Location: Nagano Prefecture – Pussycats Main Lodge Date: Friday | 08:30 PM
CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.
The sound of heavy ceramic mugs meeting in the center of the table was a sharp, joyful percussion that cut through the the fireplace.
Steam, thick with the scent of ginger, garlic, and slow-simmered pork, rose from the center of the table.
Yawara had outdone himself. He had spent the entire afternoon in a zone of focus that rivaled his rescue drills, his massive hands moving with surprising delicacy as he plated mounds of golden-brown tonkatsu and sliced crisp cabbage into fine ribbons.
Beside the meat sat a heavy iron pot of miso stew, the surface shimmering with the richness of mountain vegetables.
The sharp silence that usually defined the morning's data-driven rescue sweeps was gone.
"To the man who turned our 'gut feelings' into a map!" Tomoko shouted.
She wasn't just sitting; she was vibrating with enough kinetic energy to shake the floorboards.
She stood up on her chair, her wide, lime-green eyes darting around the table before she thrust her mug forward, nearly splashing her drink on the cabbage.
"To Kaito! The only person who can look at a landslide and see a staircase!"
"Tomoko, sit down before you put a foot in the stew," Ryuko teased, though her own grin was wide enough to show her teeth.
She leaned in close to Kaito, her shoulder bumping his with the casual familiarity of a sister.
She wasn't wearing her tactical gear, just a loose-fitting tank top and dirt-smudged jeans.
"So, seriously. You're really trading our beautiful dirt for salt and fish? I thought we were your favorites, Arisaka. Is the Pacific really that much more interesting than us?"
Kaito sat between Shino and Yawara, looking entirely at ease.
The stiff, charcoal utility jacket he usually wore was folded neatly on a nearby hook.
In its place was a simple black t-shirt that showed he'd put on a bit of lean muscle over the last month and a half of mountain trekking.
He didn't look like a distant manager; he looked like he belonged at the head of the table.
"The mountain is steady now, Ryuko. My contract is done," Kaito said, his voice warm.
Slurp.
He took a long, slow sip from his mug, letting the heat of the tea settle in his chest. "The Hub is breathing on its own. If I stayed, I'd just be taking up space while you four do the real work. You don't need me to tell you where the wind is blowing anymore. You can feel it."
THUD.
Yawara's hand, wide as a dinner plate, landed firmly on Kaito's shoulder.
It wasn't a violent movement, but a heavy gesture of profound respect.
"You gave us our rhythm back, Kaito," Yawara rumbled seriously.
The big man reached into the serving pot and placed the largest, most tender piece of pork directly onto Kaito's rice bowl.
"For years, we were just the niche agency. You gave us the Standard. Now, when the people look at the North Ridge, they don't see a hazard. They see a territory we own. That's because of you."
Yawara reached under the bench and pulled out a heavy, wrapped bundle tied with a thick, hemp rope.
Swiipp.
He slid it across the table toward Kaito.
"Open it. It's not just a souvenir."
Kaito pulled the rope loose. The fabric inside was heavy, midnight-blue, and felt like a second skin.
It was a custom-engineered storm coat, reinforced with high-tensile fibers and lined with a thermal layer meant to withstand the open ocean.
On the inner collar, embroidered in a subtle, dark thread, were the initials of all four members of the team.
"It's for the sea," Shino said softly, her dark eyes reflecting the amber glow of the fire.
She reached out and rested her hand briefly on Kaito's arm, a silent acknowledgement of the weeks they had spent late at night in the command center, mapping out the future of the agency.
"Tiger insisted on the waterproof rating. He said if you're going to work with Selkie-san, you'll need a shell that doesn't soak up the salt. We don't want the Golden Manager coming back to us smelling like a wet dog."
"Thank you," Kaito said, looking each of them in the eye—Ryuko's playful smirk, Tomoko's wide-eyed energy, Yawara's stoic warmth, and Shino's calm confidence.
"It's nothing, Kaito," Tomoko chirped, already diving back into her noodles with a loud
SLURP.
She paused, pointing her chopsticks at him with a mischievous wink.
"You're the fifth member. And don't you forget it. If we hear that other hero agencies are giving you a hard time, we'll drop a mountain on their place. It's not a goodbye, Kaito. It's just a change of scenery!"
_-_-_-_-_
Location: Musutafu – Iwao Oguro's Apartment
Date: Tuesday | 07:00 PM
POP.
The plastic cork of a sparkling cider bottle flew across the room, bouncing off the ceiling before landing in a bowl of half-eaten edamame.
"Yeey!"
Kazuho let out a triumphant cheer, her face flushed with a mix of excitement and the heat from the crowded room.
"Rank 10! Look at this!" Kazuho shoved her phone into Koichi's face, nearly poking him in the eye with the corner of the screen.
"The Naruhata tag is trending second in the whole country!"
Koichi leaned back, blinking as he tried to process the neon-bright screen.
He was sitting on the floor, his legs tucked under the low table. "It's weird, Kazuho. I went to get more napkins earlier and the guy at the counter wouldn't take my money. He just kept pointing at my hoodie and saying, 'Keep Naruhata safe, Sky-guy.' I didn't know what to do, so I just... bowed and left."
"Haha!"
Soga let out a loud, barking laugh from his spot against the wall.
He was currently in a tug-of-war with Rapt over the last piece of fried chicken.
"That's because you're a local legend now, Koichi," Soga said, finally winning the chicken and taking a massive bite. "Even the older guys in the ward are talking about it. My brother told me he saw a group of salarymen in Shinjuku humming Kekka Orai. Not just humming it—they were doing the rhythmic stomp from the video. We're not just some street group anymore. We're the face of the agency and the ward."
Kanako—Iwao's wife—moved through the small space with a practiced grace, setting a fresh plate of steaming gyoza in the center of the table. "I'm just glad none of you are in the hospital. After all not only you have that music record but you guys also have to patrol the entire Naruhata."
"Even Iwao hasn't stopped staring at that ranking board since it went live. I think he's reminiscing about his previous rankings in the past on both Japan and China."
"That's not what I'm thinking," Iwao rumbled from his armchair, though a faint, rare smirk was visible under his heavy brow.
Slurp.
He took a sip of his black coffee, his gaze shifting to Tamao. "I'm just surprised the girl's fingers haven't fallen off yet. She's been playing that guitar until the sun comes up."
Tamao held up her hands, showing the thick, yellowish callouses on her fingertips. "It's ok Dad, I love it. I think I see the rhythm in my sleep now. But it was worth it. When we hit that chorus together... it felt like the whole room was vibrating."
Kaito was leaning against the kitchen counter, a small plate of gyoza in his hand.
He had been quiet, watching them interact—the trio's rough-edged pride, Kazuho's bubbling energy, and the quiet relief in the Oguro family.
He felt the weight of the months in the mountains lifting, replaced by the familiar, messy life of Naruhata.
"You've all done the work," Kaito said. "Rank 10 is a big deal. But you know what happens when you're at the top? Everyone starts looking for a reason to push you back down. The Commission is going to be watching every move we make from now on."
Makoto, who had been quietly helping Kanako with the dishes, dried her hands and sat down next to Kazuho. "That's what we were talking about earlier, Kaito. Before you got back. The neighborhood association and the fan clubs... they're all asking the same thing. They want to know when we're going to have an event for our Agency."
Thump.
She then pulled out a stack of files. "Which brings us to the elephant in the room. Kaito, we've been moving forward with the 'Narufest' plans before you left for Nagano. We've got the local permits, and the neighborhood association is ready to block off the streets."
"We've been practicing the setlist every day!" Kazuho added excitedly. "The park stage is going to be amazing, even if it's a bit small."
Kaito set his glass down.
CLACK.
"We are cancelling the park stage," Kaito said.
The room went dead silent.
Koichi's glass stopped halfway to his mouth. Soga's grin faded.
"Wait, what?" Kazuho blinked, her voice small. "But Kaito, we've been telling everyone... the ward is counting on this. You said you found a sponsor."
"The 'Narufest' we planned three months ago was for an unrecognized idol and a group of local heroes," Kaito said, stepping toward the table. "Now, you are a National Top 10 Agency. If you hold a 'block party' in Naruhata Park, fifty thousand fans from all over Japan will descend on this ward. The streets will turn into a crush, the police will shut it down in thirty minutes for safety violations, and your 'Standard' will look like a disorganized mess."
He reached into his bag and pulled out a fresh set of architectural renderings, spreading them over the food-covered table.
"We aren't doing a street fair," Kaito said, his voice grounding the room as the steam from the gyoza swirled between them. "We're doing the O'Clock Pulse Festival. We're moving it out of the local alleyways and taking it to the Tokyo Sky Egg."
CLATTER.
Koichi nearly dropped his chopsticks, and Soga actually choked on a piece of chicken.
Makoto stood up so fast her chair scraped harshly against the floorboards.
She leaned over the table, her eyes wide as she scanned the blueprints of the massive, egg-shaped stadium that sat at the very heart of the city.
"The Sky Egg?" Makoto's voice was a breathless whisper. "Kaito, that's not just a venue; it's a national landmark. You're talking about three main halls, professional acoustics, and... wait, you've already marked out a pyrotechnic rig over the adjacent bay?"
"It's a venue that can handle over a hundred thousand people without shaking a single resident's window," Kaito explained, his tone conversational but firm. "I've spent the last two days in the quiet hours finalizing the backbone. I've secured formal sponsorship agreements with Detnerat for the technical staging. They're looking to disrupt the hero-support market, and a Rank 10 agency with a 100% approval rating is the leverage they need."
"Detnerat?" Iwao raised an eyebrow, his coffee mug frozen halfway to his lips. "They're a tech giant. They don't usually look at 'street' agencies."
"They look at results, Old man," Kaito replied. "The corporate funding will handle the production overhead—the lighting, the transport, and the staff. Makoto, I need you to escalate the permits. We aren't asking the Naruhata ward office anymore; we're talking to the Tokyo Metropolitan Government."
'Detnerat was aggressive and hungry for a new market. They were the perfect tool to bypass HPSC-sanctioned production companies.' Kaito thought as he remembered the agreement they made.
Kazuho looked at the rendering of the Sky Egg lit up in blue and gold. Her excitement was visible, but a flicker of doubt crossed her face.
"It looks like a dream, Kaito... but it's so big. If it's just me and the guys, we'll look like ants on that stage."
"The size of the stage doesn't make you look small, Kazuho. It makes your voice reach further. If you fill the space with the heart of this ward, the stadium will feel like a living room. That's why you aren't doing it alone," Kaito said, looking at Makoto and Kazuho.
"The O'Clock Agency is the host, but the soul has to be Naruhata. I want you two to lead the talent side. Bring in the voices the city ignores."
Makoto's eyes lit up, her managerial instincts finally catching the rhythm. "We could bring in the Feathers! Miu and Yu have been practicing that twin-idol routine for months in that tiny basement studio. They deserve a real stage."
"And the Mad Hatters!" Kazuho added, her voice rising with energy. "Their lead singer has been complaining that no one in Tokyo listens to real rock anymore. Imagine them blasting their set through a Detnerat sound system! We can even get the East Naruhata High Dance Squad to open the second stage."
"Exactly," Kaito nodded. "Invite the Sisters of Saint Lila's Academy for the choral segments. We aren't just putting on a show; we're showing the country that Naruhata's talent can own the center of Japan. Kazuho, this is your community. You decide who stands next to you."
"I want Present Mic to host," Makoto said, already scribbling notes. "He's the only one with enough volume for the Sky Egg. And maybe Ms. Joke to co-host? The two of them together would keep the energy from ever dipping."
"Send the feelers to their agencies," Kaito said. "And we'll have All Might or Captain Celebrity as a guest of honor to cement the pro-hero legitimacy. We're making this the biggest event of the year."
Woohooo.
Soga let out a low whistle, looking at the security blueprints for the stadium entrances.
"Me and the boys... we're going to be managing a Sky Egg crowd? The front gates alone look like a fortress."
"You guys are part of the band for the Top 10 agency, Soga," Kaito reminded him. "Start acting like it. I'm heading to Shizuoka for the Oki Mariner contract on Monday, but the Pulse Festival project is officially live. Makoto, Kazuho—Finalize the guest list and the performer roster by the time I get back."
Iwao stood up, offering a rare, firm nod of approval. He turned back to the room, raising his coffee mug high.
"You heard the Golden Manager. The neighborhood party is dead. We've got a national landmark to fill. Eat up—we've got work to do."
CHUCKLE.
The room erupted back into conversation, the quiet apartment now vibrating with the weight of a mission that reached far beyond the borders of Naruhata.
_-_-_-_-_-_
Location: Shizuoka Harbor – The Oki Mariner
Date: Monday | 08:00 AM
CHUG-CHUG-CHUG-CHUG.
The Oki Mariner sat heavy in the water, its massive steel hull vibrating as the primary engines warmed up.
The air was thick with the smell of diesel, wet iron, and the salt spray of the incoming tide.
Kaito stepped onto the deck, his boots hitting the textured metal with a solid thud.
He adjusted the collar of his navy storm coat, his golden glasses already catching a fine mist of sea salt.
Standing on the bridge deck was Selkie, looking like a wall of blue wool and muscle.
Beside him stood Sirius, her teal hair whipping in the wind, and a group of three deck officers who looked like they hadn't slept in forty-eight hours.
"You're on time, Arisaka," Selkie said.
His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble that barely carried over the roar of the ship.
He didn't offer a handshake. He just watched Kaito with the focused gaze of a man used to tracking predators in deep water.
"I don't like making a ship wait on its fuel," Kaito replied, walking toward the center of the group.
One of the older officers, Mick, a muscular man with blond close-cropped hair and thick beard
He tapped a finger against a clipboard. "We've seen your work with the Pussycats. But mountains don't move, Manager. Here, if we lose a man at 04:00, he's five miles away by 05:00. How does your 'standard' handle a target that drifts?"
Kaito looked at him. "It doesn't handle it. It predicts it. You're currently searching based on the last known location, right?"
"Of course," Mick replied. "Where else would we start?"
"That's why you're failing," Kaito said. "You're starting at the point of the accident. But by the time you arrive, the tide has already moved the lifeboats. I looked at your logs from the Izu wreck. You spent four hours searching a ten-mile radius that the current had already cleared."
Sirius leaned in, her eyes narrowing. "We have to search the radius. It's the law of the sea. Are you saying we should just ignore the crash site?"
"I'm saying you should calculate the drag," Kaito said. "The lifeboats have a specific weight and surface area. The wind was blowing at twenty knots from the east. The current was moving at three knots to the south. You shouldn't have been circling the wreck; you should have been intercepting the drift path ten miles out."
"And how are we supposed to see them in a storm?" another sailor asked, his voice skeptical. "Even with sonar, the noise from the waves and the engine makes everything look like a mess. It's like trying to find a needle in a blender."
Kaito turned to Sirius. "Sirius-san, you can hear high frequencies, but the ship's engine vibration drowns out the subtle sounds of a whistle or a flare, doesn't it?"
Sirius nodded slowly. "The hull acts like a giant drum. It makes it hard to focus on the water column."
"And Captain," Kaito said, looking at Selkie. "Your echolocation gives you the bathymetric map, but you have to shout the coordinates to your crew, and they have to guess where to dive."
Selkie suddenly tilted his head, his face scrunching into a cute, seal-like expression.
KYUNN!
Kaito didn't react to the sound. He just waited.
Selkie snapped back to his stern expression.
Sirius, Mick and the others on the other hand looks a bit embarrassed when Selkie does it.
"Aye. By the time the divers hit the water, the target has moved again. It's a game of tag where the sea always wins."
"Then we stop playing tag," Kaito said. "Sirius-san, I'm going to bridge your hearing with the Captain's ping. We're going to use the ship's sensors to filter out the engine noise. I want to build a Silent Command system. A visual map pushed directly into your goggles so you can see the sonar 'hits' as glowing marks in the water."
"You mean we won't have to wait for the bridge to call out the depth?" Sirius asked, a spark of interest in her eyes.
"You'll see it as you dive," Kaito said. "And we're changing the search fleet. No more dragging this massive ship in circles. We deploy the RHIBs—the fast boats—as a fan. They move in the direction of the drift, while the Oki Mariner sits in the center as the brain."
Selkie let out a slow, appreciative rumble. "The boy wants to turn my ship into a lighthouse."
"I want to turn it into a Standard," Kaito corrected. "If we can't find a lifeboat in the middle of a typhoon, then we aren't doing our jobs."
Selkie looked out at the grey horizon, then back at Kaito. "Sirius, take him to the bridge. Get him the sonar logs from the last three months. I want to see if his 'Standard' can find the mistakes we've been hiding."
WHIRRR.
High above, the ship's radar array began to spin, its silver surface catching the dim morning light.
"Let's see if you can find the rhythm in the salt, Golden Manager," Selkie continued. "And once again Kaito Arisaka, welcome aboard.
We're seal-riously glad to have you!"
"Thanks for having me Selkie-san" Kaito replied.
He then followed Sirius toward the bridge, the smell of warm electronics and salt air finally taking hold.
Kaito wasn't thinking about the wind or the cold. He was already drawing the grid on the water.
_-_-_-_-_-_
Location: UA High School – Principal Nezu's Office
Date: Monday | 11:30 PM
SLURP.
The delicate sound of tea being sipped was the only thing that broke the heavy silence of the office.
Principal Nezu sat behind his mahogany desk, his small paws wrapped around a white porcelain cup.
The steam from the Earl Grey drifted upward, illuminated by the soft, blue glow of three massive monitors that dominated the room.
The screens didn't show the news or school records. They showed a curated feed of raw, grainy footage from the industrial heart of Musutafu.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
Nezu's claws drummed against the wood as he leaned forward.
His dark, beady eyes were fixed on the third screen. It was a recording from a high-angle security camera outside an old warehouse.
Two figures were moving through the shadows with a rhythm that felt entirely out of place for the gritty streets.
One was a small boy in a dark, tactical suit. He didn't have the flashy movements of a pro-hero.
He moved with a heavy focus, using a collapsible staff to displace the momentum of three larger thugs.
Every strike was placed where the body was weakest; every move was a response to a rhythm he seemed to see before it happened.
There was no flare of fire, no crackle of electricity, no physical transformation.
"He has nothing," Nezu whispered, his whiskers twitching. "Not a single spark of a Quirk. And yet... he isn't fighting like a victim. He is fighting like a man who has mastered the art of combat."
Beside the boy, a sleek black cat moved through the scaffolding.
It wasn't a pet following a master. It was a partner.
Nezu watched as the cat—Kuro—jammed its tail into a high-security lockbox, its eyes scanning the area with a tactical weight that Nezu recognized immediately.
It was a gaze he usually only saw when he looked in a mirror.
"A peer," Nezu murmured, his voice high and melodic. "Another soul that stepped out of the animal kingdom and into the light of reason.
CLICK.
Nezu tapped a key on his desk, bringing up a search window.
For the last four months, he had been trying to pull a name, a birth record, or even a school ID that matched the boy's height and build.
DING.
[ERROR: NO MATCH FOUND]
He tried to trace the digital footprint left by the cat's hacking.
He followed the packets of data through three different proxy servers in Tokyo, then two in Europe, before the trail simply... dissolved. It wasn't a crash or a block.
The data had been scrubbed with a precision that left the servers looking as if they had never been touched.
"Clean," Nezu said, a small, genuine smile spreading across his face. "You guys had hidden your tracks so well that even the school meant to find the world's best can't see your face. No school records, no digital shadows. You two erased yourselves from the world."
He replayed the footage of the boy. The kid was young—perhaps eleven or twelve—but the support gear he was using was far beyond anything a middle-schooler should have access to.
The staff, the boots, the reinforced suit—it was all high-end, tailored equipment.
Slurp.
Nezu mused, taking another sip of tea. "Or better yet... who is the one who taught a quirkless boy and a cat how to fight?"
Nezu sat back, the blue light reflecting in his eyes.
He didn't know their names. He didn't know where they slept.
He only knew that in the heart of Musutafu, another vigilante were operating with a level of discipline that surpassed most licensed sidekicks.
They were an anomaly. A variable that didn't fit into the Commission's folders or the school's registries.
"Musutafu is becoming quite the stage," Nezu whispered to the empty room. "But I can certainly start watching the path they're building."
He opened a private, encrypted folder on his personal drive.
He didn't label it with a name. He simply gave it a symbol: a small, black paw print next to a plain, wooden staff.
"We'll meet eventually," Nezu promised, his voice echoing in the quiet office. "But for now... let's see how much louder you guys can get."
SLURP.
He finished his tea, the screens flickering as he began to map out the patrol routes where the ghosts had last been seen.
_-_-_-_-_
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