Location: Tartarus Maximum Security Prison – Sub-Level 12
Date: Monday | 14:00 Hours (Two Days Post-Osaka)
Clank. Clank. Clank.
The descent into Tartarus was not a journey; it was a burial.
Located miles off the coast of mainland Japan, the prison extended deep beneath the crushing pressure of the Pacific Ocean.
There were no windows down here.
Just reinforced titanium walls, the low, mechanical drone of life-support cyclers, and the suffocating realization that the outside world no longer existed.
Inside Interrogation Cell 4, the temperature was kept at a freezing ten degrees Celsius.
Whirrrrr-kacha.
Four automated, ceiling-mounted machine guns tracked the slightest twitch of the prisoner strapped to the center of the room.
Number 6 was bolted into a massive, heavy iron chair.
Thick steel collars locked his neck, wrists, and ankles, connected directly to a high-voltage Quirk-suppression grid.
His black bodysuit was in tatters.
The bruises on his jaw and chest from the Speed Hero: O'Clock were already trying to heal, but the suppression grid actively punished him for it.
BZZT!
"Agh!"
Number 6 gritted his teeth as a surge of electricity shocked his nervous system, forcefully interrupting his cellular regeneration.
Despite being buried alive and smelling his own burnt flesh, the regional commander of the Villain Factory was smiling.
It was a thin, bloody, arrogant smirk.
"You're wasting your time, detectives," Number 6 rasped, his breath misting in the freezing air. "I'm not a street thug you can scare with a spotlight and a bad cop routine."
Sigh
Standing across the steel table, Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi let out a long, exhausted sigh.
He adjusted his tan trench coat, his eyes dark with sleep deprivation.
"I'm not trying to scare you," Naomasa said, his voice flat. He set a thick manila folder onto the table.
"I'm just listening. My Quirk is a Lie Detector. Every time you open your mouth, I know if it's the truth or a falsehood. You can't outsmart it, kid. So let's skip the posturing. We know there is a genius scientist engineering these creatures for the League. Where is his primary gestation lab?"
"Under your bed," Number 6 laughed, a wet, rattling sound. "In the walls. In the sky. We're everywhere, Detective."
Lie.
Naomasa didn't even blink. "Try again."
"He's not going to talk nicely to a badge, Tsukauchi," a new, gravelly voice cut in from the shadows of the room.
Tip-tap. Tip-tap.
An old man stepped into the harsh fluorescent light.
Sorahiko Torino—Gran Torino—leaned heavily on his cane. His yellow cape was stained with the soot and rain of the Osaka cleanup.
His eyes, however, were as sharp as shattered glass.
"You think you're a martyr, don't you?" Gran Torino grunted, tapping his cane against the steel floor. "You think taking a beating from Oguro and getting dropped by a rookie from the sky makes you special. You're just a disposable battery for a man who doesn't even care if you live or die."
"...."
Number 6's smirk faltered. A muscle feathered in his jaw. The mention of his humiliating defeat struck a raw nerve.
"When I get out of here..." Number 6 hissed, leaning forward as far as the heavy iron collars would allow, his red eyes burning with pure malice. "I'm going to rip that old relic O'Clock into pieces. And that winged brat who blindsided me? I'll snap his hollow little bones one by one."
Gran Torino snorted. "You aren't getting out. You're going to rot in this box."
Tap. Tap.
Heavy, ground-shaking footsteps echoed from the far corner of the room.
A towering figure stepped forward out of the shadows.
Toshinori Yagi—All Might—did not look like a man to be trifled with. He was a veritable mountain of muscle, standing over seven feet tall.
He wore a tailored, dark pinstripe suit that strained against his massive shoulders. He radiated an overwhelming, suffocating aura of absolute power.
There were no injuries. No weakness. This was the Symbol of Peace at the absolute pinnacle of his prime.
"All For One," Toshinori said.
His voice wasn't his usual booming, cheerful public persona. It was a low, echoing rumble of pure authority that made the steel walls of the cell seem to vibrate. "Where is he hiding?"
Number 6 stared at the towering giant.
For a split second, the drug-addled bravado vanished. The sheer, physical weight of Prime All Might's presence pressed down on the villain, triggering a deep, primal instinct to submit.
"Hehehe..HAHAHA!"
But then, Number 6 threw his head back and let out a jagged, hysterical laugh.
Number 6 possessed a blind, fanatical faith in the Demon Lord.
"You're big, All Might!" Number 6 cackled, straining against the iron bindings until his wrists bled. "But you can't punch the future! You think putting me in a box stops the Master's plan? He will need me! The board is already set! And you're all just waiting to be buried!"
Naomasa rubbed his temples. He looked up at the towering form of Toshinori and shook his head.
"He's a fanatic," Naomasa muttered quietly. "The indoctrination is absolute. He truly believes his capture is just a temporary setback."
"Because it is," Number 6 whispered, his red eyes gleaming with manic, unbroken devotion. "I am exactly where I am supposed to be."
-----
Location: Secret Sub-Level – Unknown Research Hub
Date: Monday | 14:30 Hours
Hummm. Whirrr-click.
The air in the subterranean vault was heavy with metallic scent and the rhythmic breathing of high-capacity server racks.
Row upon row of massive glass cylinders filled with glowing green fluid lined the walls. Inside each tank floated the dormant, hulking silhouette of a gestating Nomu.
Bloop. Bloop.
Dr. Kyudai Garaki was pacing frantically in front of the master console, his thick spectacles sliding down his sweaty nose.
He aggressively chewed on his thumbnail, his lab coat swishing with every erratic step.
"It's a disaster! An unmitigated catastrophe, Master!" Garaki shrieked, his voice echoing shrilly off the reinforced concrete.
He pointed a shaking finger at the red warning lights blinking across his monitors.
"The Kansai network is completely severed! Those unknown corporate dogs in the business suits—whoever they are—slaughtered our supply chains! And now Number 6 is rotting in Tartarus! He was our most stable asset in the region! We have to initiate a rescue protocol immediately before the authorities dissect his biology!"
Sitting in the center of the dark room, resting comfortably in a high-backed leather armchair, was the Demon Lord.
He wore an immaculate, dark tailored suit that strained over his imposing frame. His face was unscarred, his features sharp, and his eyes held the terrifying, calm confidence of a man.
He did not share the doctor's panic. In fact, he looked deeply, chillingly amused.
"Calm yourself, Doctor," All For One's voice resonated through the vault, deep and smooth like polished obsidian. "You look at a lost pawn and see a defeat. I look at the board and see a perfectly positioned piece."
Garaki stopped pacing. He blinked, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Master? I... I don't understand."
All For One uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles.
"Tartarus is a fortress designed to hold dangerous individuals," All For One mused, a dark smile pulling at his lips. "It has no windows, no digital blueprints, and an independent, closed-circuit security system. It is impenetrable from the outside. But... what if you simply ask them to carry you inside through the front door?"
Garaki stared at him. His brilliant mind churned for a second before his eyes widened in absolute shock.
"The biometric tracker..." Garaki whispered.
"Precisely," All For One purred. "Number 6 was heavily modified by your own hands, Doctor. His spinal column contains a localized sonar-pulse emitter that runs off his passive heart rate. He isn't sitting in a cell. He is currently mapping the exact structural layout, guard rotations, and physical weaknesses of the lowest levels of Tartarus. When the time is right, breaking into that prison will be as simple as walking through an open door."
Garaki let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
A hysterical, relieved giggle bubbled up from his throat.
"Hehe...Brilliant! Ah, Master, your foresight is absolute! Let the heroes think they have won a great victory! We are already ten steps ahead!"
"Indeed," All For One said, leaning back into his armchair. "Now, access the Singapore offshore accounts. The Nomu gestation tanks require another influx of bio-gel to stabilize the new batch. Funnel three billion yen to the secondary shell companies."
Garaki nodded rapidly, his stubby fingers flying across the master console's keyboard.
Clack-clack-clack. Beep.
The doctor paused. He squinted at the monitor, his brow furrowing.
"That... that's strange," Garaki muttered.
He typed another sequence. Faster this time.
Beep. Beep.
[ERROR: ACCOUNT NOT FOUND.]
"Doctor?" All For One asked, his tone shifting slightly.
Garaki's face drained of all color. He looked like he was about to vomit.
He stepped back from the console, his hands shaking violently as he looked at the flashing red prompt.
"Master... the Singapore slush fund. It's... it's gone."
The ambient hum of the servers suddenly felt deafening in the silence that followed.
"Explain," All For One commanded. It wasn't a shout. It was a cold, absolute demand.
"Four and a half billion yen," Garaki stammered, frantically pulling up the digital ledger on the main holographic projector.
Lines of code cascaded down the screen in harsh red light.
Garaki scrolled through the transaction history, his eyes darting back and forth.
"It isn't a freeze from the UN. It wasn't seized by the HPSC. The money was... rerouted."
Garaki swallowed hard, pointing a trembling finger at the metadata.
"Someone slipped through our digital backdoors. They didn't trigger a single firewall or failsafe. They just navigated the mainframe, located our proxy's signature, and manually rewrote the routing nodes! To the global banking system, this just registered as a perfectly legitimate, highly classified corporate transfer to a series of blind trusts in the Cayman Islands. No alarms. No brute-force hacking."
All For One stared at the red code.
"The exact same untraceable precision as the Gunga Fund anomaly last time," All For One murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Master!" Garaki gasped, the pieces suddenly clicking together in his mind. "The unknown men in suits in Osaka... the stolen funds... it's a coordinated attack! A hidden syndicate is trying to dismantle our empire from the shadows!"
Garaki grabbed his own hair, panicking again. "Or could it... is it him? Is it Hero X? Did he use his power to bypass the servers?"
All For One scoffed, a short, dismissive sound that echoed in the vault.
"Don't be absurd, Doctor," All For One said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Think logically. Hero X is an entity that manipulates the physical fabric of reality. He deleted fifty explosive mutants with a single sound. Why on earth would a living god sit at a computer and manually reroute a bank transfer? What use does an omnipotent being have for human currency?"
Garaki blinked, slowly letting go of his hair. "You're right, Master, but then... who?"
"Exactly what you just deduced," All For One said, his mind connecting the false dots with absolute certainty. "A human syndicate. A highly organized, incredibly well-funded corporate organization. They have a hacker of unprecedented caliber. First the Gunga fund, and now this. They used the chaos of the UN raid and the Osaka war as a smokescreen to quietly steal our capital."
Garaki was sweating profusely. "But Master, four and a half billion yen! It will set the Nomu production back by weeks! We must find them! We must retaliate!"
All For One let out a low, genuinely amused chuckle.
He didn't rage. He didn't scream. He simply looked at the empty ledger like a lion looking at a mouse that had stolen a single crumb from his feast.
"Retaliate? Against accountants?" All For One smiled, a cold, terrifying expression. "Let the rats steal the cheese from the walls, Doctor. Money is a human construct. It is completely irrelevant in the face of absolute power. Once our current projects are finished, I will simply find this little syndicate, crush their minds, steal their Quirks or subdue them, and take the money back with interest."
He stood up.
The sheer physical presence of the Demon Lord seemed to suck the air out of the room.
"However," All For One noted, looking at the glowing green tanks. "The board is becoming a bit too crowded for my liking. The veteran heroes are stepping up, Hero X is out there, and now these underground corporate pests are biting at our heels."
All For One turned his gaze toward the dark corridors leading deeper into the facility.
"Standard Nomus and modified thugs like Number 6 are no longer sufficient to wage this war. They are too predictable."
"What are your orders, Master?" Garaki asked, bowing his head reverently.
"Initiate the Vanguard Project," All For One declared, his voice ringing with absolute, chilling authority. "Reach out to the world. Reach out to the mercenaries. I want every single capable individual who can lead and fight perfectly.
And also bring me the boy from the cellular enhancement trials... bring me Nine."
-----
Location: Tokyo – Hero Public Safety Commission Headquarters
Date: Tuesday | 09:00 AM
The executive boardroom of the HPSC was bathed in the bright morning sunlight, offering a sweeping, panoramic view of the Tokyo skyline.
At the center of the massive mahogany table, a celebratory mood was in full swing. The media was in an absolute frenzy.
The Kansai cleanup had been a massive PR victory for the Commission.
On the holographic projector, news feeds played on a continuous loop. The headlines were bold and triumphant:
[THE JAPAN SPEEDSTERS! HAWKS, INGENIUM, AND O'CLOCK SECURE THE NATION!]
The HPSC President sat at the head of the table, calmly sipping her black coffee. She looked pleased, watching the approval ratings tick upward in real-time.
"The public response to Hawks's deployment in Osaka is overwhelmingly positive," a senior handler reported, scrolling through a tablet.
"His silent takedown of the corporate militia is currently trending globally. Combined with Ingenium's rising arrest rate in Hosu and O'Clock's veteran return... the media is eating up the 'Speedster' narrative. The civilians feel safe."
"Good. Keep the PR department focused entirely on them," the President ordered, setting her porcelain cup down with a soft clink. "We need the public looking at our heroes, not the fact that an entire corporate army vanished into thin air before the police could interrogate them."
"About that success, Madam President..."
From the back of the room, Yokumiru Mera stepped forward.
The man looked like a walking corpse. The dark bags under his eyes were heavier than usual, his tie was askew, and he was clutching a massive, oversized coffee mug.
He looked profoundly, existentially exhausted.
Walking next to him was his sister and lead intelligence analyst, Agent Mera.
She carried a thick, physical dossier under her arm, looking just as sleep-deprived as her brother.
"We have been compiling the raw data on the 'Japan Speedsters' phenomenon," Yokumiru sighed, his voice a raspy drawl. "And... well. It isn't a coincidence. It's a manufactured trend.
The room quieted. The handlers stopped tapping on their tablets.
The President narrowed her eyes, her corporate instincts flaring. "Explain."
Agent Mera stepped up to the projector.
Click.
She tapped a button, replacing the news feeds with a massive, interconnected web of data points.
It looked like a conspiracy theorist's string board, but built with terrifying corporate precision.
"Hawks," the female agent began, pointing to the winged hero's portrait. "His silent flight pattern? It didn't come from our R&D department. It was explicitly designed and authorized during a gear audit in Aichi Subsidiary #4 by an independent contractor."
She tapped the screen. The web connected to a second portrait.
"Ingenium. His agency's recent overhaul in response-time routing? Outsourced to a third-party management firm," she continued. She tapped again. "O'Clock. His entire Naruhata patrol route and legal contracts? Funded and supplied by the exact same management firm."
She zoomed out the projector. The web grew wider, pulling in new, high-profile faces.
"Fat Gum's kinetic-storage technique. Ryukyu's thermal-venting suit upgrade. Best Jeanist's sudden, impossible three-hundred-percent efficiency spike using unregistered carbon-nanotube threads."
Click.
Agent Mera hit the final button.
Every single data line on the massive board converged onto a single, blank square in the center.
"They are all connected to one man," Yokumiru sighed heavily, rubbing his face. "Arisaka Kaito. The 'Golden Manager.' He isn't just managing agencies, Madam President. He is structurally rewriting the entire top tier of Hero Society from a desk in Minato Ward."
The President leaned forward, intertwining her fingers. She didn't look angry; she looked utterly fascinated.
"Arisaka Kaito," the President murmured, testing the name on her tongue. "Pull his registry. I want to know exactly what kind of intelligence Quirk this man has to be capable of optimizing the Top 10."
Yokumiru winced, looking incredibly uncomfortable. He traded a glance with his sister.
"That's the anomaly, ma'am," Agent Mera said, opening the physical dossier. "I pulled his national registry. And three years ago, my department personally archived his file. He is a high school vocational graduate. Classification: Non-Threat. He was labeled a complete 'Dud' due to severe biological Quirk rejection. He was flagged due to Hero X existence but was proven clean."
The boardroom erupted into confused murmurs.
"A twenty-one-year-old dud guy?" a handler scoffed. "He is rewriting the Billboard Chart?"
"It gets stranger," Yokumiru interrupted, raising a hand. "When we realized how much influence he had, I tried to pull his recent contractor history—the Level-0 clearance files from his recent audits. I wanted to see his digital footprint."
"And?" the President asked, her gaze sharpening.
"It's gone. Wiped entirely," Yokumiru stated.
"Yesterday morning at 08:14 AM. The deletion was authorized and executed legally by Sir Nighteye, using his executive clearance. Arisaka completed a private contract for him, and Nighteye legally erased the boy's active tracking data as payment."
The President stared at the blank square on the projector. Her mind raced, connecting the dots.
A logistical clerk who had somehow made a deal with Nighteye to granting him total digital anonymity, all while quietly building the next generation of heroes.
He was a prodigy. An absolute, once-in-a-century logistical genius. And currently, he belonged to no one.
A sharp, calculating smile slowly spread across the President's face.
"He thinks he's clever," the President said, her voice dropping to a smooth, corporate purr. "He used a Pro Hero's legal authority to blind our digital algorithms. He wants to be left alone. After the incident in the past."
She stood up, buttoning her suit jacket. She looked at Yokumiru and his sister.
"But who could have known he had this outstanding capability? If his digital footprint is legally protected, we go analog," the President ordered, her tone shifting from politician to apex predator.
"Start a Shadow File. Paper and ink only. Lock it in the physical vault. I want to know where he eats, who he talks to, and what agency and company he plans to improve and work next."
She turned to look at the paused news footage of Hawks.
"Put someone on him as a casual observer. If a Quirkless kid from Shizuoka is the one secretly forging our best weapons... the Commission needs to be the one holding his leash. Do not antagonize him. Court him."
-----
Location: Minato Ward, Tokyo – The Genius Office
Date: Three Months Later
The shift in Hero Society didn't happen with a massive, city-leveling battle or a flashy press conference. It happened with quiet, undeniable results.
Over the next three months, the Genius Office became an unstoppable force.
THWIP-SHNK.
In the neon-lit streets of Shibuya, a massive villain with a gravity Quirk roared, raising his fists to crush a city bus full of civilians.
He didn't even get to swing his arm.
From a rooftop fifty feet away, Best Jeanist casually flicked his wrist.
Thin, pitch-black carbon-nanotube threads shot through the air. They didn't just wrap around the villain; they seamlessly threaded right through the fabric of the attacker's heavy jacket, pulling tight against his joints.
The gravity villain froze mid-roar, completely paralyzed in the air like a massive puppet whose strings had just been pulled tight.
"Target secured," Jeanist said calmly into his collar comms, not a single golden hair out of place. "No casualties. No property damage. Bring in the transport."
The media coverage over the quarter was relentless.
The public couldn't ignore it.
Best Jeanist wasn't just catching villains; he was stopping the fights before a single punch was thrown.
The carbon threads Kaito had designed for him were the perfect, elegant answer to the destructive, fiery chaos of the old guard.
When the interim Hero Billboard Chart updated at the end of the quarter, the entire nation tuned in to watch.
Tsunagu Hakamada, Best Jeanist, didn't just solidify his iron grip on the Number 3 spot.
His approval ratings soared so high that he was actively breathing down the neck of the Flame Hero, Endeavor.
For the first time, the Number 2 position was genuinely under threat.
Inside the pristine executive lounge of the Genius Office, the atmosphere was a world away from the media frenzy outside. It was warm, relaxed, and surprisingly loud.
"I'm telling you, the new weave on these tactical vests is way too tight on the shoulders!" Macrame laughed, tossing a balled-up paper wrapper across the room.
Kaito Arisaka stood by the espresso machine, neatly packing his laptop into his sleek briefcase.
He wore his usual charcoal-grey suit, but for once, his tie was loosened.
"I tailored the weave to keep your shoulders from popping out of their sockets when you swing from the rooftops," Kaito replied dryly, not even looking up as he zipped the bag. "If it feels tight, it means you've been skipping your morning stretches again."
The room erupted into groans and laughter.
The sidekicks had spent the last three months working under Kaito's strict guidance, and they had come to genuinely like the dry, deadpan teenager.
Loom walked up and shoved a small, nicely wrapped package into Kaito's hands. It was tied with a custom denim ribbon.
"We all chipped in," Loom grinned. "It's a pound of that ridiculously overpriced dark roast coffee you always drink when you're stressed. Try not to miss us too much, Manager."
Kaito looked at the bag of coffee, then up at the smiling heroes. A very faint, entirely genuine smirk touched the corner of his lips.
"I won't miss the noise," Kaito said, slipping the coffee into his briefcase. "But I will definitely miss the free dental plan."
"Alright, alright, give the man some breathing room," a smooth baritone voice cut through the chatter.
Best Jeanist walked into the lounge, his denim collar impeccably high.
He waved a hand, playfully dismissing his team. "Back to your patrols. The streets of Minato do not weave themselves."
The sidekicks gave Kaito a few final waves and salutes before heading out, leaving the Pro Hero and the manager alone in the quiet lounge.
Jeanist walked over, leaning casually against the marble counter.
The stiff, formal tone they had used with each other three months ago was completely gone.
"The contract is officially over, Tsunagu-san," Kaito said, clicking the final lock on his briefcase shut.
"Your agency is running perfectly. Your sidekicks have adapted to the new capture methods without tearing any muscles, and the public loves you. You don't need me anymore."
Jeanist looked at the twenty one-year-old manager.
The Pro Hero felt a profound sense of gratitude, mixed with a deep respect for the kid's brilliant mind.
"Kaito," Jeanist began, his voice dropping its usual theatrical flair. He sounded entirely human and earnest. "What you have done for this agency... it goes way beyond basic management. The media thinks I am a genius, but you built the loom I weave on."
Jeanist crossed his arms, looking Kaito directly in the eye.
"I want to offer you a permanent job here. Chief of Operations. Name your salary. If we keep this momentum going, we won't just pass Endeavor. We could challenge All Might for the Number 1 spot."
"...."
Kaito paused. He adjusted his golden glasses, looking around the immaculate, high-end office. It was comfortable. It was prestigious. It was incredibly safe.
But it was also a cage.
"I really appreciate the offer," Kaito said, his voice polite but firm. "But I like the freedom of temp work. A permanent desk at a top agency just means a bigger target on my back. Plus, permanent jobs always lead to unpaid overtime."
Kaito picked up his briefcase, offering the Number 3 Hero a small shrug. "I'm just a guy moving to the next project."
Jeanist stared at him for a moment, and then let out a rare, genuine laugh that echoed in the lounge. He accepted the rejection with pure grace.
"Fair enough," Jeanist smiled, offering his hand. Kaito shook it firmly. "But know this, Arisaka. If you ever need a favor, you have the full, unwavering support of the Number 3 Hero."
"I'll keep that in mind," Kaito nodded.
-----
Location: Naruhata Ward – Unit 203, Naruhata Estates
Date: Friday | 18:00 Hours
Click. Thud.
Kaito stepped back into his apartment, the heavy reinforced door sealing shut behind him.
The contrast between the billionaire skyscraper in Minato and the gritty, worn-down Naruhata Estates was jarring, but to Kaito, this smelled like peace.
He didn't even make it to his bedroom before he was shrugging off the suit jacket.
Kaito changed into a loose, comfortable pair of grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt, letting out a long, heavy sigh of absolute relief.
No more high-society galas. No more hero rankings. He was completely off the clock.
He walked into his living room and stopped.
The room smelled strongly of cheap convenience store fried chicken and steaming yakisoba.
Sitting on his plush rug around the glass coffee table were Koichi, Kazuho, and Makoto.
"Ah! He survives the elite society!" Koichi cheered with a mouth full of noodles, holding up a can of barley tea in a mock toast.
"I knew I should have engaged the manual chain-lock," Kaito deadpanned, though he walked over and collapsed onto the sofa right next to them without a second thought.
"You did," Makoto grinned, tossing him a pair of wooden chopsticks. "But you also gave me the spare key for 'real emergencies.' And you surviving a three-month corporate contract without strangling a hero is an emergency worth celebrating."
Kazuho giggled, passing Kaito a carton of fried chicken. "Welcome back, Kaito-san. Naruhata has been super boring without you glaring at everyone from the balcony."
Kaito took a piece of chicken, the familiar, salty grease a stark and welcome contrast to the expensive catered meals he'd been eating for months.
As they ate, the banter naturally settled into a comfortable, slightly heavier rhythm.
"The ward is quiet," Koichi noted, looking out the window at the setting sun. "Iwao-san and I have been patrolling, but... it's a bruised kind of quiet. The Trigger thugs are gone, and the Villain Factory is wiped out, but the people are still walking around looking over their shoulders."
Kazuho nodded, pulling her knees to her chest. "The shops close early now. The kids don't play in the park as much. Everyone is just... waiting for the next bad thing to happen."
Makoto wiped her mouth with a napkin, her eyes flashing with a sudden, intense spark of determination.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a rolled-up, slightly crumpled piece of drafting paper.
She pushed the takeout boxes aside and unrolled it on Kaito's coffee table.
"That's exactly why I wanted to talk to you guys," Makoto announced, her voice buzzing with her signature ambition.
It was a hand-drawn map of Naruhata. But instead of marked patrol routes and villain hotspots, it was covered in messy, colorful sketches of massive stages, food stalls, and parade routes blocking off the main streets.
"Narufest," Makoto declared proudly. "A massive, ward-wide music and cultural festival. The people here have been terrified for a whole year. They need something good to happen to break the tension. They need to celebrate their survival and see that Naruhata is alive again."
"A music festival?!" Kazuho gasped, her eyes practically turning into stars. "With real stages? We could set up a huge sound system! It would be amazing!"
"It's a really great idea to lift everyone's spirits," Kaito admitted, chewing his chicken slowly as he looked at the map. "A massive block party would be the perfect way to close this dark chapter for the neighborhood."
"Exactly!" Makoto beamed.
"But," Kaito added, pointing his chopstick at the elaborate drawings. "The local neighborhood association is completely broke. The city council won't pay for a massive party in an under-developed ward like Naruhata. Where are you getting the money for stages, permits, speakers, and security?"
The energy in the room instantly deflated.
Makoto slumped back against the sofa, letting out a frustrated groan. "I know. I've been calling big companies all week. Detnerat laughed at me and hung up. The big hero agencies in Tokyo said it was a waste of money. We need a miracle, Kaito. Some eccentric billionaire with deep pockets who actually cares about this place."
Silence fell over the living room. Koichi looked down at his noodles. Kazuho sighed sadly.
Kaito didn't say anything.
He calmly set his chopsticks down. He pulled his heavily encrypted smartphone out of his sweatpants pocket.
His thumb pressed against the scanner. The screen unlocked, glowing faintly in the dim living room light.
He opened his offshore banking application, staring at the numbers reflecting in his golden glasses.
Current Balance (Cayman Blind Trust): ¥12,500,000,000.
Four and a half billion yen added. Stolen directly from the Demon Lord's underground network during the Osaka war. Combined with the remaining balance from the Gunga fund, it was completely untraceable, clean, and sitting entirely under his absolute control.
Kaito looked from the staggering number on the screen to the desperate, hopeful eyes of the found-family sitting on his living room floor.
Kaito locked his phone and casually slipped it back into his pocket.
A very sharp, knowing smile touched the corner of his lips.
"Eat your yakisoba, Makoto," Kaito said quietly, leaning back into the cushions. "Don't worry about the money. I think I know a corporate sponsor who is looking for a massive tax write-off."
_-_-_-_-_
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(9 Advanced Chapters)