, Kaito Arisaka watched the entire thing. He typed a few quick notes onto his screen.
'Cotton has hit its absolute limit,' Kaito thought, taking a sip of his coffee. 'Time for an upgrade.'
_-_-_-_-_-_
Location: Minato Ward, Tokyo – The Genius Office (Executive Lounge)
Date: Tuesday | 09:00 AM (The Next Day)
Bring. Nring. Kring.
The Genius Office was bustling. Phones were ringing, sidekicks were filling out property damage reports from the Roppongi incident, and PR assistants were frantically typing up press releases to reassure the public.
Inside the quiet executive lounge, Jeanist was sitting on his pristine white sofa, staring out the window at the Tokyo skyline. He looked frustrated.
The glass doors slid open, and Kaito walked in. He was wearing his signature charcoal-grey suit, looking relaxed and approachable.
He didn't carry a stack of PR papers today. He just carried his tablet.
"Morning, Jeanist," Kaito said warmly, taking a seat in the velvet armchair across from him.
"How's the arm? I saw you rubbing your shoulder after the Roppongi fight."
Sigh
Jeanist sighed, a rare crack in his perfectly composed facade. "It is fine, Arisaka. Just... a slight muscle strain. These villains are becoming absurd. That one yesterday possessed the physical density of a wrecking ball. I don't know why they still have access to these drugs when the whole government all over the world took action and raided all supply chains."
"If the government can think of that, then on the villain side they also have their own plans. And more importantly Jeanist-san, your threads snapped," Kaito said gently, getting straight to the point.
Jeanist frowned, looking down at his freshly tailored cuff. "The cotton frayed. I had to compensate by drowning the villain in sheer volume. It was clumsy. Inelegant. A hero of my standing shouldn't have to struggle in a tug-of-war."
"It's not your technique, Jeanist. Your technique is flawless," Kaito smiled, sliding his tablet across the glass coffee table. "The problem is your material. You're trying to tie up a tank with blue jeans."
Jeanist looked at the tablet.
Click.
Displayed on the screen were incredibly detailed, high-tech schematics. It wasn't a PR portfolio; it was a structural engineering blueprint for microscopic threads.
"I stayed up a bit late last night drafting this," Kaito explained, leaning forward, his tone shifting into that of an enthusiastic creative partner. "You're an artist, Jeanist. But right now, your canvas is limiting you. I want to change your skeleton. Have you ever considered integrating military-grade carbon-nanotubes into your wardrobe?"
"Wait! How did you come up with this?"
Jeanist's eyes widened behind his collar. He picked up the tablet, zooming in on the schematics. "Carbon-nanotubes? Woven with a graphene core?"
"Exactly, and its just a matter of applying a bit of reading and experience to basic physics." Kaito nodded, tapping the screen.
"It's thinner than a human hair, entirely fireproof, and has a tensile strength a hundred times stronger than industrial steel. If you weave this into your denim, the villains can't snap it. They won't even be able to stretch it."
"This kind of material isn't exactly sold at the local fabric market, Arisaka," Jeanist noted, genuinely intrigued by the math on the screen. "And the manufacturing precision required to weave this into usable clothing..."
"Leave that to me," Kaito smiled confidently. "I have a contact in Detnerat's premium support division. I can anonymously contract a shell company to fabricate a prototype spool for us by Thursday. If it works, we overhaul your entire arsenal."
"...."
Jeanist looked at Kaito.
The young manager wasn't just managing his public image; he was actively, deeply investing in Jeanist's survival and growth as a hero.
A genuine, excited smile touched the corners of Jeanist's eyes. "Order the spool, Arisaka. Let us see if your physics can elevate my art."
_-_-_-_-_-_
Location: The Genius Office (Sub-Level Training Facility)
Date: Thursday | 10:00 AM
WHAM!
A three-ton concrete training dummy crashed into the reinforced wall of the underground gym.
The facility was loud and filled with the agency's top sidekicks.
Loom, Macrame, and a dozen others were standing on the sidelines, whispering excitedly.
In the center of the mat stood Best Jeanist. He had his right sleeve rolled up.
Kaito stood a few feet away, holding a small, heavy black spool that had been delivered via secure courier that morning.
"Alright, the prototype is here," Kaito said, tossing the heavy spool to Jeanist. "It's completely raw. Just test the feedback first."
Jeanist caught the spool. The thread wrapped around it wasn't blue. It was a matte, light-devouring black. It looked impossibly thin.
Jeanist slowly reached out and touched the black thread. The moment his fingers grazed it, his Quirk flared.
Zzzzt.
The thread unspooled like a living serpent, weaving itself instantly around his wrist.
Jeanist let out a sharp gasp. The material was incredibly light, but the feedback it gave his nervous system was terrifyingly dense. It felt like holding a lightning bolt.
"It responds... beautifully," Jeanist whispered, his fingers twitching as the black thread danced effortlessly through the air.
"Let's push it," Kaito said, a grin forming on his face. He waved to the control booth. "Loom, bring up a fresh concrete pillar. Solid reinforced stone."
Rumble.
A thick concrete pillar rose from the floor of the gym.
"Don't wrap it this time, Jeanist," Kaito instructed, stepping back. "Whip it. Treat the thread like a razor."
Jeanist turned toward the pillar. He didn't wave his arms in a wide, sweeping arc. He simply flicked his wrist.
THWIP.
A single, microscopic black thread shot across the room, wrapping around the concrete pillar faster than the eye could track.
Ziiiing.
Jeanist pulled his hand back an inch. The wire went perfectly taut.
SHNK.
The top half of the solid concrete pillar slid off perfectly, crashing to the floor with a heavy, deafening
THUD.
The cut was so clean it looked like the stone had been polished with a laser.
The entire training facility went dead silent. Loom dropped his clipboard.
Macrame covered her mouth in absolute shock.
Jeanist stared at his own hand, his breath catching in his throat.
"Arisaka..." the Pro Hero whispered, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous, overwhelming thrill. "The absolute lack of friction. It sliced through the stone like it was warm butter."
"That's just the basic combat application," Kaito laughed, genuinely enjoying the hero's excitement.
He walked over to a motorized, humanoid combat mannequin dressed in a standard street-thug jacket.
"If the thread is microscopic, it can slip between the seams of a villain's clothing," Kaito explained, gesturing to the mannequin.
"We don't need to tie them up from the outside anymore. Weave the carbon fibers into their clothes, press the threads directly against their skin, and pull them taut against their muscle joints."
Jeanist raised two fingers.
Ssssh-clack.
The black threads vanished, shooting straight into the fabric of the mannequin's jacket, completely invisible to the naked eye.
"You're basically holding their muscles hostage," Kaito said. "Make it salute."
Jeanist twitched his index finger. The mannequin's right arm instantly snapped up into a rigid, violent salute.
Jeanist twitched his middle finger, and the mannequin's left leg buckled, forcing it to violently take a knee.
"Total biological paralysis," Jeanist breathed, testing the feedback. He was orchestrating the movements flawlessly with microscopic twitches. "A marionette protocol. They wouldn't even be able to twitch a finger to pull a trigger."
"Exactly," Kaito nodded, pushing his glasses up. "And finally, let's fix your biggest weakness."
Kaito referenced several characters that has the same methods and attack of Best Jeanist.
He then pointed to the high, vaulted ceiling of the gymnasium, fifty feet above them, laced with heavy steel girders.
"Right now, you're grounded," Kaito noted pragmatically. "Endeavor can hover and has limited flight. Some pros flies. And don't even include All Might who can jump several hundred of meters in a single leap.
You rely on cars and running. It slows down your arrival time. That ends today. Shoot the carbon wire into those steel girders."
Jeanist didn't hesitate.
THWIP-CLANG.
Two black wires shot upward, wrapping tightly around the high steel beams.
"Now, retract them and swing," Kaito yelled.
WHOOSH!
Best Jeanist was violently yanked off the floor, launching into the air with the speed of a fired cannonball.
"Whoa!" Loom shouted, jumping back.
Jeanist didn't panic.
The Pro Hero twisted mid-air, a massive, uncontainable smile breaking across his face.
Swoosh-swish.
He fired another wire to the far wall, swinging like a pendulum. He zipped across the massive facility in a blur of black wire and denim, his momentum carrying him seamlessly through the air before he dropped gracefully to the mat in a flawless, silent landing.
Tap.
The sidekicks erupted.
"Holy crap! He's flying!" Macrame cheered, clapping her hands.
"That was amazing, sir!" Loom yelled, absolutely beaming.
Kaito chuckled, clicking his stopwatch. "Three seconds. From the moment you touched the thread to the moment you landed."
Kaito looked at the sidekicks, his voice projecting across the room. "From today, the Genius Office is a Rapid Restraint agency. We are outfitting everyone's support gear to complement this system. No villain lasts more than five seconds against us."
Best Jeanist stood up, retracting the carbon wires into his sleeves.
The elegant, high-society hero looked completely reborn. He walked over to Kaito and extended his hand.
Kaito took it, offering a firm, respectful handshake.
"You aren't just a manager, Arisaka. You are a visionary," Jeanist said, his voice thick with profound, genuine gratitude. "With this... I won't just hold the Number 3 spot. We are going to take Number 2."
"I think we can aim higher than that, Jeanist-san," Kaito smiled warmly. "Now, let's get back to work. We have a city to clean up."
_-_-_-_-_-_
Location: Detnerat Corporate Headquarters (Subterranean Boardroom)
Date: Friday | 23:00 Hours
Click-clack-clack. Slam!
"Analog! They're using analog burner phones and paper ledgers like absolute cavemen! Do you have any idea how many local municipal traffic cameras I had to hijack to track these meatheads?!"
Tomoyasu Chikazoku—the executive known as Skeptic—paced frantically back and forth across the dark floor of the boardroom.
The stressed hacker violently chewed on his thumbnail, his long, greasy black bangs swinging wildly.
He jabbed a finger at the massive holographic projector table dominating the center of the room.
Bzzzt.
The projector flared to life, casting a harsh, cold blue light over the sleek chrome chairs.
A digital map of the Kansai region populated the air, heavily focused on the coastal shipping lanes of Osaka.
Sitting elegantly to the left, Chitose Kizuki—Curious—rested her chin on her hand.
The blue-skinned media mogul let out a soft, highly amused hum, adjusting her thick-rimmed glasses as she watched Skeptic unravel.
"Breathe, Tomoyasu. You're going to pop a blood vessel before the fiscal quarter ends," Chitose purred, her eyes gleaming with morbid, journalistic fascination. "Just give us the headline. What are we looking at?"
"We are looking at a bleeding leviathan," Skeptic snapped, slapping his laptop closed.
He pointed at the cluster of red dots slowly crawling across the digital highways toward Osaka. "The UN's 'Global Purge' completely gutted All For One's primary infrastructure. All Might smashed the Shizuoka hub to powder. The HPSC and the global media are treating it like a total victory."
Koku Hanabata—Trumpet—sat across from Chitose. The charismatic politician took a slow, measured sip of red wine from a crystal glass, his eyes tracking the red dots.
"But it wasn't a total victory," Koku noted smoothly, his political mind already spinning the angles. "All For One is a cockroach. He didn't build a century-old empire by putting all his assets in one warehouse. Don't forget that according to our intelligence, this man has existed longer than Destro. He has a global underground empire running for him."
"Exactly!" Skeptic barked, jabbing the air. "All Might smashed the factories, but the surviving transport fleets scattered. The dictator's network is in absolute panic. They're disorganized, terrified, and migrating south. They are trying to funnel their remaining Trigger supply and those... biological monstrosities into the underground ports of Kansai to regroup."
Chitose leaned forward, her sharp teeth flashing in a dangerous smile. "Osaka. Fat Gum's territory. It's already a mess of Yakuza remnants and street gangs. Adding All For One's desperate smugglers to that powder keg... oh, it's going to be a massacre. The press will eat it alive."
"It's more than a headline, Chitose. It is a vacuum," Koku interjected, setting his wine glass down. He looked toward the head of the table. "The Demon Lord's grip on the underworld is shattered. He is hemorrhaging capital. If we intercept those fleets now, we don't just cripple our biggest rival. We absorb his market share. We take Kansai."
From the head of the table, a deep, heavy sigh echoed through the dark room.
SIGH
Rikiya Yotsubashi—Re-Destro—sat perfectly still in his high-backed leather chair.
He wasn't wearing his jovial, PR-friendly CEO smile. The dark, sprawling birthmark on his forehead seemed to pulse in the harsh blue light of the hologram. His massive hands were folded neatly on the table.
"Market share," Rikiya whispered. His voice was low, rumbling like a distant earthquake. "You speak of this as if it were a simple corporate acquisition, Koku."
The room instantly went dead silent. Skeptic stopped pacing. Chitose stopped smiling.
When the Supreme Leader dropped the corporate mask, none of them dared to interrupt.
Rikiya slowly stood up, his towering, broad-shouldered frame casting a massive, oppressive shadow over the glowing map.
"All For One is not a rival CEO. He is a tyrant," Rikiya stated, his eyes narrowing with deep-seated, generational hatred. "He views Quirks as currency. You shouldn't forget how he used countless combinations of Quirks when fighting. He steals them, hoards them, and forces his followers into absolute submission. He is the ultimate oppressor of the old world. He is everything the Meta Liberation Army was founded to destroy."
Rikiya slowly walked around the table, his heavy footsteps echoing off the marble.
He stopped in front of the holographic map of Osaka, staring down at the fleeing red dots.
"For years, we operated in the shadows because someone held a monopoly on the dark that we couldn't challenge." Rikiya continued, his voice steadily rising in volume and intensity.
"But then... the board changed. A new piece was played."
Rikiya closed his eyes, thinking back to the crystal chandeliers and the clinking champagne flutes of the Platinum Gala.
He remembered the calm, utterly unfazed expression of Kaito Arisaka, the Golden Manager.
"When a system becomes too rigid, it inevitably invites an anomaly that forces it to evolve," the Golden Manager had said. "Entities like Hero X… are a catalyst. They force society to adapt or be left behind."
Rikiya's eyes snapped open. The dark birthmark on his forehead began to spread, creeping down his temple as his Quirk responded to his rising, fanatical stress.
"The Singularity," Rikiya breathed, his voice vibrating with absolute, terrifying zealotry. "Hero X. He didn't just expose the flaws in the Hero Commission. He exposed the weakness of the Demon Lord. He is the systemic disruptor!"
Skeptic swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table. "Sir?"
"Do you not see the divine sequence of events?!" Rikiya demanded, throwing his arms wide open, his composure completely shattering into raw, unadulterated fanaticism.
"Hero X appears! He rewrites the very laws of physics, proving the old reality is obsolete! And mere weeks later, the UN uncovers All For One's hidden empire and launches a global strike? It is not a coincidence!"
Chitose's breath hitched. "You think... Hero X orchestrated the UN raid?"
"A god does not dirty his hands sweeping up a tyrant's trash, Chitose!" Rikiya roared, his massive fists clenching so hard his leather gloves creaked. "He simply shifted the pieces! He broke the old system to clear the board! He wounded the beast, and now he is stepping aside to see who is strong enough to claim the new dawn!"
Thud.
Rikiya slammed his hands flat onto the holographic projector.
The digital map of Osaka glitched and violently flared crimson.
"This is not a business opportunity! It is a mandate!" Re-Destro boomed, his eyes burning with a terrifying, blinding devotion. "If we sit here and do nothing while the Demon Lord regroups, we are unworthy of the liberation Hero X is paving for us!"
The executives stared at him, completely swept up in the magnetic, crushing gravity of his conviction.
Koku stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the marble.
"What are your orders, Grand Commander?" Koku asked, his voice ringing with absolute loyalty. "Do we mobilize the entire front? Do we march on Kansai?"
Rikiya's breathing was heavy. The dark stress marks retreated slightly as his manic grin returned—a sharp, jagged smile that promised absolute violence, tempered by the cold, calculating mind of a CEO.
"No, Koku. We do not reveal our hand to the false heroes just yet," Rikiya said, his voice dropping into a smooth, lethal cadence.
"Hero X has set the stage, but the Singularity requires a scalpel, not a blunt instrument. If we march one hundred thousand men into Osaka, the HPSC will realize we exist before we are fully prepared to crush them."
Rikiya looked down at the map, his massive fist hovering directly over the Kansai region.
"Tomoyasu," Re-Destro commanded, looking at the hacker. "Deploy the Vanguard Acquisition teams. Keep them completely untraceable. Strip all Detnerat branding. I want them dressed in standard, unmarked business suits."
Skeptic nodded rapidly, his fingers already flying across his tablet. "Untraceable. Understood. What about their loadouts?"
"Equip them with the prototype kinetic-dampening gear and the amplified support tech," Rikiya instructed, his eyes gleaming with dark, corporate pragmatism. "All For One's remaining biological monsters are the perfect live-fire crucible to test our merchandise. We will use the chaos of the Osaka underworld to our advantage."
Chitose clapped her hands together, a morbidly delighted laugh escaping her lips. "Oh, it's brilliant. The police and the Pro Heroes will just think the local Yakuza are fighting All For One's smugglers over the scraps. We remain a ghost story."
"Exactly," Rikiya smiled, the dark birthmark pulsing faintly on his temple. "We will slip into the chaos. We will quietly slaughter the Demon Lord's remnants, seize their assets, and completely absorb the Kansai underworld in the name of the Singularity. And the world won't even know we were there."
_-_-_-_-_-_
Location: Kansai Region, Osaka – Precinct 4 Headquarters
Date: Saturday | 18:00 Hours
Brrr-ring! Brrr-ring!
"Dispatch! We have another Trigger overdose in Dotonbori! Send the riot squad!"
"Hold line four! I need a perimeter around the docks!"
The Osaka police precinct was absolute, unadulterated chaos. Detectives were shouting across desks overflowing with paperwork.
Uniformed officers were sprinting down the halls with tactical vests.
Standing in the center of the bullpen, chewing aggressively on a massive skewer of takoyaki, was Taishiro Toyomitsu—Fat Gum.
"It's a nightmare! It's an absolute nightmare!" Fat Gum groaned, his massive, round body practically taking up an entire aisle as he scarfed down the food to fuel his Quirk.
"The Yakuza are panicking, the smugglers are fighting each other, and my sidekicks haven't slept in three days!"
Standing next to him, rubbing his temples to fight off a massive migraine, was Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi.
Naomasa looked completely exhausted. His trench coat was rumpled, and he was nursing a cup of stale, lukewarm coffee.
He had been sent down from Tokyo to help coordinate the Villain Factory crackdown, but the Osaka underworld was a hydra.
"We just need to find the distributor," Naomasa sighed, his voice raspy. "Intelligence suggests the Villain Factory sent a high-tier asset to manage the Kansai transition. The speedster from the Naruhata Incident. If we catch him, the supply chain breaks."
Clomp. Clomp.
The heavy glass doors of the precinct swung open.
"I hear you boys need a pest control specialist."
Naomasa turned.
Walking into the chaotic bullpen was Pro Hero O'Clock. Iwao Oguro looked like a grizzled general, his dark athletic uniform perfectly fitted, his scarred face set in a hard, uncompromising scowl.
But he wasn't alone.
Following right behind the massive brawler was an incredibly bizarre squad.
Koichi Haimawari waved politely, wearing his green tactical jumpsuit. Kazuho Haneyama blew a bubblegum bubble, looking around the police station with mild disinterest.
And shuffling nervously behind them were Soga, Rapt, and Moyuru, wearing matching, slightly oversized tracksuits with "O'Clock Agency Trainee" printed on the back.
The three former thugs looked absolutely terrified to be standing inside a police precinct.
Fat Gum's eyes lit up. "O'Clock! And the Naruhata crew! You are actually the reinforcements! Thank god!"
Iwao grunted, cracking his massive knuckles. "I've got a personal score to settle with that speedster. Number 6 is mine."
Naomasa blinked, staring at the three nervous teenagers hiding behind Koichi. "Oguro-san... why did you bring civilians to a high-risk operational briefing?"
"They're not civilians, Detective. They're my probationers," Iwao corrected flatly. "They carry the gear, they evacuate the civilians, and they scrub the pavement. It's character building."
"Actually, they're fantastic at crowd control!" a bright, energetic voice chimed in from the back of the group.
Click-whirrr.
Makoto Tsukauchi stepped out from behind Iwao's massive frame.
She was wearing a yellow beanie, holding her expensive DSLR camera up to her eye, happily snapping photos of the precinct's chaotic bulletin boards.
"The structural dynamic of former delinquents engaging in hero-sponsored community service is basically the golden goose for my thesis," Makoto grinned, lowering the camera. "Plus, Koichi said we could get okonomiyaki after!"
Naomasa froze. The lukewarm coffee slipped from his fingers.
Shatter.
The mug shattered on the linoleum floor, splashing brown liquid onto his shoes.
"Makoto?!" Naomasa shrieked, his voice cracking three octaves higher than his usual stoic detective tone.
He lunged forward, grabbing his sister by the shoulders. "What are you doing here?! Osaka is an active warzone!"
Makoto rolled her eyes, effortlessly batting her older brother's hands away.
"Oh, relax, Nao! I'm the current manager of O'Clock Agency," Makoto huffed, adjusting her beanie. "And they're already veterans! They went from being hardened vigilantes to registered sidekicks! Besides, with the Old man here I am perfectly safe!"
Naomasa looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.
"Relax, Detective," Iwao replied, his voice a low, reassuring rumble. "I'm the Speed Hero: O'Clock. I'll keep them safe."
SIGH
Naomasa let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh, pointing a shaking finger at Makoto, who was currently taking a selfie with Fat Gum.
"She is my little sister! I didn't want her putting herself in unnecessary danger in an active warzone," Naomasa groaned.
The hilarious, chaotic sibling reunion was abruptly shattered.
WEE-WOO! WEE-WOO!
The precinct's master alarm violently flared to life, bathing the bullpen in flashing red light.
The dispatch radios across the room didn't just beep; they exploded with frantic, overlapping screams.
"All units! Code Black in the Namba Financial District!" a dispatcher screamed over the intercom, his voice shaking. "Multiple detonations! We have a massive gang war in the streets!"
Naomasa's protective brother routine instantly vanished.
He snapped back into the hardened detective, sprinting to the main tactical monitor. "Is it the Yakuza? Did the Trigger smugglers break the truce?"
"Negative, Detective!" the radio crackled.
"It's... I don't know what it is! We have convoys of Villain Factory... but they're being attacked by hundreds of men in business suits! The suits have military-grade support gear! They're slaughtering them!"
Iwao and Fat Gum exchanged a hard, dead-serious look.
"Men in business suits?" Fat Gum muttered, his jovial demeanor completely gone. "That's not the Yakuza."
Iwao realized, his eyes narrowing. "Someone else is hunting the Factory."
"Gear up," Naomasa ordered, drawing his sidearm. "We're moving out!"
_-_-_-_-_-_
Location: Minato Ward, Tokyo – The Genius Office
Date: Saturday | 18:30 Hours
The sun was setting over the Tokyo skyline, casting long, peaceful orange shadows through the reinforced glass of Kaito Arisaka's private office.
The temperature in the room was a perfect twenty-one degrees Celsius.
Kaito sat comfortably in his leather swivel chair. His charcoal-grey suit jacket was hung neatly on the coat rack.
He held a fresh, steaming cup of artisanal espresso in his right hand.
Slurp.
He took a slow, relaxed sip.
His massive multi-monitor terminal was glowing. But it wasn't displaying PR spreadsheets.
It was displaying live, hacked satellite feeds and logistical traffic maps of Osaka.
On the left screen, the red dots of All For One's hidden bio-assets were flashing erratically.
On the right screen, the blue dots of the Meta Liberation Army's corporate militia were swarming over them like ants on a dying beetle.
Explosions blossomed silently on the satellite feed.
Kaito reached over to his keyboard.
Clack.
He hit "Record" on the data-capture software, compiling the exposed financial logistics of All For One to send to Sir Nighteye on Monday morning. As for Detnerat, they weren't part of the contract.
Kaito leaned back in his chair, adjusting his golden glasses, and took another sip of his coffee.
"Productive week," Kaito whispered into the quiet, air-conditioned room.
_-_-_-_-_
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(9 Advanced Chapters)